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[Fic] Stand at the Edge (2/?)
Stand at the Edge
Kurt/Finn, Finn/Rachel, eventual Kurt/Blaine | M | major character deaths, minor character deaths, bullying, homophobia, effemiphobia, violence, mass destruction, trauma, sex, grief, pseudo-incest, but I promise a hopeful ending
Summary: When humanity stands at the brink of the apocalypse, Kurt Hummel chooses to fight. But after he loses his stepbrother, winning that fight becomes a self-destructive obsession. As Kurt faces off against the end of time, where does salvation lie? Pacific Rim/Glee AU fusion. Mostly focused on Glee characters.
Previously: Prologue
September 2018
The first day of high school, for all that Kurt's been racing himself to get here, dawns like many others. The school bus may arrive earlier, the kids may be older, but it's much like previous September Tuesdays after Labor Day. Kurt's overdressed. He never waits to wear the new autumn styles even though the heat of summer lingers stubbornly, growing ineffably stale as the days shorten. Walking from the bus, across the parking lot, toward the main entrance to William McKinley High School, Kurt is determinedly not perspiring in the clinging morning warmth.
That's when he hears the jeering voice come uncomfortably close behind him: "Hey, check out the new chick."
He closes his eyes for a moment, slows his next step, but doesn't stop. Of course a new school comes with new bullies. Kurt opens his eyes, rolls his shoulders back, and keeps walking.
"You are a chick, aren't you?" comes a second voice.
Kurt doesn't speed up, deepens his breathing instead. There's someone coming up on his right side. Kurt attends to his peripheral vision.
"Sure walks like a chick," says a third guy, and there's a note of suggestiveness in the words that prickles a chill up his neck. The guy is moving closer behind him, to his left. Ahead, at the edge of the parking lot, Kurt spots a dumpster. They think they're going to to herd him toward it.
Kurt's heartbeat remains steady when he stops suddenly and pivots on the toe of one polished black boot. The three guys halt abruptly too, rocking forward on their toes. Kurt hasn't attended karate over the summer in favor of summer school classes to give him a head start here, but his body responds naturally: his joints and muscles seek balance and loosen, his mind clears and his awareness expands. He hasn't hit anyone outside the dojo since he started sixth grade. Hasn't had to.
Calmly, he regards his pursuers. They wear letterman jackets but have not yet earned their letters. All three of them are much bigger than him, and older of course. Which makes this all the more pathetic. So it'll be all the more satisfying once they grant him an invitation to kick their asses. "Good morning, gentlemen," he says, courteously enough, but he never did quite master respectful, so it comes out a little sarcastic.
"An ugly chick," the second guy says looking Kurt up and down. He's heavy set, dark-skinned, and has mastered well the bully's hallmark expression of dismissive scorn.
"Dude, that's seriously your voice?" says guy one. He has a short mohawk, and when he puts his hands on his hips to sweep his jacket away from his chest, puffed up and crassly intimidating, Kurt can see the outline of a nipple ring through the material of his Metallica t-shirt.
Kurt lets go of the strap of his satchel, prepares to shift his weight to allow it to slide off his shoulder. Steps his feet apart, keeps his back straight, his arms still and ready.
The third guy tilts his head appraisingly and laughs. He's got a good six inches on Kurt, broad-shouldered and thick-necked—sports bizarrely thin eyebrows. "I can't tell if it's an ugly chick or a tiny little fa--"
"Hey!" comes a new voice from behind Kurt. He turns his head just far enough to see movement.
"Leave him alone," says the fourth guy. His tone is assertive, and there's a flash of red: another letterman jacket.
"Come on, we're just having a little fun with him," says guy one.
"And it was only just starting to get good," Kurt says with a touch of venom, this time sincerely.
The trio appears surprised, so Kurt smiles at them, sweetly as he can.
"Puck, Karofsky, Z? Go to class," the new guy says, and he steps into view beside Kurt. He's very tall but not bulky, fair skinned, dark haired. And, as Kurt's body informs him with a sudden swoop of blood from his brain to his belly, very handsome. Great.
"Later, princess," says guy one and steps back. Guy two rolls his eyes and turns away, and guy three winks and blows him a kiss before also turning and moving away with his friends.
"Those guys..." tall and handsome says with a trailing sigh. Then he looks at Kurt with a bright, slightly vacant, but very earnest and endearingly crooked smile. "Are you okay?"
Kurt hitches the strap of his bag up his shoulder and smooths the front of his jacket. It's a new season design by Marc Jacobs. Or, it's as close as Kurt could get with his sketchbook and sewing machine. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you," he says, aiming for prim, but it comes out breathless and even higher than usual. Blinking again takes effort.
"Finn Hudson," says the guy, unfazed and still smiling. He sticks out his hand toward Kurt.
Kurt stares at it for a moment before taking it. "Kurt Hummel," he says.
"Cool," Finn Hudson says and shakes Kurt's hand firmly twice before he lets go. "Welcome to McKinley. I'll see you around."
"Yeah..." Kurt says, and he stands there for a few seconds more while his heart tries to pump the blood back up to his brain, and he watches Finn Hudson walk toward the entrance to the school.
.
The morning periods drag with introductions and orientations and too long roll calls. There's no material to learn yet and only trivial homework assignments. In second period his phone vibrates in his breast pocket.
Between classes, Kurt finds a quiet corner in the library to check it, finds an alert for a Breach Event. It's barely been two months since the last one. Kurt bites his lip and his heart pounds as he quickly launches his twitter app. Goes to his saved #BreachEvent timeline. There's not much information yet: the time of record and one category two Kaiju being tracked, destination undetermined. All eight Shatterdomes are on alert, preparing to launch Jaegers. The PPDC has designated the Kaiju Miscreant. Kurt creates a new timeline for the tagged name, pockets his phone, and then gets himself to his next class. He arrives less than a minute after the bell rings.
.
At lunch, Kurt finds an empty table. Sets down his tray, but ignores the food in favor of getting out his phone to check for updates. The new Chinese Jaeger, Crimson Typhoon, has deployed in Hong Kong. She was completed just weeks ago, the first of the Mark 4 Jaegers. Unique with her three pilot crew and armament, they've touted her as uncommonly fast and nimble, due to new advances in both the large scale engineering and an enhanced neural connection between machine and human.
"Hey," comes a girl's voice, soft and a little tentative.
Kurt flicks a look up. Recognizes the girl from his first period class where he'd admired her royal purple brocade waistcoat. She's smiling at him. "Hi," he says, smiles back.
"We had Geometry together," she says, "I'm Mercedes."
"I remember," Kurt says. "I'm Kurt."
"Do you mind if I join you?"
"Go ahead," Kurt says, and turns his attention back to his phone. Follows a link to a PPDC livestream.
So she sits opposite him with her lunch. Kurt doesn't look up. On the tiny screen, the video jitters, blurred with motion. The helicopter hovers over Crimson Typhoon's shoulder, but the camera is pointed out toward the empty, dark swells of the ocean. The Kaiju hasn't surfaced yet. The pilots will know where the monster is, how close he is, how fast he's moving, his angle of attack. But Kurt doesn't know.
This part is the worst: the wait before the charge. The last breath before the curtain rises and everyone gets to see what manner of beast has arrived to try to destroy them this time.
"What are you so intent on?" Mercedes asks him. "Lolcats? Angry Birds? Funny Youtube?"
"No," Kurt says. His eyebrows rise with his gaze. "Breach Event. There's a Kaiju en route to Hong Kong. They've deployed the new Jaeger, Crimson Typhoon. It's her debut." Kurt turns the phone to angle the screen so Mercedes can see too. "I've got the live feed from one of the chase vehicles."
She doesn't look. Instead, she reaches out and pushes the phone back toward him. "No, thanks," she says. "I can't watch that stuff. Especially not while I'm trying to have lunch."
Kurt's mouth comes open for a dumbfounded moment. He swallows and finds his voice. "You don't follow the Kaiju attacks?"
She shakes her head and spears a potater tot with her fork. "It's too horrible, thinking about the people in those cities?" Mercedes shudders. "And there's nothing I can do. I'm just a kid in Ohio, so no, I don't follow them."
Kurt stares at her for one long moment, and then his attention is drawn back to his phone, where the livestream has stalled. Somewhere in the Pacific, Miscreant is barreling toward Hong Kong. And soon, one of them--Crimson Typhoon or Miscreant—will land the first blow. Kurt tabs to his Twitter app, refreshes to see the 287 new tweets tagged #Miscreant. Then he taps on the first one with a new still from one of the chase 'copters. Can't make out much but a bright golden flare. That'll be the new plasma caster the Chinese Jaeger engineers have been excited about. Which means the Kaiju is there, now. "It's happening anyway," Kurt says in a rush. Glances up at Mercedes, sees her frowning at him, her head cocked.
He explains, "Whether you watch it or not, this still happens. The monsters still attack. People still die. The rangers still fight, to keep us safe—even if we're all the way back here in Ohio."
She shakes her head. "It's too scary and sad. All I can do is pray for us all, and I do most nights. But I can't deal with watching it and knowing."
"Then it's good there are people who can," he says, and it comes out more snippy than he means it to. He's never been good at that, moderating his tone of voice.
But Mercedes laughs. "Oh my Lord," she says. "Please tell me you're not one of those crazy fanboys who thinks it's all romantic and glamorous to be a ranger?"
The casual mockery he's used to, and Kurt doesn't confess his ambitions lightly. He knows what he looks like, what people think. His convictions, though, he's always ready to express them. Kurt presses his lips together for a moment while he collects the familiar words. He lifts his chin, and he speaks: "I believe it's important that we not look away from this. It's important to understand what's happening to us. It's important to honor the battle."
She shrugs and looks down at her plate, pushes a carrot stick toward her fish burger. "It doesn't change anything though, so why torture yourself with it?"
"My mother died in San Francisco on K-Day."
"Oh," she says and reaches across the table, puts her hand over his wrist. "I had no idea, Kurt. I'm so sorry."
He nods, looks down at her hand, dark and soft and warm upon his pale skin. Strangers rarely offer him comfort. People rarely touch him in friendship. But his eyes stay dry. An awkward silence settles between them. Kurt steals glances at his phone. The livestream stutters to life, but fails again quickly.
"Do you know Finn Hudson?" Mercedes asks him eventually. "Sophomore student council president? JV quarterback?"
Kurt feels his pulse flutter up near the root of his tongue. "I've met him," he says.
"You should talk to him sometime. I heard his father died in that attack too."
"Really?" Kurt's never met anyone else who lost someone then.
Mercedes nods. "Yeah, I heard he wants to enroll in the Jaeger program, train to be a pilot."
This information is a strange, unexpected thing. It makes Kurt's own plans for himself feel less like a weird little secret, even if he hasn't spoken them to Mercedes. But he also feels vaguely off, like despite his focus and goals, he's just a poser. Someone like Finn is clearly made for the program: athletic, charismatic, strong. Finn has a weight and agency in the world Kurt knows he lacks himself. He's striven hard to compensate with excellence in other areas, but someone like Finn, he just has it.
It doesn't help that the incident in the parking lot this morning left Kurt feeling small in a way he hasn't felt for a while. Alpha male jock rescues the nerdy little fairy? It's not the beginning to any kind of friendship that Kurt's ever seen. Pity, no matter how well intentioned, isn't a good foundation. "I doubt he'd want to talk to me," Kurt says.
"He's not like that. He's actually really nice to everyone."
"Huh," Kurt says and looks over at the table where the football jocks and cheerleaders are sitting, smiling and laughing together. Finn's there with them, well-liked and accessible.
"So what's your deal anyway?" Mercedes asks. "Rumor has it you're some kind of genius who's skipped a couple grades?"
"Huh?" Kurt says again, turning his attention back to Mercedes. Then he processes the question. "Third and ninth," he says.
"So you're a sophomore at... thirteen?"
He nods.
"Well that explains the baby face," she teases.
It's friendly, but Kurt doesn't laugh, just smiles thinly.
"Are you as smart as they say?" she asks.
"That depends on what they say."
"Well, you're in AP Geometry with me, so you must be pretty smart."
"Mostly I just work hard," Kurt says. He doesn't add that he finds geometry easy or that he simply doesn't have the time to waste. He intends to apply to the PPDC junior academy at fourteen--if his Dad approves and if his grades and extracurriculars are solid. It's highly competitive, and he wants to be as ready as possible. The Jaeger program needs engineers and mechanics as badly as they need pilots. With each attack, the Kaiju grow more cunning and strong, and each fight is harder fought; every Jaeger lost, a terrible set back.
Kurt looks back down at his phone, sees 412 new tweets, hopes the Wei brothers are succeeding. Loads the updates, scans down the line of them to try to get the general picture. Most of the messages are unspecific, heartfelt wishes for Crimson Typhoon to deliver various violent endings to Miscreant. @HKShatterDm's latest, as of two minutes ago, is, "#CrimsonTyphoon engaged with #Miscreant in close quarters, all systems online. Plasma caster deployed. #PPDC"
"Are they winning?" Mercedes asks.
"Too soon to tell," Kurt says, fidgets, sliding his thumb up and down the glass of his phone, dragging the tweets back and forth in a blur. Thousands of miles away, those three pilots—not that much older than himself--are fighting a monster together for the very first time. No matter how heavy their armor and powerful their weaponry, it doesn't make it any less an act of sacrifice and courage. Kurt's seen the battles when the Jaegers lose. They're ripped apart so savagely few pilots ever survive.
"I'll pray for them," Mercedes says.
"Thanks," Kurt says though he can't believe there's anyone listening.
.
On his way to American History after lunch, there's some buzz in the halls about the attack. Crimson Typhoon performed well. The pilots had good control. Kurt's watched the highlights from the battle already, seen how the new Jaeger outclassed the Kaiju with the speed and ferocity of her attacks. The triplets already have a signature move: the Twittersphere has dubbed it the Thundercloud Formation. He wonders how long the advantage will last.
Kurt pockets his phone and sits in an empty desk in the front row by the window. There's a flash of red beside him as someone takes the desk next to his. Kurt glances up and catches Finn Hudson looking at him. "Hi," Kurt says on half-stunned impulse. "Uh... it's Finn, right?"
"Yeah," Finn says, squints at him comically and points with both index fingers, like some kind of 1950's caricature. "Kurt Hummel."
Kurt covers his mouth to hide his sudden, involuntary smile. He is not going to be ridiculous about this or get his hopes up. He doesn't need the distraction.
But Finn doesn't turn away after the basic pleasantries are exchanged. Instead he asks, "You're a sophomore?"
Kurt bends down toward his bag as his face heats beneath Finn's attention. He's been getting variations on the question all day, so he gives the quickest answer he can so Finn can stop pretending interest and get on with ignoring him. "Yeah, I skipped a couple grades."
"Lucky," Finn says with genuine envy. It's almost enough to make Kurt laugh.
"Mmm," Kurt replies and digs out his pens: black, blue, red, and green.
But Finn isn't done. "No one's given you any more trouble today I hope."
"No," Kurt says, straightens, and loses his smile. He needs to discourage this, for his own sanity as much as anything. "For what it's worth, while I appreciate your gallantry, I didn't need rescuing this morning. I can handle myself."
"Okay," Finn says, and he has the decency not too look too skeptical. "But not everyone can, and I figure, if I keep an eye out, it'll discourage that kind of stuff, and things won't escalate, you know? I don't want to see anyone getting hurt. Not on my watch."
"That... actually..." It's not even close to the answer Kurt expected. He lets himself look at Finn, tries harder to see, knowing what he knows: that he and Finn may share some scars. "That makes sense," Kurt says.
"So are we cool, Kurt?" Finn asks without the slightest trace of pity.
The glib sounding question is anything but. Kurt hesitates, evaluates. Maybe it will be worth it. "Yeah, we're cool," Kurt says, smiles, and Finn gives him another knee-weakening, sweetly crooked smile back. It's still not fair.
The teacher comes in then, and Kurt is grateful for the excuse to turn his attention away from Finn and his distressingly handsome face. However, Kurt doesn't take much notice of the teacher's introductory remarks. He's too absorbed in considering again what Mercedes told him about Finn. Kurt decides: if an appropriate opportunity arises, he'll ask him about K-Day.
Kurt/Finn, Finn/Rachel, eventual Kurt/Blaine | M | major character deaths, minor character deaths, bullying, homophobia, effemiphobia, violence, mass destruction, trauma, sex, grief, pseudo-incest, but I promise a hopeful ending
Summary: When humanity stands at the brink of the apocalypse, Kurt Hummel chooses to fight. But after he loses his stepbrother, winning that fight becomes a self-destructive obsession. As Kurt faces off against the end of time, where does salvation lie? Pacific Rim/Glee AU fusion. Mostly focused on Glee characters.
Previously: Prologue
September 2018
The first day of high school, for all that Kurt's been racing himself to get here, dawns like many others. The school bus may arrive earlier, the kids may be older, but it's much like previous September Tuesdays after Labor Day. Kurt's overdressed. He never waits to wear the new autumn styles even though the heat of summer lingers stubbornly, growing ineffably stale as the days shorten. Walking from the bus, across the parking lot, toward the main entrance to William McKinley High School, Kurt is determinedly not perspiring in the clinging morning warmth.
That's when he hears the jeering voice come uncomfortably close behind him: "Hey, check out the new chick."
He closes his eyes for a moment, slows his next step, but doesn't stop. Of course a new school comes with new bullies. Kurt opens his eyes, rolls his shoulders back, and keeps walking.
"You are a chick, aren't you?" comes a second voice.
Kurt doesn't speed up, deepens his breathing instead. There's someone coming up on his right side. Kurt attends to his peripheral vision.
"Sure walks like a chick," says a third guy, and there's a note of suggestiveness in the words that prickles a chill up his neck. The guy is moving closer behind him, to his left. Ahead, at the edge of the parking lot, Kurt spots a dumpster. They think they're going to to herd him toward it.
Kurt's heartbeat remains steady when he stops suddenly and pivots on the toe of one polished black boot. The three guys halt abruptly too, rocking forward on their toes. Kurt hasn't attended karate over the summer in favor of summer school classes to give him a head start here, but his body responds naturally: his joints and muscles seek balance and loosen, his mind clears and his awareness expands. He hasn't hit anyone outside the dojo since he started sixth grade. Hasn't had to.
Calmly, he regards his pursuers. They wear letterman jackets but have not yet earned their letters. All three of them are much bigger than him, and older of course. Which makes this all the more pathetic. So it'll be all the more satisfying once they grant him an invitation to kick their asses. "Good morning, gentlemen," he says, courteously enough, but he never did quite master respectful, so it comes out a little sarcastic.
"An ugly chick," the second guy says looking Kurt up and down. He's heavy set, dark-skinned, and has mastered well the bully's hallmark expression of dismissive scorn.
"Dude, that's seriously your voice?" says guy one. He has a short mohawk, and when he puts his hands on his hips to sweep his jacket away from his chest, puffed up and crassly intimidating, Kurt can see the outline of a nipple ring through the material of his Metallica t-shirt.
Kurt lets go of the strap of his satchel, prepares to shift his weight to allow it to slide off his shoulder. Steps his feet apart, keeps his back straight, his arms still and ready.
The third guy tilts his head appraisingly and laughs. He's got a good six inches on Kurt, broad-shouldered and thick-necked—sports bizarrely thin eyebrows. "I can't tell if it's an ugly chick or a tiny little fa--"
"Hey!" comes a new voice from behind Kurt. He turns his head just far enough to see movement.
"Leave him alone," says the fourth guy. His tone is assertive, and there's a flash of red: another letterman jacket.
"Come on, we're just having a little fun with him," says guy one.
"And it was only just starting to get good," Kurt says with a touch of venom, this time sincerely.
The trio appears surprised, so Kurt smiles at them, sweetly as he can.
"Puck, Karofsky, Z? Go to class," the new guy says, and he steps into view beside Kurt. He's very tall but not bulky, fair skinned, dark haired. And, as Kurt's body informs him with a sudden swoop of blood from his brain to his belly, very handsome. Great.
"Later, princess," says guy one and steps back. Guy two rolls his eyes and turns away, and guy three winks and blows him a kiss before also turning and moving away with his friends.
"Those guys..." tall and handsome says with a trailing sigh. Then he looks at Kurt with a bright, slightly vacant, but very earnest and endearingly crooked smile. "Are you okay?"
Kurt hitches the strap of his bag up his shoulder and smooths the front of his jacket. It's a new season design by Marc Jacobs. Or, it's as close as Kurt could get with his sketchbook and sewing machine. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you," he says, aiming for prim, but it comes out breathless and even higher than usual. Blinking again takes effort.
"Finn Hudson," says the guy, unfazed and still smiling. He sticks out his hand toward Kurt.
Kurt stares at it for a moment before taking it. "Kurt Hummel," he says.
"Cool," Finn Hudson says and shakes Kurt's hand firmly twice before he lets go. "Welcome to McKinley. I'll see you around."
"Yeah..." Kurt says, and he stands there for a few seconds more while his heart tries to pump the blood back up to his brain, and he watches Finn Hudson walk toward the entrance to the school.
.
The morning periods drag with introductions and orientations and too long roll calls. There's no material to learn yet and only trivial homework assignments. In second period his phone vibrates in his breast pocket.
Between classes, Kurt finds a quiet corner in the library to check it, finds an alert for a Breach Event. It's barely been two months since the last one. Kurt bites his lip and his heart pounds as he quickly launches his twitter app. Goes to his saved #BreachEvent timeline. There's not much information yet: the time of record and one category two Kaiju being tracked, destination undetermined. All eight Shatterdomes are on alert, preparing to launch Jaegers. The PPDC has designated the Kaiju Miscreant. Kurt creates a new timeline for the tagged name, pockets his phone, and then gets himself to his next class. He arrives less than a minute after the bell rings.
.
At lunch, Kurt finds an empty table. Sets down his tray, but ignores the food in favor of getting out his phone to check for updates. The new Chinese Jaeger, Crimson Typhoon, has deployed in Hong Kong. She was completed just weeks ago, the first of the Mark 4 Jaegers. Unique with her three pilot crew and armament, they've touted her as uncommonly fast and nimble, due to new advances in both the large scale engineering and an enhanced neural connection between machine and human.
"Hey," comes a girl's voice, soft and a little tentative.
Kurt flicks a look up. Recognizes the girl from his first period class where he'd admired her royal purple brocade waistcoat. She's smiling at him. "Hi," he says, smiles back.
"We had Geometry together," she says, "I'm Mercedes."
"I remember," Kurt says. "I'm Kurt."
"Do you mind if I join you?"
"Go ahead," Kurt says, and turns his attention back to his phone. Follows a link to a PPDC livestream.
So she sits opposite him with her lunch. Kurt doesn't look up. On the tiny screen, the video jitters, blurred with motion. The helicopter hovers over Crimson Typhoon's shoulder, but the camera is pointed out toward the empty, dark swells of the ocean. The Kaiju hasn't surfaced yet. The pilots will know where the monster is, how close he is, how fast he's moving, his angle of attack. But Kurt doesn't know.
This part is the worst: the wait before the charge. The last breath before the curtain rises and everyone gets to see what manner of beast has arrived to try to destroy them this time.
"What are you so intent on?" Mercedes asks him. "Lolcats? Angry Birds? Funny Youtube?"
"No," Kurt says. His eyebrows rise with his gaze. "Breach Event. There's a Kaiju en route to Hong Kong. They've deployed the new Jaeger, Crimson Typhoon. It's her debut." Kurt turns the phone to angle the screen so Mercedes can see too. "I've got the live feed from one of the chase vehicles."
She doesn't look. Instead, she reaches out and pushes the phone back toward him. "No, thanks," she says. "I can't watch that stuff. Especially not while I'm trying to have lunch."
Kurt's mouth comes open for a dumbfounded moment. He swallows and finds his voice. "You don't follow the Kaiju attacks?"
She shakes her head and spears a potater tot with her fork. "It's too horrible, thinking about the people in those cities?" Mercedes shudders. "And there's nothing I can do. I'm just a kid in Ohio, so no, I don't follow them."
Kurt stares at her for one long moment, and then his attention is drawn back to his phone, where the livestream has stalled. Somewhere in the Pacific, Miscreant is barreling toward Hong Kong. And soon, one of them--Crimson Typhoon or Miscreant—will land the first blow. Kurt tabs to his Twitter app, refreshes to see the 287 new tweets tagged #Miscreant. Then he taps on the first one with a new still from one of the chase 'copters. Can't make out much but a bright golden flare. That'll be the new plasma caster the Chinese Jaeger engineers have been excited about. Which means the Kaiju is there, now. "It's happening anyway," Kurt says in a rush. Glances up at Mercedes, sees her frowning at him, her head cocked.
He explains, "Whether you watch it or not, this still happens. The monsters still attack. People still die. The rangers still fight, to keep us safe—even if we're all the way back here in Ohio."
She shakes her head. "It's too scary and sad. All I can do is pray for us all, and I do most nights. But I can't deal with watching it and knowing."
"Then it's good there are people who can," he says, and it comes out more snippy than he means it to. He's never been good at that, moderating his tone of voice.
But Mercedes laughs. "Oh my Lord," she says. "Please tell me you're not one of those crazy fanboys who thinks it's all romantic and glamorous to be a ranger?"
The casual mockery he's used to, and Kurt doesn't confess his ambitions lightly. He knows what he looks like, what people think. His convictions, though, he's always ready to express them. Kurt presses his lips together for a moment while he collects the familiar words. He lifts his chin, and he speaks: "I believe it's important that we not look away from this. It's important to understand what's happening to us. It's important to honor the battle."
She shrugs and looks down at her plate, pushes a carrot stick toward her fish burger. "It doesn't change anything though, so why torture yourself with it?"
"My mother died in San Francisco on K-Day."
"Oh," she says and reaches across the table, puts her hand over his wrist. "I had no idea, Kurt. I'm so sorry."
He nods, looks down at her hand, dark and soft and warm upon his pale skin. Strangers rarely offer him comfort. People rarely touch him in friendship. But his eyes stay dry. An awkward silence settles between them. Kurt steals glances at his phone. The livestream stutters to life, but fails again quickly.
"Do you know Finn Hudson?" Mercedes asks him eventually. "Sophomore student council president? JV quarterback?"
Kurt feels his pulse flutter up near the root of his tongue. "I've met him," he says.
"You should talk to him sometime. I heard his father died in that attack too."
"Really?" Kurt's never met anyone else who lost someone then.
Mercedes nods. "Yeah, I heard he wants to enroll in the Jaeger program, train to be a pilot."
This information is a strange, unexpected thing. It makes Kurt's own plans for himself feel less like a weird little secret, even if he hasn't spoken them to Mercedes. But he also feels vaguely off, like despite his focus and goals, he's just a poser. Someone like Finn is clearly made for the program: athletic, charismatic, strong. Finn has a weight and agency in the world Kurt knows he lacks himself. He's striven hard to compensate with excellence in other areas, but someone like Finn, he just has it.
It doesn't help that the incident in the parking lot this morning left Kurt feeling small in a way he hasn't felt for a while. Alpha male jock rescues the nerdy little fairy? It's not the beginning to any kind of friendship that Kurt's ever seen. Pity, no matter how well intentioned, isn't a good foundation. "I doubt he'd want to talk to me," Kurt says.
"He's not like that. He's actually really nice to everyone."
"Huh," Kurt says and looks over at the table where the football jocks and cheerleaders are sitting, smiling and laughing together. Finn's there with them, well-liked and accessible.
"So what's your deal anyway?" Mercedes asks. "Rumor has it you're some kind of genius who's skipped a couple grades?"
"Huh?" Kurt says again, turning his attention back to Mercedes. Then he processes the question. "Third and ninth," he says.
"So you're a sophomore at... thirteen?"
He nods.
"Well that explains the baby face," she teases.
It's friendly, but Kurt doesn't laugh, just smiles thinly.
"Are you as smart as they say?" she asks.
"That depends on what they say."
"Well, you're in AP Geometry with me, so you must be pretty smart."
"Mostly I just work hard," Kurt says. He doesn't add that he finds geometry easy or that he simply doesn't have the time to waste. He intends to apply to the PPDC junior academy at fourteen--if his Dad approves and if his grades and extracurriculars are solid. It's highly competitive, and he wants to be as ready as possible. The Jaeger program needs engineers and mechanics as badly as they need pilots. With each attack, the Kaiju grow more cunning and strong, and each fight is harder fought; every Jaeger lost, a terrible set back.
Kurt looks back down at his phone, sees 412 new tweets, hopes the Wei brothers are succeeding. Loads the updates, scans down the line of them to try to get the general picture. Most of the messages are unspecific, heartfelt wishes for Crimson Typhoon to deliver various violent endings to Miscreant. @HKShatterDm's latest, as of two minutes ago, is, "#CrimsonTyphoon engaged with #Miscreant in close quarters, all systems online. Plasma caster deployed. #PPDC"
"Are they winning?" Mercedes asks.
"Too soon to tell," Kurt says, fidgets, sliding his thumb up and down the glass of his phone, dragging the tweets back and forth in a blur. Thousands of miles away, those three pilots—not that much older than himself--are fighting a monster together for the very first time. No matter how heavy their armor and powerful their weaponry, it doesn't make it any less an act of sacrifice and courage. Kurt's seen the battles when the Jaegers lose. They're ripped apart so savagely few pilots ever survive.
"I'll pray for them," Mercedes says.
"Thanks," Kurt says though he can't believe there's anyone listening.
.
On his way to American History after lunch, there's some buzz in the halls about the attack. Crimson Typhoon performed well. The pilots had good control. Kurt's watched the highlights from the battle already, seen how the new Jaeger outclassed the Kaiju with the speed and ferocity of her attacks. The triplets already have a signature move: the Twittersphere has dubbed it the Thundercloud Formation. He wonders how long the advantage will last.
Kurt pockets his phone and sits in an empty desk in the front row by the window. There's a flash of red beside him as someone takes the desk next to his. Kurt glances up and catches Finn Hudson looking at him. "Hi," Kurt says on half-stunned impulse. "Uh... it's Finn, right?"
"Yeah," Finn says, squints at him comically and points with both index fingers, like some kind of 1950's caricature. "Kurt Hummel."
Kurt covers his mouth to hide his sudden, involuntary smile. He is not going to be ridiculous about this or get his hopes up. He doesn't need the distraction.
But Finn doesn't turn away after the basic pleasantries are exchanged. Instead he asks, "You're a sophomore?"
Kurt bends down toward his bag as his face heats beneath Finn's attention. He's been getting variations on the question all day, so he gives the quickest answer he can so Finn can stop pretending interest and get on with ignoring him. "Yeah, I skipped a couple grades."
"Lucky," Finn says with genuine envy. It's almost enough to make Kurt laugh.
"Mmm," Kurt replies and digs out his pens: black, blue, red, and green.
But Finn isn't done. "No one's given you any more trouble today I hope."
"No," Kurt says, straightens, and loses his smile. He needs to discourage this, for his own sanity as much as anything. "For what it's worth, while I appreciate your gallantry, I didn't need rescuing this morning. I can handle myself."
"Okay," Finn says, and he has the decency not too look too skeptical. "But not everyone can, and I figure, if I keep an eye out, it'll discourage that kind of stuff, and things won't escalate, you know? I don't want to see anyone getting hurt. Not on my watch."
"That... actually..." It's not even close to the answer Kurt expected. He lets himself look at Finn, tries harder to see, knowing what he knows: that he and Finn may share some scars. "That makes sense," Kurt says.
"So are we cool, Kurt?" Finn asks without the slightest trace of pity.
The glib sounding question is anything but. Kurt hesitates, evaluates. Maybe it will be worth it. "Yeah, we're cool," Kurt says, smiles, and Finn gives him another knee-weakening, sweetly crooked smile back. It's still not fair.
The teacher comes in then, and Kurt is grateful for the excuse to turn his attention away from Finn and his distressingly handsome face. However, Kurt doesn't take much notice of the teacher's introductory remarks. He's too absorbed in considering again what Mercedes told him about Finn. Kurt decides: if an appropriate opportunity arises, he'll ask him about K-Day.