Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and fox, not me.

He knew something was wrong when he heard the hockey team laughing.

The guys on the hockey team didn't laugh, especially after a three-hour practice running suicides in the south gym. And yet there they were, laughing and talking loudly as they filed into the boys' locker room.

"I bet he's still in there," Karofsky howled. "He's probably still bangin' on those doors."

"And crying for his mom," Azimio added.

Finn dropped his football shoes into his bag and pulled on his sneakers. He tied them quietly, trying to figure out what they were talking about. Whatever it was, it didn't sound good.

"Are we just going to leave him that closet?"

Karofsky shrugged. "The night shift janitor will probably hear him," he said. "Besides, maybe getting stuck in a closet will teach him to stay in there."

Finn tied his shoes slowly as he put the pieces together. They had shoved someone in a closet. Some guy. They were going to leave him there.

I'll wait till they leave, then check it out, he thought. Poor kid. Probably some freshman who got in their way.

"Little faggot," Azimio snorted. "That ought to keep him in line for a while."

Finn froze. There was only one person they could possibly be talking about.

Karofsky pulled a cobalt blue jacket out of his locker and tossed on the bench. "Wonder how much I'll get on eBay for this," he said. "The fag's always talking about how expensive his crap is."

Now he knew.

Finn grabbed his gym bag and bolted. The door slammed behind him with a bang. He ran down the darkened, quiet halls of the high school.

It was seven o'clock. The football and hockey and cheerleading practices were finally over; people were heading home to parents and dinner and homework. If the hockey team had stuffed Kurt in a closet, it would have been at three o'clock, when classes were over and practices were beginning.

Four hours in a closet. Finn didn't like thinking about it.

He shouldered his bag and started checking the handles of every door he passed. "Kurt?" he called softly. "Kurt, are you there?" He didn't hear an answer. Finn picked up his pace.

If it was Wednesday, Burt would still be in Cleveland, delivering that Range Rover he'd repaired. He wouldn't have noticed if Kurt hadn't made it home, or called him to see if he was okay. Probably.

Finn rummaged in his pocket for his phone and hit the speed dial for Kurt's number. It rang multiple times before finally transferring to Kurt's annoying voicemail, the one where he sang along to some show tune. He closed the phone and jammed it back in the pocket of his jeans.

He opened the door to the choir room. A few pieces of sheet music had drifted to the floor of the risers. The cover was closed over the piano. A rolling rack of folding chairs had been moved over the closet doors.

Finn halted.

He inched towards the closet. It might have been possible that he heard something moving inside. Or it could just be his imagination. Or wishful thinking.

Finn approached the closed doors cautiously. "Kurt?" he said, his voice sounding too loud in the silence.

He jumped back when something began to bang on the closed doors, over and over and over again. It was like a live reenactment of a horror movie.

"Kurt, it's Finn," he called. "Calm down. I'll get you out." He got behind the rack and pulled it out of the way, the casters shrieking as they rolled across the tile floor. The second he had cleared the closet doors, they banged open, slamming into the walls with an ear-splitting clang.

Kurt burst out of the closet and didn't look back. He ran, stumbling across the room, lurching like he was drunk, and bolted down the hall. Finn only caught a glimpse of him, but it was enough for him to know that things were really, seriously wrong.

"Kurt!" he shouted, taking off after him.

He had never seen Kurt run like that before. Kurt wasn't a runner. Never was, never would be. And yet he had to actually jog to keep up with him. He chased him down the shadowed halls, trying to keep up.

Kurt ducked into the small teacher's bathroom in the south wing and flung the door closed. Finn grabbed the handle just as he heard the small, finite click of the lock. "Kurt?" he said, shaking the handle. "Kurt, c'mon. Talk to me."

The faucet turned on. Through the door he could hear the endless splash of the water, full blast, pouring into the ceramic sink.

"Kurt, it's okay," Finn reassured. "You can come out." No answer. Just the sound of water pouring.

Finn rattled the handle. "Kurt! Let me in!" he insisted. "I'm not going anywhere. Kurt!"

He kept it up, calling his name, shaking the door. He never got any answer, but he kept going anyway.

"Finn, if you have to pee that bad, there's a bathroom down the hall."

He whirled around. Quinn stood in the hallway, her cheerleading bag slung over her shoulder, her arms folded across her chest. She was wearing a sky blue dress and her hair, damp and curling after a post-practice shower, was clipped back on the sides. "You have to help me," Finn blurted out.

"With what?" she asked, not moving.

"The hockey jerks locked Kurt in the choir room closet after school ended," he explained. "I heard them talking about it when they came in from practice. I got him out, but he ran in there and he won't listen to me."

Quinn's arms dropped to her sides. "Is he all right?" she demanded.

"I don't know," Finn said. "I don't think so. He's been in there a while and he won't talk."

She took a step back. "So what do you expect me to do about it?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"He won't listen to me, but he might listen to you," Finn said. "He likes you better than me."

"But you live together. Why wouldn't he-"

"We got in a fight a few months ago," Finn admitted. He hadn't told anyone about the incident in the basement, and now didn't seem like a particularly good time to get into it. "We get along all right now, but he hasn't…he hasn't been the same around me since."

She looked away from him and bit her lip.

"Please, Quinn," he pleaded. "I'll never be able to get him out of there."

She paused. At long last she set her cheerleading bag carefully on the floor and approached the locked bathroom. She knocked lightly. "Kurt?" she called. "Kurt, it's Quinn."

He still didn't answer. Finn held his breath. It sounded like the water might have been turned down, just a little bit.

"Kurt, I just want to make sure you'll all right," she said. "Will you let me in, please?"

The water didn't stop, but there was a tiny muted click. Kurt had unlocked the bathroom door.

Quinn placed her hand on the knob and turned it slowly. Finn was at the wrong angle to look inside, but he heard her breathe in sharply. "Oh my god, Kurt," she whispered.

And that was all it took.

"I can't let my dad see," Kurt said. He was talking far too fast; his breathing was too quick and heavy. "My dad can't see. He can't! It'll kill him! It'll kill him!"

"It's going to be okay," Quinn reassured him, speaking in a soft low voice like someone would talk to a spooked animal. Kurt's breathing sounded awful, hitched and tight, like someone had seized his lungs and tried to hold them closed. "Let me see. Hold still and let me look." Finn waited, shifting his weight anxiously from one leg to the other. "Finn," she said, still in that soft voice. "I have a bottle of hand sanitizer in the outside pocket of my bag. Can you get it?"

"Sure," he mumbled. He unzipped the pouch and pulled out the travel-size bottle of clear hand sanitizer, then stepped into the tiny room and handed it to her.

Kurt stood in the middle of the room, his eyes wild. His face had been crudely marked over with a purple sharpie. Clumsily drawn rainbows arced over his cheeks and neck, and the word FAGGOT stood out on his forehead like a beacon. His skin was rubbed red and raw where he had attempted to scrub away the awful words with soap and water. Finn stared at him, unable to look away.

Quinn took the bottle from his drooping hand and poured some of the liquid into her fingertips. "This is going to sting a little, but it'll take the ink away," she promised. "Just hold still for me."

She touched her fingers to his cheek and began to rub at the purple permanent drawing with firm circular motions. Kurt flinched, but the deep purple lines began to turn lavender and drip away. Quinn worked slowly and methodically, pouring it into her palms and then rubbing it into Kurt's skin.

Finn ducked back into the hallway, feeling like he was gulping for air himself. I didn't know they would do something like that, he thought miserably. I thought they would stick to dumpster dives and slushies. Not something like this.

Quinn went back into the hall and tucked the nearly empty bottle into her pouch. "Finn, take off your shoes and give me your hoodie," she ordered softly.

"My what?" he stammered.

"You have your football shoes in your bag, don't you?" she said.. "Change into them and give the other pair to Kurt."

He bent to obey. "Did they really take his shoes?" he whispered. Quinn nodded. She took the items when he handed them to her and disappeared into the tiny room. He heard her talking to Kurt, urging him gently to just put his hands through the sleeves.

After a moment they both joined him in the hall. Kurt kept his head down. He was dwarfed by the size of Finn's jacket hanging off his shoulders and covering his hands. Finn's shoes looked clownish on him too; the visual effect of the combination would have been laughable if it hadn't been awful. Patches of Kurt's face were left lavender, and there was an entire section of his hair that was red and matted with dried blood. The knees of his skinny jeans were badly torn and reddened as well, as if he'd been forced on his knees and dragged.

Quinn tucked a protective arm around Kurt's thin waist. "Do you know where your things are?" she asked gently.

He shook his head. "They…they took it…I don't know where, but…"

His voice was still caught in that painful, breathless hitch, like a child that has cried too hard to breathe properly. Quinn tightened her arm around him. "Don't worry about it," she said. "I'll take you home."

She glanced up at Finn. "You too, I guess," she said.

He nodded. She kept her arm around Kurt and helped him take a step down the hallway. Finn bent to pick up Quinn's bag and followed him, almost hovering.

It was colder outside than he expected; October in Ohio was vicious and unpredictable. He shivered slightly in his thin tee shirt. Quinn seemed unaffected. She kept her arm tightly around Kurt and spoke to him quietly.

Kurt stumbled to a stop as they passed his car, parked in its usual spot. "I can drive," he murmured, pulling away from Quinn's protective arm. "Thanks, but I can drive home."

"No, you can't," she snapped.

Finn reached Kurt before Quinn did. He took him by the arm and pulled him away from the Navigator, as gently as he could manage. Kurt tripped over his borrowed shoes, falling against Finn's side.

"Sorry," Kurt mumbled.

Finn didn't know what to say. He just kept his hand on Kurt's arm, doing his best to keep him from falling over.

Quinn unlocked the doors of her little blue car and popped the trunk. "Put my stuff in there," she said. She took Kurt's hands in hers and led him to the passenger seat. Finn ducked his head and loaded their bags into the trunk.

"I need my stuff," Kurt mumbled. "They took my bag. I need it back."

Quinn tipped the passenger seat back so he could lie down and buckled him in. "We'll worry about that later," she said.

She brushed past Finn. "What should-"

"Sit in the back," she said.

He obeyed, taking the seat behind hers. Quinn got into the driver's seat and pulled away from the school. They rode in awkward silence without the token sound of the radio. Kurt stayed quiet, curling into the passenger seat with his arms wrapped around himself. Quinn drove with her left hand on the steering wheel and her right hand on Kurt's knee, occasionally rubbing her thumb lightly against the skin exposed through the rips in his jeans.

The Hudson-Hummel house was dark and silent. Finn had never wished so badly for his mother to be home. Quinn pulled into the driveway and parked. "Finn, do you have your keys?" she asked.

"Huh? Oh…yeah," he stammered.

"Give them to me," she said. "I don't think I can get Kurt up the steps."

Finn pulled his keys out of his pocket and handed them to Quinn, then got out of the car and opened the passenger side door. Kurt didn't turn around to look at him.

"Hey," Finn said softly. "Can you stand up?"

"Yeah," Kurt said. He unlocked his seatbelt and crawled out of the car. Finn wrapped an arm around him. Slowly he led him up the driveway and up the front steps. He could feel Kurt shaking.

Quinn had opened the door and turned on the lights. She stood in the doorway, waiting for them. "Kurt, you need to get cleaned up," she said, touching her hand lightly against his bruised cheeks.

"I'm fine," he mumbled. "Thanks for getting me home, but…"

He lost his balance. Finn grabbed him before he could fall. "Dude, you're not okay," he said quietly.

"You're going to have to carry him," Quinn said.

"No," Kurt said, shaking his head. "No, I'm fine. I'm really fine." Finn wrapped one arm around Kurt's shoulders and slid the other under his knees, then picked him up in one smooth motion. He was even lighter than he looked.

Finn carried Kurt down the stairs to their bedroom. Quinn followed them and turned on the lights. Kurt turned his face away, burying his cheek against Finn's broad shoulder, as he carefully carried him into the room and set him down on his bed.

Quinn was beside him in a heartbeat, helping him into a sitting position. Finn backed away and let Quinn take over. She slid Finn's hoodie off of Kurt's arms and set it aside, then took off his shoes. His feet were badly scraped and bleeding. Finn wasn't sure he wanted to know what had happened to cause that.

Kurt stared blankly at the wall, dazed. Quinn pulled her phone out of her pocket. "What are you doing?" Finn asked.

"We need pictures," she said.

"For what?"

She bit her lip and steadied the phone. "Proof," she said. "They can't get away with this."

Kurt grabbed her by the wrist. "No," he pleaded. "No, it won't do anything."

"We have to take this to the police," she said. "This wasn't just some random bullying, Kurt. They went after you. They hurt you."

"It'll just be worse next time," he said, his voice rising.

Finn opened his nightstand door and rummaged through the junk. "What are you doing?" Quinn asked.

He pulled out the camera that he had gotten for Christmas a few years earlier and rarely used. "You'll need better pictures," he said quietly. "Kurt, if we go to the police, there won't be a next time."

Quinn picked up the camera, balancing it carefully in her slender hands. She reached over and tilted Kurt's chin towards her. She took a photograph of his marked face, the flash making the faded purple marks shine back into focus.

She handed the camera back to Finn and gently unbuttoned the torn, bloodied remains of his shirt. He winced as she lifted his arms and tugged the shirt away. She tossed it on the floor and picked up the camera.

Every shutter click sounded like a gunshot in the silence. Kurt allowed Quinn to raise his arms and turn him gently so that she could take pictures of his injuries. Finn realized idly that he had never seen Kurt without his shirt on. He was thin and pale, but his skin was marked with bruises and scrapes.

Quinn took Kurt by the elbows and made him stand up. He stood by his bed, shaking like a leaf, as Quinn unfastened his jeans and tugged them down around his hips. "C'mon," Finn heard her say to him gently. "C'mon. It's okay."

She helped him take off his jeans. His knees were torn up- red and dirty with gravel. He held his chin high, still stubborn in his pride, as she documented the marks on his thin legs.

Quinn stepped back and looked him up and down. "You look awful," she said quietly. "Go take a shower. I'll make you something to eat."

He wrapped his arms protectively around himself, dressed only in his dark green boxers, looking smaller and younger than Finn had ever seen him. "I'm fine," he repeated in a tiny hoarse voice.

"No, you're not," Quinn said flatly. "You're not going to win this argument. Go take a shower, Kurt, and then you're going to come upstairs and eat something." He turned around and walked into the bathroom, closing the door securely behind him. "Is he going to be all right?" Finn asked.

She shrugged. "Stay here in case he needs help," she said. She turned and walked up the stairs. Finn sank down to Kurt's bed, staring at the floor and listening to the sound of the shower running.

He wasn't good with situations like this. Whenever someone got hurt in football, he slunk to the sidelines until someone else had taken care of it. Whenever a girl cried during glee rehearsal, he let someone else handle it.

Now he was stuck.

He picked at the decorative stitching on Kurt's satin comforter. How did things get like this? he thought unhappily.

He knew he could have done more to keep the whole bullying thing in check. It was just hard. Every time he stepped in to fight Kurt's battles for him, it gave Karofsky and Azimio that much more ammunition against him, to make his life a living hell.

That's not fair, he suddenly realized.

It wasn't fair for Kurt to fight all of his battles alone, staring his enemies down with nothing a hair toss and a well-timed insult. Kurt could stand up for himself with his words, with his attitudes, but physically?

Not so much.

Something clattered upstairs. Finn listened closely; he heard whatever it was roll noisily across the floor, and then Quinn swore. That was never good. Quinn didn't swear much, but when she did, she meant business.

Finn ran up the stairs. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Quinn sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. "I'm fine," she said. She got up and picked up her phone from where it lay discarded on the floor.

"You swore," he said.

"So?"

"You don't swear unless something's really, really wrong," he said quietly.

She sighed and turned towards the stove. "I called the police to file the report," she said. She picked up a wooden spoon and stirred the contents of a saucepan. "They want me to come in first thing tomorrow with the pictures."

"So?" he said. "Isn't that a good thing? They want to help."

She put her hands on the counter. "We shouldn't have to do this, Finn," she said through her teeth. "No one should have done this to Kurt in the first place. No one deserves it, especially not him."

He stood awkwardly in the doorway of the kitchen. "Bad things happen," he said. "We can't…we can't go back and fix it, but we can do what we can to help."

She kept her back to him. "I just want to go home and pretend this didn't happen," she said. "But I can't…I can't leave him alone like this."

Her voice trembled and her shoulders shook. Without thinking, Finn walked over and put his hands on her upper arms. "It's okay," he said.

His attempts at comfort were apparently an abject failure, because she began to cry in earnest, hiding her face in her hands. "What?" he said, drawing back. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," she said, gulping in a deep breath and wiping her hands across her damp face. "I'm sorry. I just…this is the first time we've actually talked since you found out that you weren't…that Puck and I…"

"Yeah," he said softly.

She turned back to the stove, trying her best to not look him in the eyes. "I really am sorry," she whispered. "I made a mistake, and I dragged you into it, and-"

"Quinn," he said. She looked at him over her shoulder, her blonde curls falling around her face. "I know."

Her chin trembled. "You would have been a really good dad," she said.

He half-smiled. "And you would have been a really good mom," he said. "You're doing a great job with Kurt."

She fiddled with the knobs on the stove. "You should check on him," she whispered.

He reached over and squeezed her shoulder, then walked away. The shower had stopped running, and the air smelled warm and heavy with shampoo. He stopped on the landing and leaned over the railing. "Kurt?" he called.

No one answered. He walked into the room and looked into Kurt's side of the room. Kurt was curled up on his bed, half dressed in loose pajama pants, his wet hair making a dark splotch on his pillow.

Finn knelt down beside him. "Hey," he said softly. "Are you okay?"

Kurt opened his eyes slowly. "I'm fine," he said.

"Quinn's making you something to eat," he said. "Do you want to stay here, or do you want to go upstairs?"

He turned his face further into the pillow. "I'm not hungry," he said.

"Kurt, you haven't eaten since lunch," Finn said. "And you've been through hell. You need to eat."

Kurt closed his eyes and refused to answer.

"If you don't, Quinn will just force you."

Kurt sighed and pushed himself into a sitting position, keeping his hands closed in fists. "Let me get my shirt," he said, his voice sounding raspy.

Kurt tried to stand up, but Finn picked up a clean tee shirt from the open dresser drawer and handed it to him. He put it on slowly, as if it was too painful to move his arms.

"Can you walk?" Finn asked.

"I can handle it," Kurt said stiffly. He stood up cautiously, his legs still wobbling, but he pushed away Finn's attempts to help him. It took him a while to walk across the room and pull himself up the stairs, holding on tightly to the railing. Finn followed close behind him. He kept his hands out, just in case Kurt stumbled. But luckily he made it up the stairs without falling.

Quinn looked up when she heard them coming. She had scrubbed away any trace of tears; her eyes only looked faintly red-rimmed. "You shouldn't be moving around so much," she scolded.

"It's fine," Kurt said. He lowered himself slowly onto the couch. He hid it well, but Finn still noticed when he clamped his lips together in pain. He sat down on the opposite edge of the couch, unsure of what to do.

Quinn picked up a throw blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over him. "Lie still," she said, tucking it around him securely. "I made you some soup."

"I'm not hungry."

She ignored him and went into the kitchen, reappearing a few minutes later with a mug full of soup, a sandwich, and a tall glass of water. "You need to eat at least a little bit," she said, setting it out on the coffee table.

Kurt closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I can take care of myself," he said.

"Either you eat, or I'm going to feed you," she said.

Reluctantly he picked up the mug and ate a spoonful of soup, making a face at her as if to passive-aggressively declare that she wasn't the boss of him. But the one bite turned into several, and soon he was tearing into the food as if he was starving.

Finn fiddled with the television remote and it turned on, suddenly blaring into the silence. He turned it down quickly, but Kurt and Quinn didn't seem to notice. She was still watching him closely, with a strange expression on her face, as if she desperately wanted to say something and couldn't.

Finn flipped around the channels, trying to find something that Kurt might actually want to watch. He switched past a football game and a soccer match before settling on a movie on TBS. Kurt didn't seem to notice. He kept eating, steady and methodical, like he was trying to pretend they weren't there.

Quinn got up, patting Kurt's knee as she passed him, and walked down the hallway. Finn cleared his throat. "How're you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine," Kurt said quietly. He picked up the glass of water and sipped it slowly.

Quinn walked back towards them with a plastic case in her hand. She set it down on the floor and took the dishes from Kurt's hands. "Sit up," she said.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She pulled the blanket back and shifted his legs so his feet touched the floor, then pushed the hems of his pajama pants up to his thighs. The deep scrapes on his knees had been cleaned of dirt and gravel, but they were still red and raw. Quinn opened the plastic case and pulled out a bottle of disinfectant.

"This is going to hurt," Quinn said quietly.

She poured a small amount onto a clean beige washcloth and dabbed it against Kurt's left knee. He winced and grabbed the armrest of the couch. Quinn continued to work over Kurt's injuries, keeping her eyes steadily on his knees. Finn watched her smooth slender hands touch the washcloth against the angry red marks.

Kurt suddenly lunged forward. Quinn dropped the washcloth and put her hands on his shoulders. "What's wrong?" she said softly.

"That hurts," he said through his teeth, wrapping his arms around his stomach. "That really hurts."

"Do you want to lie down?" she asked. He nodded.

She glanced over her shoulder at Finn. It took a second for him to realize it, but he understood what she meant. He reached over and moved Kurt so his shoulders were against the armrest and his legs were propped up on the couch. Quinn sat down next to him and poured the pale blue disinfectant onto the washcloth.

Finn saw Kurt brace himself. Without thinking, he reached over and took Kurt by the hand. Kurt gripped his hand tightly, his thin knuckles turning stark white. Quinn kept working, cleaning out the deep red scrapes. She set the washcloth aside and picked up a tube of neosporin and a roll of gauze. Kurt watched her, his eyes wide, as she lifted his knee, smeared neosporin over the wound, and wrapped the bandages over the deep scrape. She worked over his knees, doing her best to be as gentle as possible.

After a while she moved to the far end of the couch and lifted his right foot onto her lap. "You'd better not kick me," she murmured.

Kurt tightened his grip on Finn's hand; Finn wasn't sure if he had any feeling left in his fingers. Quinn touched the cloth to Kurt's foot, and he hissed through his teeth. "Stop it," he said. "Stop it, stop."

She leaned back. "Kurt, it's going to get worse if you don't let me take care of it," she said.

He pulled away, dropping Finn's hand, and lurched to his feet. "I can take care of it myself, okay?" he said.

He only made it a few steps before falling forward. Finn's reflexes kicked in; he jumped up and grabbed Kurt around his waist before he could hit the floor.

Kurt was shaking. It took Finn a moment before he realized that he was crying. "Hey," he said, unable to mask the surprise in his voice. "Hey, c'mon, Kurt. You're okay."

He tugged Kurt back and set him down on the couch. He buried his face in his hands and curled up in the corner. Quinn sat down beside him and put her arms around him. Kurt didn't seem to notice her.

"Can't you tell us how this happened?" she said softly.

Kurt kept his face hidden. "I ran into the hockey guys when I was leaving school," he said, his voice quiet and tense. "It was in the parking lot. They started roughing me up…I figured it would end with the typical dumpster dive. But…I might have said some things I shouldn't have. It just made them angrier."

He swallowed hard, his hands still covering his face. Quinn pulled him a little closer, until her cheek was resting against his temple. "They took my stuff. They took my shoes. And they dragged me though the parking lot," he said. "I guess they knocked me out for a while, because I kind of don't know what happened. All I know is that I woke up in the choir room, and they were drawing on my face. Then they…they shoved me in the closet and moved the chairs over it."

He moved his hands away from his face and held them out, shaking. His fingernails were torn and broken, and his hands were badly scraped. Quinn cupped his hands in hers.

"I was in there for a really long time," he whispered.

He looked awful by that point- his face blotchy, his eyes red-rimmed, his lips trembling. Quinn tugged him gently against her, putting one arm around his thin waist and the other against the side of his head. She stroked her fingers through his hair. He leaned heavily against her.

Finn moved a little closer and sat down on the back of the couch. He put his hand on Kurt's shoulder and rubbed his thumb against the back of his neck. "It's not going to happen again," he said. "I…I won't let it happen again."

Kurt sagged in Quinn's arms and she hugged him tightly. Finn stood by them, feeling helpless. All he knew was that this couldn't happen again. And it wouldn't happen, if he had anything to say about it.

Author's Notes:

Wow. I like making Kurt suffer, apparently.

This is a oneshot at the moment, but if enough people are interested- and can help me out with ideas- I might be able to expand upon this.

Also, it is entirely true that permanent marker comes off with hand sanitizer. The more you know!

I really like exploring the idea of Quinn stifling all of her desires to be a mother. And Kurt needs somebody to mommy him. So it works out.

I also realized that Finn and Quinn haven't really talked since he found out he wasn't the baby's father. That's something else I might explore.

Special thanks go to I Spiked the Ice Cream and psychopiratess, who read this (well, most of it) first. They're my dynamic duo beta-reading team. They're pretty awesome. And they're sisters. And I'm practically sister #3. So we're all pretty awesome.

Aaaaand I'm rambling.

Let me know what you think of this, and if you want to see more from this story!