Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

Note: This one is on prompt…my own prompt, that is. Five times, Artie helped Kurt after he'd been tossed into a Dumpster, and one time, Kurt helped him. Kurt/Artie friendship. Takes place in Season 1. Hope you enjoy it; reviews are welcome.

Kurt lay on his back, staring up at the sky, wishing it would swallow him whole. "God, my life sucks," he muttered as he lay on top of the garbage bags and other assorted rubbish. He squinted against the bright sun, wishing he'd had his sunglasses, as his light eyes were quite sensitive in this light. "Just let me dieeee."

"I don't think so," a voice sounded from outside the Dumpster.

"A-Artie?" Kurt turned his head towards the sound of the familiar voice.

"Yeah, it's me," Artie said softly. "What happened?"

"I was bored, so I crawled in here for entertainment," Kurt said sarcastically. He could feel Artie glaring at him from the oversized metal trash bin. "Okay, so Puck tossed me in here. Happy now?"

Artie shook his head. "Let me help you out of there."

"How? You can't even stand," Kurt scoffed.

"Just…reach your hand out to me," Artie insisted.

"Fine," Kurt rolled over to the side of the Dumpster, sticking his hand out, finding that it was easily slipping into the wheelchair-bound boy's.

"There," Artie said. "That wasn't so hard, now, was it?"

"No," Kurt murmured. He pulled himself up so that he was looking down upon his fellow Glee-mate. "How'd you even find me?"

"Those jocks might be strong, but they're not very smart. I heard Puck talking about it."

"And you came back for me?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" Artie smiled.

"Thanks," Kurt whispered gratefully.

"Anytime".

Thud.

Not again, Kurt thought, as he lay against the garbage again. His wrist throbbed from where he slammed it against the side of the Dumpster as he'd been tossed into it. He hoped it wasn't broken or sprained. He folded his hands across his chest, feeling like he was dying slowly, finding it fitting that he wore an all-black outfit today. He wished they'd stop throwing him in there. First time was bad enough, but must they do it again? And this sweater was an Alexander McQueen! Please, someone just find me…

"Kurt?"

Kurt gasped. "Artie?"

"I'm here. Let me guess. They tossed you in there again?"

"No. I'm looking for the brooch I lost last week," Kurt rolled his eyes.

"You're a horrible liar, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt blushed. "Can you help me out again? I think I hurt my wrist."

"Yeah, sure," Artie looked for something that he could use. He dug around in his backpack. "Oh, awesome, my sister left her jump-rope in here. I'm going to toss it in, okay? And you just grab hold and pull yourself out with it."

"It's worth a shot," Kurt sighed.

"Okay. Here it comes…" Artie expertly tossed one end of the rope into the Dumpster, tying the other end to his chair. "Okay. Now, pull."

Kurt took hold of it with his good hand and hoisted himself out of the bin. "God, you don't know how good it feels to get out of there."

"I'm sure it feels great. Now, let's go get that wrist looked at."

"Okay. And Artie? Thanks again."

"Anytime, Kurt."

So that's what they'd served at lunch today, Kurt thought. Chili. And now it's all over my outfit. Just my luck. He knew this now to be his third such Dumpster tossing. "Ewwww," he wiped the beans and sauce out of his hair the best he could. "Great, now I'm going to have to take fifty showers to get rid of this smell."

"Mmm, chili," someone said from the outside.

"It's not so delicious when it's all over you," Kurt groaned. "Artie?"

"At your service, Kurt."

"You don't happen to have a…spare change of clothes, do you?"

"I, in fact, do have a spare set I could loan you," Artie said, surprising Kurt.

"Great. Toss them up, please. I…I'll just leave these here. They're ruined, anyway."

"Gladly," Artie fished for them in his backpack. "They're just my gym clothes, but I think they'll fit you." He tossed the sweatpants and t-shirt up towards his friend.

"Thanks," Kurt called to him, slowly peeling off the chili-infused clothes. He quickly put on Artie's clothes, which, true to Artie's word, did fit him. He sat up slowly, saddened to leave behind his own shirt and trousers, but nonetheless jumped out of the trash bin without his friend's help.

"Hey, you got out without my help this time," Artie smiled.

"Yeah. I…thanks again for the clothes," Kurt gave him a little wave as he walked off to take a shower or three.

"Anytime," Artie cheerfully called after him.

"Why? Me?" Kurt lightly banged his head against the nearest trash bag with every word. This made his fourth Dumpster tossing of the year, and quite frankly, he was getting sick of it. It was December, and it was cold, and those punks had taken Kurt's coat before they'd tossed him over, leaving Kurt with a light shirt on. He shivered. It would be a long walk home at this rate, seeing as how his car was in the shop getting detailed, and surely everyone else had left by now. He stared up at the grey sky as two snowflakes fell onto the tip of his nose. "Oh, great," he moaned. It was cold, and now it was snowing, and he without anything to keep him warm.

"Thought I'd find you here."

"A-A-A-Art-i-i-e-e?" Kurt asked through chattering teeth.

"Oh, God, Kurt, you sound cold. What happened this time?"

"S-s-s-stole my c-c-c-oat. P-p-please help."

"I have an extra sweatshirt in my bag," Artie fumbled to get it. "It's my brothers', so it might be a bit big, but…" he balled it up and tossed it in, where it landed on top of Kurt.

Kurt put it on gratefully, feeling a bit warmer already. "Back up, I'm coming out," he warned Artie.

"But you've already come out," Artie said innocently, smirking a little.

Kurt glared at him from over the edge of the Dumpster. "Not funny."

"Sorry," Artie looked embarrassed. "Feeling warmer?" he asked as Kurt landed, cat-like, at his feet.

"A little, yeah, except now I have to walk home."

"Nope," Artie shook his head. "My dad can give you a lift."

"You really are the greatest, you know that?"

Artie blushed. "So I've been told."

"Thanks a million, Artie."

"Anytime."

"Owww," Kurt's breath hitched as a shooting pain shot up his ankle. It would be just his luck that he'd badly sprain—or possibly even break—his ankle in a freaking Dumpster. First his wrist, and now his ankle? God, this Dumpster diving was getting rather painful. He tried to sit up so he could get out, but he saw that there was no way to do this without seriously hurting himself, or at least, injuring the ankle even worse. "Help!" he called, hoping that someone was nearby to hear him.

"You rang?"

"How is it that you always know when I get tossed into this Dumpster?"

"My Kurt senses were tingling," Artie joked. "No, but I was on my way out when I heard you call for help."

"I think my ankle's broken," Kurt gasped as another jolt of pain went through it.

"Oh, God," Artie muttered. "Hang in there. I'm gonna get you out, okay? I just need an idea." He looked around, trying to think of something he could do to help the countertenor. "Hey, I don't know if you can, but…try to stand on your other leg. Then maybe you can get into my lap, and I can wheel you to help."

"It's worth a shot," Kurt struggled to get up. He grabbed the sides of the metal bin and pulled himself up on his right leg.

"Here, grab my hands," Artie reached up to him. Kurt did so. Artie's hands were warm and tough, but it was a good feeling. "Come on. I've got you. Try to jump into my lap."

"But I'll hurt you," Kurt's eyes widened.

"I can't feel my legs, Kurt. I'll be fine."

"Okay," Kurt closed his eyes, mustering up all his strength and pushing off, feeling as Artie, in turn, pulled him to his chair. There was a brief moment of freefall, and before Kurt knew it, he was in Artie's lap, safe and sound.

"Hi," Artie laughed.

"Hi, yourself," Kurt grimaced as his ankle throbbed.

"Let's get you to the nurse," Artie said, starting to roll off.

"Thanks," Kurt hugged Artie around his neck quickly.

"Anytime, Kurt Hummel."

Artie lay among the big, black trash bags, wondering how he'd gotten there. He wished he could get himself out, but his chair had been tossed in alongside him. True, he could just crawl over and toss it out, but that was risky. Maybe he'd just wait for the garbage truck to come along and find him. Maybe he'd just lay here for a few hours and watch the clouds roll by. Maybe…maybe…

"Ohmygod," a familiar voice muttered.

"Kurt?"

"Hi, Artie," Kurt called to him. "What happened to you?"

"Jocks got fed up of me helping you. They wanted to 'teach me a lesson' about 'helping queers'. Anyway…"

"Where's your chair?"

"In here with me," Artie glanced over at it. "Could you…?"

"Of course," Kurt said quickly, reaching around for it.

"To your right," Artie helped him.

"Oh," Kurt grabbed hold of it. "Got it!" He carefully pulled it out, setting it down on the ground. "Hang on, let me clean it off real quick," Kurt took out his pocket-sized Purell and wiped down the sea of Artie's chair. "There we go. Now, let me get you out." He pulled a box over and stood on it for a bit more height. He scooped Artie into his arms and hoisted him up, bridal-style. Artie smiled gratefully. He wrapped his arms around Kurt's neck for more support. Kurt gently brought Artie to his chair, setting him down slowly. "There," he whispered.

"Thanks," Artie said appreciatively.

"It's the least I could do. I mean, after all the times you helped me…" Kurt shrugged.

"Yeah," Artie pushed his glasses up. "Now…I know what it's like. To be tossed in a Dumpster, that is. To lie there, humiliated and helpless…"

"Sucks, doesn't it?"

Artie nodded. "I'm so sorry, Kurt."

"Don't be," Kurt got behind Artie's chair and began pushing him back towards the school. "After all, what are friends for?"

"Thanks again, Kurt."

"Anytime," Kurt smiled.