Fandom: Glee, Season Two AU from BIOTA.
Pairing: Kurt/Sam/Santana (KuSS)
Warning(s): Sexy thoughts; Santana's mouth; threesome; lots of character bashing, specifically Rachel, Blaine, Finn, and Quinn. Anti-Klaine, Anti-Raine.
Distribution: Please ask first. Please do not screencap this story, save it to hard drives, exchange with others, or translate into other languages without written consent.
Feedback: Con-crit is always welcome; flames are ridiculed and put on display.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, lyrics, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Snippets of dialogue may be incorporated from the original canonical episode(s) and belong to their respective authors/creators. The original characters and plot are the property of the author(s). The author(s) is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended, nor should any be inferred. No profit is being made.
Summary: Rachel's party brings three disparate people together, and they will change the dynamics of New Directions forever.
Author's Note: This story is an AU from BIOTA, with Rachel's party unfolding differently than canon. Heed the warnings, people. There will be lots of character bashing, just because I feel like it. Also, I fully blame Dear Near Scary for turning me on to the hotness that is Kurt/Santana/Sam (KuSS). They're meant to be. At least in my story. BTW, Santana gets Blaine's name wrong on purpose, kk? They're not typos. ;)
Santana Lopez was currently leaning against the wall, coolly observing the recent developments unfolding before her and all of the drama that would inevitably ensue, deciding that she didn't particularly care for it at all.
The fact that she had even accepted the invitation to pass a night in Berry's domicile suggested something deeply disturbing about herself: she had no life. This was unacceptable and would have to be remedied immediately.
It was bad enough that Brittany was happily mooning over Handicapable, but to watch Asian and Other Asian feed each other while cooing in their own respective languages was just revolting. And stupid. Especially since Mike didn't speak Korean and Tina had no knowledge of Chinese. Seriously, what was the point? Unless they were saying some seriously filthy words. Still, if they couldn't understand each other, that was just the epitome of cutesy obnoxiousness.
She wanted to stab them with chopsticks.
Smarmy Jew and Chunk'ums were sucking face like Kirk Douglas sucked on his oxygen tank, and it was all she could do not to vomit all over Berry's hideous carpeting. She frowned and looked down at said carpeting more carefully. She was pretty sure she had seen that pattern before on one of Berry's fugly sweaters. And people thought Brittany had brain damage?
The only thing more pathetic was the never-ending saga of Rachel, Finn, and Quinn. It had been disgusting having to watch Hot Tranny Mess and Kewpie Doll glare viciously at each other over the likes of Finn Hudson, who was more oblivious than Mr. Magoo. She had just wanted to stomp over and inform them that Finn's big-ass feet were not indicative of anything, so they were bound to be disappointed. She shuddered as the word mailman chanted in her head over and over again like a mantra. There was thirty seconds of her life she'd never get back. And thirty seconds was being very generous.
Damn, she was really going soft.
Suddenly, she wanted to file a personal injury suit against Hudson for pain and suffering.
But the worst – the absolute worst – was to see two Hobbits in heat, getting their mack on and groping each other like meth addicts fighting for the last pipe. Not to mention that their technique was severely lacking. They might as well have been wearing t-shirts that read I'm With Virgin!, with two arrows pointing at each other.
Spin the Bottle was all kinds of lame, but it had been mildly entertaining at first. Considering people in New Directions changed partners like most people changed their thongs, and they cheated on each other left, right, and sideways, they were all surprisingly prudish, excepting herself and Puck. So she had decided to play along and show the little people how it was done.
It had all been going okay until Berry and Muppet McDapperhead started getting freaky. Not only did it look gross, but it was just really wrong. She could've cared less that Rachel was simultaneously trying to make Finn jealous while she planned out new duets for her and the Dalton Douchebag. She didn't give a shit about how upset Hudson was or the smug, victorious smirk on Quinn's face. She just…she felt really bad for Gay Kid.
She didn't know Hummel, not that well, despite their time together in glee club and with the Cheerios. She wasn't even sure if she liked him, and if she did, she'd never admit it. But she respected him, which she thought was more important.
She didn't know when, how, or why that had come about. One day she had looked up at him and decided that, even though he all but rode a prancing unicorn up and down the hallowed halls of McKinley High, he was a pretty decent person. He was a complete and utter bitch, which was seriously awesome, but he wasn't totally evil. He genuinely cared about his friends, specifically Jones, Asian, and Brittany.
Maybe that was what had done it. Gay Kid actually liked Brittany just as she was. He didn't try to change her or make excuses for her; he just accepted her and loved her and would shoot Karofsky with a harpoon if he ever made fun of her. He helped her with homework, but didn't do it for her. He helped her practice Cheerios routines, even though he was no longer on the squad. He took her shopping and bought her things that looked amazing on her. He explained things with endless patience when she asked him questions. She had called him in the middle of the night for an Emergency Tampon Run – and he had gone. That mattered.
And Brittany was all about Gay Kid. She talked more about him than she did her own damn boyfriend, a thought which made Santana tingly all over. She thought that if Brittany wasn't currently licking Wheels' eyebrows, she'd go over and put the beatdown on Berry and Tickle Me Gay Elmo, because if there was one thing Brittany got mental over, it was protecting her Dolphin.
Sometimes Santana wondered why she and Kurt weren't friends. They certainly had a lot in common. They were both gorgeous, rich, talented, vicious cunts who were superior to everyone else. And they both had that whole alternative lifestyle thing going on. Well, she was still debating about that, but whatever. So why shouldn't they be BFFs? True, he had Aretha, but what had she done for him lately? In fact, where the fuck was she while all this emo shit was going down?
Her eyes scanned the room and she saw Mercedes inhaling a bowl of Frito Scoops. She shook her head. She couldn't even say anything about it; the jokes wrote themselves. Thank Christ there were no tots in sight. And what the fuck was the thing with the tots all about, anyway? Didn't she know they were available at any local grocer?
Finally her eyes landed on Kurt and – wow. Okay, she wasn't an emotional person. Really, she didn't give a shit about anyone's problems other than her own, and even those she dealt with only when they became mildly irritating, like a yeast infection. But Hummel's huge Disney Princess eyes were all sad and glistening and he was trying so damn hard not to cry. It bothered her.
It bothered her because where the fuck were his so-called friends when he really needed them? Doing the same damn thing they were doing when Karofsky was harassing him: all caught up in all of the old-ass drama of their own making. Shit, she knew they were all teenagers, but how self-absorbed could someone be? Everyone always told her that she was the most selfish person in existence, so if even she could see how badly Kurt was hurting, why the hell didn't anyone else? That was seriously jacked up.
Jones was stuffing her face, Brittany and Asian were all up in their men's grills, and Finn, Kurt's own damn brother, was making Sad Sack Eyes at Rachel while trying to feel up Quinn. God, they were all such assholes.
She thought of everything she knew about Gay Kid, which admittedly wasn't very much. There were the clothes, of course, but she could never hate on him for those. Despite the shit other people said about his wardrobe, the bottom line was that the bitch could dress; he knew fashion and he worked the hell out of it. No matter how many of his clothes were destroyed, it didn't dim his fabulosity. He looked damned good and knew it, and that was pretty cool. Those Hogwarts uniforms must have been a total boner-killer for him.
He was a good friend, always there for whoever needed him. Hell, she thought he'd even be there for her if she ever asked. He was just that type of guy. She'd overheard him tell Jones once that friends were the family one chooses for themselves. Well, if that were the case, he'd made some pretty poor choices. He'd had to leave his own damn school just so he wouldn't get fucking murdered, and all Aretha and Asian whined about was how much they'd been hurt when he left. The fuck? It wasn't about them! Why didn't they get that? And Berry had actually had the audacity to complain about numbers for Sectionals. The bitch had two gay fathers and she wasn't more sympathetic?
Hell, weren't Berry and Gay Kid kind of friends now, ever since their Diva Duet? Oh no, she was too busy exploring her fellow Hobbit's uvula with her tongue.
Goddamn, that pissed her off. How the fuck did Berry not know that Kurt was into Bland? Fuck, all anyone had to do was look at Hummel and it was completely obvious. That was a total bitch move. She had thrown Hudson over, made out with Puck again, not to mention that shit with that dick St. James last year, and now she had to suck face with Other Gay Kid? What a slut. She had already taken god knows how many solos from Kurt, she had won Finn, and now she had to have the one guy who seemed to be interested in Gay Kid?
"Bitch," she seethed.
The truth was that Berry didn't know how to be a friend. Santana couldn't judge her for that, because the same was true of her, but at least she was honest about it. And Rachel had the stones to wonder why she had no one to turn to in her many, many moments of crisis?
The heifer was probably just jealous of Kurt. No matter what she thought or what Schue said, everyone knew Kurt had the better voice, because his was unique. No one sounded like him. Berry was more commercial, and therefore more accessible, but it didn't mean she was more talented. What the fuck was so special about yet another Streisand wannabe? Streisand was still putting out number one hit records at the ripe old age of a hundred and fifty. Why did the world need another?
She curled a lip as she watched them slobber over each other like they were Scooby Snacks. It was so foul. They couldn't even kiss right. It looked downright painful, and Berry was sporting that Tortured Orgasm Face she donned when going for a high note. Gag.
Bland looked like a troll with a Jheri curl, had some seriously funky eyebrows, a Leno chin, and the dumb mofo didn't even have the courtesy of having a hot ass. She wasn't even sure he was good enough for Berry, let alone Hummel. No, he definitely wasn't good enough for Hummel.
Hummel had a hot ass. Hummel had ass for days. It was fucking spectacular. Hudson had the face, Puckman had the guns, Other Asian had the abs, Wheels wasn't even worthy of her notice, and Hot Lips had almost the whole package, but none of them had an ass that would make the gods themselves bow the fuck down and weep. Hummel did. She just wanted to spank it.
Wayne did not deserve to have access to an ass that epic. Shit, he'd have to climb a ladder just to reach it. What the hell was he bringing to the table other than a good voice, a dead bird, and texting the same word over and over again? Courage? Who the shit was he, then? The Cowardly Lion? Fuck his noise!
That was it. She had decided. Hummel's ass was going to phone in a resignation to Whine's fucked up eyebrows, something along the lines of I quit this bitch.
She nodded to herself, pleased that she had so easily solved this dilemma. All she had to do was inform Hummel that she was now in control of his life and all would be well. She should have realized this ages ago. Later she would email him a list of potential gifts he could give her to thank her for her thoughtfulness.
Next would be ejecting from Hummel's life all the leeches who claimed to be his friends, and then allowing them to audition to reclaim their parts, though she was not above recasting them. Then they'd head down to Dayton next weekend and get him a quality homo. Maybe some college stud, if she could find one who wasn't a complete douche with a pink Polo shirt and a popped collar. That shit was so played.
She was so involved in her fantasy of getting Hummel laid while she filmed it, that she completely missed Hot Lips sidling up to her.
"I just wanted to punch that asshole in his pug nose," he said.
She blinked owlishly and stared up at him. Holy shit! She had forgotten to make fun of Bland's nose! What the hell was wrong with her? She hadn't even touched the booze!
"I won't stop you," she finally said. "I personally want to give Berry a swirly in the boys' locker room."
Sam shuddered. That locker room was grody, but maybe Rachel deserved it. "How can they do this to Kurt? It's just….cruel."
Santana gave him a bored look. "Didn't know you cared."
Sam shrugged and looked away. "Kurt's a good guy. He's had to put up with a lot of crap. He shouldn't have to put up with this."
She thought about ridiculing his possible gayness, but couldn't be bothered. "You're right."
He sighed. "So should we start busting heads or should we be good friends and go talk to Kurt?"
"I'm not his friend. I'm not yours either."
He was silent for a long moment. "Aren't you lonely, Santana?" he whispered. "I am. I'm so damn tired of being surrounded by people who want something from me but who don't really care about who I am or what I need. I'm so tired of being someone's punch line or last resort."
She averted her eyes and swallowed heavily. She now realized she should've started drinking a while ago. But definitely not enough to get introspective and beat her breast over how miserable her life was and how much of it was her own damn fault, which seemed to be what Hot Lips was suggesting. She missed Brittany so much there was a physical ache inside of her. Puck had thrown her over for a fat girl. Once Quinn had sold her out and become head Cheerio again, the other girls on the squad were back to hating her openly. Sylvester had made it pretty clear that she was second-string and nothing more. No matter how awesome her performances in Glee, Schuester continued to define the club around Berry and Hudson. Yeah, she was pretty fucking lonely.
"I can't believe none of them are doing anything," she hissed. "They're supposed to be his friends."
Sam chuckled darkly. "Aren't we all supposed to be friends? I thought Finn was my friend, but it seems he doesn't have a problem putting the moves on my girlfriend. Isn't he still mad at Puck for doing the same to him? With the same girl?"
Santana snorted. "Don't feel bad, Evans. You can do a lot better than her. Everyone thinks she's just a sweet Christian girl, but she's the devil in sheep's clothing. She's as big a bitch as I am, but I'm open about it; she hides behind her crucifix and angelic smile. She doesn't deserve you."
Sam was startled but somewhat warmed by her words. He was wary, of course. After all, she was Santana Lopez, but it was nice to have someone tell him that Quinn's betrayal wasn't his fault, that maybe he didn't totally suck as a boyfriend. That he wasn't too fat. That he wasn't ugly. That he wasn't stupid.
"And Blaine sure as shit doesn't deserve Kurt," he viciously spat.
She gave him a hard look. "What about you, Evans? Do you deserve Hummel?"
He looked deeply into her eyes. "Probably not, but I wouldn't hurt him either."
Fair point, she silently conceded. "You switching teams?"
He shrugged. "Why can't I play for both? You do. I'm just taking a lesson from Quinn: always keep your options open."
She smirked. Who knew Hot Lips had bitch potential? How interesting.
"I can't stand to watch him watching them," he continued. "It just hurts, you know? Maybe it hits a little too close to home. You finally find someone you think will make you happy, that is just for you, only to realize you're nothing more than a seat-warmer until something better or more interesting comes along."
She flinched. Yeah, that totally sucked.
Then Rachel stood up, swaying, and announced she and Blaine were going to sing together.
"That's it," Santana said flatly. "We're out of here. Let's go get Kurt."
Sam raised a brow. "You're calling him Kurt now?"
"Shut the fuck up."
Kurt didn't protest as Santana and Sam ushered him up the stairs, into the living room, and sat him down on the couch. One look at him and Santana knew she would have to play this differently, would actually have to consider his feelings, no matter how closely those feelings might echo her own and how much that would hurt.
"Was that real?" Kurt asked in a dull monotone. "Did that happen, or did Puck spike the punch?" He frowned. "Wait, I didn't have any punch." He tilted his head. "Maybe I'm hallucinating." He nodded. "Yes, that's it. I'm hallucinating. I've hallucinated the past six months. Blaine isn't real, because the Blaine I hallucinated would never do that to me, not with her." He nodded more frantically. "It's all been a dream. There's no Blaine, no Dalton, no Warblers. Mercedes is still my best friend, I never left McKinley, and Karofsky never forced me to kiss him. He never groped me. He never stalked me. He never threatened to kill me. It was all just a dream, like that Buffy episode."
Sam and Santana exchanged a horrified, anger-filled glance. Was that what had happened? Was that why he had left McKinley? Because Karofsky had been sexually harassing him?
Kurt blinked and stared down at where Santana was kneeling before him.
"Oh, hi, Santana," he said softly. "Why aren't you wearing your Cheerios uniform? It's weird not to see you in it. I liked my uniform. It almost felt like armor, you know? As long as I was wearing it, I felt safe. Protected. That no one would hurt me. Why does everyone hurt me?"
She opened her mouth in rebuttal but he cut her off.
"I guess I must deserve it. I know I'm not a nice person. I gossip too much. I hurt people's feelings when I make fun of their clothes. Maybe if I stopped making fun of Rachel's sweaters, she wouldn't make out with my boyfriend and maybe I could have a solo?"
"Kurt," she interrupted.
He held a finger to her lips. "You should tell Brittany you love her. She loves you too, but she's afraid you'll never be only with her. She could make you happy, Santana. I want you to be happy. I've watched you for so long. I've seen how badly you hurt, how lonely you feel. You deserve more than that."
Her eyes widened comically before she furiously began blinking. "So do you."
He shook his head. "There's something wrong with me. I never wanted to believe it, but enough people have told me. Being gay is wrong. I'm wrong. I never believed that before. I hated being gay in Lima, but I never hated being gay. But what has it gotten me? Ridicule, beatings, vandalism, death threats. I even hallucinated the perfect boy just so I could hide the fact that I'm completely worthless."
"That is not true," Sam thundered. "You're worth more than any of them!"
Kurt blinked slowly and turned to his side. "Hello Sam Evans." He frowned. "I didn't ask you to sing with me, did I? Because Finn said that was wrong."
Sam narrowed his eyes. "Why would that be wrong?"
"Because I'm gay and you're not," he answered simply. "People would talk. Finn said that I was a stalker and that I had sexually harassed him and that I didn't understand that no means no and he should have gotten a restraining order against me." He leaned over toward Sam. "That's probably why Karofsky is after me. I deserve it for having crushed on Finn. It's really my own fault," he confided.
Sam curled a lip as Santana swore softly underneath her breath.
Suddenly Kurt looked at Santana and his eyes filled with tears. "Finn called me a fag, and he was right. That's what I am. And he told me that if I sang with Sam, I could get him killed." He shook his head. "I don't want to get Sam killed. I like Sam. He's nice to me even when other people tell him not to be. I had hoped Sam might be gay, just so I wouldn't be alone anymore, but even when I found out he wasn't, that was okay. It was just nice to have a guy talk to me like I'm a normal person and not a freak."
"You're not a freak," Santana hissed.
"But I am. I make guys uncomfortable. That's why they hurt me so much, because I shouldn't be allowed near them. But Sam was nice. He didn't hurt me. But Finn said I would hurt him if I sang with him. My father told me I should leave Sam alone. I don't want Sam to quit Glee because I make him uncomfortable."
"You don't make me uncomfortable," Sam whispered.
Tears started streaking down Kurt's face, and Santana paused to consider that even when crying, Kurt was still beautiful.
"Even Mercedes told me I should leave Sam alone, that I shouldn't allow myself to crush on another straight boy. But that's not what it was about." He sniffled. "I just wanted a friend."
He drew his knees up and hid his face as sobs began wracking his body.
Santana exhaled noisily. "I'm going to kill Hudson."
"Not if I get to him first," Sam barked, desperately trying not to cry himself. He should have demanded answers from Kurt months ago. All of this time he could have had a real friend, one who was willing to sacrifice themselves for him, to protect him, to put him first. Instead, he had settled for a girl who had used him and didn't even have the courtesy to dump him before moving on to someone else. Instead, he had become friends with a homophobic bully who had no qualms about moving in on his girl. What a waste. Shit, he was so stupid.
They looked at each other for a long moment before turning to look at Kurt, who was still hiding from them, from the world. They looked back at each other, their faces moving in small details – a raise of eyebrows, a flare of nostrils, a pursing of lips – and they nodded. They were in this now. Fuck the others. From now on, they were a trio. And no one was going to hurt them again.
Santana stood and grabbed Kurt's hands, pulling him to his feet. "Come on, Rainbow. I'm taking you home with me."
Kurt sniffled again and shook his head. "I have to give my hallucination a ride home."
Sam scowled. "Screw Blaine!"
"I never had that opportunity," Kurt said mournfully. "I probably wouldn't be very good at it anyway. I'm weird and awkward and I make people uncomfortable. He told me I'm not sexy."
Santana scoffed. "Well, he's a fucking idiot. What the hell does he know about sexy? He needs to go back to Fraggle Rock and run a hot comb through his hair."
Kurt giggled, but it sounded painful. "I left my bag downstairs."
She cupped his face with a hand. "I'll go get it. You stay here with Sam."
He shook his head. "You can't leave me alone with Sam! I might infect him with the queer!"
They were so depressed by how earnestly he said those words.
She snorted and rolled her eyes. "That's a risk I think we're all willing to take." She pushed him into Sam's waiting arms, noting that Sam discreetly sniffed Kurt's hair as he held the other boy close to him.
Sam noted how perfectly Kurt fit against him. How delicious he smelled. How even though he was taller, their crotches thoughtfully met at the same height.
Gay! his subconscious screamed at him.
Santana smirked. "I'll go get our gear. If I'm not back in five minutes, call the police. The others will need them."
He grinned and nodded his head, his eyes sparkling as he watched her stalk off.
He then pulled Kurt even more tightly against him and smiled with satisfaction.
Santana clattered down the stairs, dark eyes gleaming and with murder on her mind.
Why the fuck did she ever think these plebeians were worthy of her presence? She liked Glee. She liked singing and dancing. But she didn't like them and all of their big bags of bullshit. Sam seemed to be of a similar mind, which was awesome. She might have been the second-string cheerleader and he might have been the second-string quarterback, but together they would be amazing. And throwing Rainbow into the mix? Classic.
Heads would roll; she'd make sure of that, starting with Karofsky. That was some sick shit, and she wasn't going to abide it. So maybe she didn't have the power of the Cheerios anymore, but who needed them? She was Santana Lopez. One word from her and Karofsky was finished. She licked her lips with anticipation.
She walked into the basement proper and curled a lip. Berry was still singing some stupid, sappy love song, even though Pain was passed out beside her. Artie and Brittany were canoodling in his wheelchair, and Santana thought that actually looked kind of hot. She'd have to look into acquiring one for Sam and Rainbow. And for herself, of course.
She was definitely getting in on that action in some way or another, even if it was just to watch.
Asian and Other Asian were sharing a sleeping bag, spooning against each other in a way that so precious, Santana wanted to hurl. Finn and Quinn were having an intensely heated whispered conversation, while Hebrew National and Big Girls Don't Cry were actually fucking over in a corner. She winced. It was just so gross. Not because Lauren was big, but because the two of them together was just odd.
She shook her head and stomped over to the chair, grabbing Rainbow's fabulous trench and Louis Vuitton bag, which she so wanted. First thing tomorrow, she was making him take her shopping. It was high past time that she acknowledged her inner fashionista. There was more to life than a cheerleading uniform. A look of bliss crossed her face as she hurriedly scooped up her own bag and that of Hot Lips.
She then decided she couldn't possibly leave without expressing herself. That was one Schuester Moral Message she was happy to heed.
She stormed over to Finn and slapped him sharply across the face. He cried out and looked up at her with his trademarked Hurt Look.
"I know everything you said to Kurt," she snapped. "You're a complete asshole and a total hypocrite."
"What are you talking about?" he whined.
She sneered. "I'd tell you not to play dumb, but we all know you're not playing. You're just lucky I got here before Evans, or you wouldn't be able to walk without need of a colostomy bag for the foreseeable future."
"Sam?" Quinn whispered.
Santana rolled her eyes. "Subtlety is not your forte, Hooker Barbie. He knows all about you and Hudson, and he could care less. He thinks you're perfect for one another and hopes you'll be very happy together." She smiled. "Hey, Hudson! Have you told you renewed squeeze how you bullied Kurt into dropping Sam as his duet partner? Did you tell her that you all but called him a rapist? How about how you actually did call him a fag?"
"What!" Quinn roared.
"A little late for the righteous indignation, isn't it, Q?" Santana asked smoothly. "You haven't bothered with Kurt or Jones since you crawled your way back on top of the pyramid, so why start now? Kurt doesn't need you."
"He's my friend," Quinn seethed.
Quinn frowned and was about to request clarification, but Santana cut her off.
"Hudson, you and Kurt might be brothers now, but that's just a legality. He wants nothing to do with you, and I certainly don't blame him. If you ever speak to him again with such hateful words, you're going to be dealing with me, and if you're stupid enough not to recognize that for the threat – no, the promise – that it is, you deserve what I'll do to you."
"I love Kurt," Finn whimpered.
"No, you love what he does for you. You love that he helps you pick out your ugly outfits and how he cooks your meals and how he helps you with your homework and how he listens to your problems and gives you good advice that you never follow. That's over now. He has me and he has Hot Lips. You remember Sam, don't you, Hudson? Your friend? The one you convinced to join Glee? The one whose girlfriend you're sitting with right now?" She frowned. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I call you Hudson? The way you're acting, I'm sure I must have meant Puckerman."
"Both of you can eat shit and die."
She stomped away, muttered a vicious insult at a slumbering Mercedes, and sauntered up to Rachel.
"Just tell me one thing, Berry," she screamed.
Rachel abruptly stopped singing and looked at Santana.
"How could you do it? How could you do that to Kurt? After all you've been put through because of Hudson, Puckerman, and St. James, how could you do the exact same thing to someone you have the nerve to call a friend?"
Confusion, guilt, and finally bravado flashed across Rachel's face. "It's not always about Kurt, buddy."
And that's when Santana Lopez knocked Rachel Berry the fuck out.
She returned to the living room, only to find Rainbow and Hot Lips back on the sofa with Kurt asleep, his head resting in Sam's lap.
She raised an eyebrow.
"Don't start," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "I think sleep is the best thing for him right now. You saw how he was earlier. It was kind of scary."
She allowed herself to nod.
"I thought he was having some kind of psychotic break. He sounded like a robot or something. After you left, he started freaking out because he realized he told us about Karofsky." He swallowed heavily. "Santana, he's really terrified of that guy. I didn't get it before, why he left, but now I do. Because what if Karofsky had tried…had tried to…"
Sam nodded miserably.
"We're not going to allow that to happen."
Sam shook his head resolutely.
"We're not going to let anyone hurt him anymore."
"No, we won't."
"It's the three of us now."
He nodded and then narrowed his eyes. "In every way?"
"Does that idea bother you?"
"But what about Kurt?"
She shrugged. "Hey, obviously Bland has an exception. Maybe Rainbow does too. Even if he doesn't, as long as I can watch, I'm good."
He snorted. "I think that's a ways off."
She nodded seriously. "I get that. He has a lot he needs to work through. All of our self-esteem is in the toilet. Right now, I'm just proposing an alliance of sorts between the three of us. We'll be there for each other for whatever we need. To hell with those fuckheads downstairs."
His eyes shined. "I'm down with that."
"Good." She gestured to Kurt. "Now pick him up and let's go. Try not to hump him."
Sam rolled his eyes again and gently lifted Kurt into his arms. He was surprised by how easy it was. Kurt was so light. He wondered if that was a good thing.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"My house. You've been drinking, and while you're probably sober by now, let's not take any chances. I'll bring both of you back tomorrow to get your cars."
He nodded. "What about Bland?"
"What about him? I'm sure Berry will be more than happy to give him a ride."
He cocked his head, a small smile on his face. "What did you do down there?"
"That's a loaded question." Finally, she sighed. "I dumped Quinn on your behalf. Hope you don't mind."
"Not at all."
"I slapped Hudson pretty damned hard. I told him that Kurt had you and me now, and therefore didn't need some fake homophobic brother. I told him we knew about Hudson calling him a fag and about how he interfered with your duet. Then I called him a hypocrite for doing to you what Puck did to him."
"And then I KO'd Berry."
He sputtered. "You did not."
Sam got Kurt settled in the backseat. He did this by once again placing Kurt's head in his lap, running his fingers through Kurt's amazingly soft hair.
"What about his dad?"
Santana paused. Good question. She shrugged and began digging through Kurt's tote, emerging triumphant with the boy's phone. She scrolled through the directory and dialed the entry for Home, placing it on speakerphone.
Sam raised a brow but remained silent.
"Mr. Hummel? Santana Lopez here."
There was a brief pause. "Hello, Santana. Kurt has mentioned you before."
"He has?" Her surprise was evident.
"Said you were the best female singer in that glee club of yours, after Mercedes."
She smiled against her will.
"Mind telling me what you're doing with my boy's phone? Is he all right?"
She sighed. "Kurt's had a difficult night, sir. I'm taking him home with me."
"He wasn't drinking, was he?"
"He and I were the only ones who weren't," she replied. "Instead, he was forced to watch the boy he loves make out with Rachel Berry."
"You heard me. Kurt is completely devastated. He rambled a lot in a weird voice, like he didn't even know where he was. He blames himself, thinks he's completely unlovable, and now is of the opinion that his being gay is some kind of punishment for him being a horrible person. He cried himself to sleep."
"Oh, Jesus. Please just bring him home. I'll take care of him."
"Can't do that, Mr. H. See, Kurt's my friend, and I've been a pretty shitty friend to him lately, so I'm going to make that up to him. You have no idea what he's going through."
"I'm his father!"
"And I'm a part-time dyke who had to watch the girl I love make out with her new boyfriend, Wheels. I can help Kurt through this. You can't."
There was a long moment of silence.
"I see. Thank you, Santana. Where was Finn during all of this?"
"Finn was too busy making out with Quinn Fabray, the girlfriend of his best friend, Sam Evans."
"What the fuck was going on at that party?"
She chuckled mirthlessly. "I wish to god I knew. This was a night from hell, and I'm just glad it's over." She paused. "Listen, Mr. H., while I've got you on the phone, I need to ask you something."
"Did you really tell Kurt to stay away from Sam? Because that's what Kurt told us, and he was really upset about it. So was I. So was Sam. Because Sam had no idea why Kurt had dropped him for the duet thing. He had agreed to sing with Kurt because he wanted to. He was really hurt when Kurt dumped him for no reason. Of course, tonight we found out that Finn told Kurt that singing with Sam would get Sam killed."
"Finn. Said. What?"
"Exactly, and that's only the tip of the iceberg of what Finn told him. You should ask Finn about that, by the way. Kurt just wanted a friend, and I can't blame him, because his friends really aren't living up to their obligations. Sam likes Kurt, thinks he's a cool guy, and doesn't give a shit that Kurt is gay. There are some guys like that, Mr. H. From everything Kurt's told me about you, I thought you were one of them. You hurt him bad. You pretty much told him that no guy would ever be willing to be his friend, and in Kurt's twisted mind, he interpreted that as him not being worthy of having friends, like there was something wrong with him."
Burt made a choking sound that was painful to hear.
"I know you probably didn't mean it that way, Mr. H.," she said in a more sedate voice, "but you know how Kurt is. He internalizes everything. He believes the world is against him because, for the most part, it is. So that's why I'm not bringing home tonight. He needs some time, okay? Time away from Blaine, from Finn, and, yeah, I'll say it, from you."
She sighed. "You have an amazing kid, Mr. H. I can't tell you how many parents I know who would kill to have a son like Kurt. I know you love him and Kurt knows that too, but it's pretty obvious that as accepting as you are, you haven't accepted it fully. He tells everyone in a fifty-mile radius how awesome his dad is, so it's time for you to come across. He needs you, Mr. Hummel, and you need to step up. Because if Kurt ends up some fucking statistic, your ass is mine, and I promise you won't see me coming."
"Did you just threaten me, girl?"
"I did. And I meant it. I'm not letting anyone hurt him anymore. Deal with it."
"I think I like you."
She snorted. "It won't last long. I'm not likeable. And that's fine, I don't really aspire to be. But the one thing your son has taught me is that it's important to be a good friend. So I'm going to be that for him, and I really don't give a fuck what you or anyone else thinks about it."
"Now I know I like you."
"You have the Glee directory, right?"
"Then you have my address and phone number if there's an emergency. I'll make sure Kurt is safely returned to you tomorrow, but expect me and Sam Evans to be regular fixtures in your house from now on."
"You're more than welcome, both of you."
"And in the interest of full disclosure, I should make you aware that I slapped the hell out of your stepson and punched out Berry. I left Harry Potter curled up in the pile of vomit in which he had passed out. He can figure out how to get back to your house and get his car. He's not Kurt's problem anymore; I'll make sure of that."
"Jesus, girl. Who the hell are you?"
"I'm Satan. Welcome to my new world order."