----------------

Kurt woke to a bright light shining in his eyes, strange smells, and a man's voice that wouldn't stop talking. He just wanted to go back to sleep, but self preservation forced him to take stock of this new situation and determine if he needed to run.

"Hey, Buddy, can you tell me your name? His pupils are responding. That's good. Buddy, come on, you can do it."

A soft, woman's voice spoke next. He knew that one and it filled him with comfort. "Honey, we need to know your name. Do you remember it?"

"Kur...t."

"Do you know who I am?"

Kurt pushed through the fog. He knew this one. "Carole."

"That's right. You're doing really good, Sweetie."

The human male spoke again. "Can you tell me what happened to you?

A surge of panic swept through Kurt's body. Flashes of looming shadows coming out of the darkness, fists, and booted feet. Ice and his boyfriend lying on it, unmoving. "Blaine. Where's Blaine?"

"Blaine is fine. He's with another doctor."

Kurt tried to focus his eyes on his surroundings, on the objects behind Carole. The medical equipment in his curtained off area and the smell of antiseptic was not reassuring. "Where...where am I?'

"At the emergency clinic."

"No!" This was bad. Very bad. Kurt struggled at the hands pushing him down. "No! Let go. Blaine! Run!"

Carole tried her best to reassure the scared boy. Even in his injured state he was strong and it took both her and the doctor to press him back onto the bed, hoping they weren't making his condition worse. "Kurt, you're hurt. Please lay back down. I promise you're safe. No one is going to harm you or Blaine."

"Please, let me go." Every inch of his body screamed with pain and it begged him to stop, but he had no choice. He had to run. He had to keep his boyfriend safe. He couldn't let him be hurt further. "Blaine!"

"This clinic isn't like the other one. It's safe. I promise. Doctor Howell and I are just trying to help you."

"I want to see him."

"After we check you out. Please let us help you, Honey."

Kurt looked into Carole's eyes, felt her hand on his arm, no longer holding him down, but offered in comfort. She had never hurt him before, never put him in danger. With how bad he felt, it was time to trust her again. "Promise?"

"I promise."

"Okay."

The man's voice returned and did his self assured, grinning face. "Blaine is with Doctor Jones. She's going to take good care of him. My job is to worry about you. Call me Doctor Carl. Can you tell me where it hurts, Kurt?"

Kurt tried to roll his eyes, unsure how successful he was at it. "Everywhere."

"I bet. Where's the worst pain?"

That was also a stupid question, but he tried to answer it anyway. "Head, face, shoulder, leg, chest."

"Are you having trouble breathing?"

"A little. Mostly hurts." The questions became shorter, more clinical and direct. Fired off at a fast pace that he struggled to keep up with.

"Which leg?"

"Um...left."

"Which shoulder?"

"This one." He moved his hand to where it hurt.

"Your right?"

It took Kurt a minute to figure out the answer. "Yes."

The doctor nodded after each answer, marking his patient's responses on the chart in his hands, and summing them up in his head. He gave the kid his best charming smile. He had always been praised for his bedside manner. "Kurt, I'm not going to lie to you. You are pretty messed up. The good news is that I don't think you're in any immediate danger. We need to run some tests and do a more thorough assessment, so you and I are going see a lot of each other tonight and mostly likely the next couple of days. But first, we need to get you into one of those embarrassing medical gowns. We'll make sure your privacy is maintained as much as possible though, okay? Is it alright if Carole helps you into it or would you prefer a different nurse?"

Kurt nodded his assent. It was a bad idea. Verbal replies were better. They didn't make his head swim as much. "Carole is fine."

"Alrighty then. I'll see you in a bit. Nurse Carole, retake his vitals and let me know if anything changes. I'm going to go see if the CT machine has decided to work tonight."

"And if it hasn't?"

"I'm going to whack it really hard."

Carole laughed at the joke and pulled the curtain fully around the patient assessment area Kurt was in. "How are you doing, Sweetie?"

"Feel sick."

"Like you want to vomit?"

Kurt forgot he wasn't supposed to move his head.

Carole reached for a bedpan before her charge could reply and caught his mess just in time. "That's common with concussions. Get it all out. You'll feel better."

Given how little he'd eaten the last couple of days, Kurt was surprised there was that much. "Sorry."

"I've been a parent for twenty years and a nurse for longer. A little puke doesn't bother me. Do you think you're finished?" At Kurt's whispered "yes," she set the pan down and held the straw sticking out of a small cup of water to his lips. "Have a few sips to get the taste out, but not too much. Don't want to upset your stomach again."

Kurt was grateful for relief the water provided, but surprised when he saw blood left on the straw. A tooth wiggled when he pressed his tongue against it. Fuck.

"Don't worry, Kurt. We're going to take good care of you. Doctor Howell studied dentistry before he switched to internal medicine. Do you think you're ready to get changed now or do you need to vomit again?"

"I'm ready." He braced himself for what was to come. This was Carole. She was safe. At least she had been so far.

"We're going to start with your boots and coat and work our way through the layers. Any time you feel uncomfortable or in pain, you let me know and I'll stop. I'll keep your exposure to a minimum." Carole looked for confirmation before starting. Sadly, she'd had too many patients that had been abused in the ways Kurt had and it broke her heart. She kept her touches methodical, clinical, and gentle; her words carefully chosen, and apologized when the movement caused him pain. Her mind kept note of the recent injuries, some layered upon old ones. The bruises on his arms and chest were extensive, as were the cuts on his face. As she helped Kurt remove his cargo pants and long johns, scissors at the ready should it be less painful to cut them off, she was relieved that his leg didn't appear to be broken. The dark patch of bruising and sharp pain at the back of his thigh was most likely a hamstring tear. She'd seen a lot of them and not just the one her son had gotten playing football in high school.

"We're almost done, Kurt. I'm sorry, but the doctor needs everything removed. Do you want to do it on your own or would you like me to help?"

Kurt looked away and tried to focus his mind on anything but what was being done to his body. He couldn't bring himself to answer her directly, unable to stop his voice from its low whisper, repeating, "It's okay. It's okay. It's okay." He tried to turn on his side, fumbling to open the snap at the back of his underwear. He felt Carole's hands do it for him and then pull away. Clenching his eyes shut, he pushed his briefs down his legs as far as he could manage, not quite realizing his chant had changed to, "This is different. This is different."

Carole did as promised, keeping Kurt's nudity as brief as possible, slipping the gown over his arms, tying it shut in the back, and removing his underwear the rest of the way after covering his body with a blanket. From what she had seen, there didn't appear to be any fresh trauma to his genitals or buttocks. The doctor would do need to do a thorough examination though, given the severity of the attack and his past history.

She gave him a moment to collect himself. He looked so dejected and helpless. She was used to scared Kurt, angry Kurt, Kurt in pain after being attacked by bees, and Kurt sick with the flu. But never had she seen him this broken and resigned to the unknown fate that awaited him. The mom in her wanted to cry and hold him and tell him everything would be fine. The nurse in her knew her patient needed professionalism. She settled on a compromise of the two. "I'm going to help you get through this, Kurt. Every step of the way if you need me. Alright?" She retrieved the blood pressure cuff and wrapped it around his least damaged arm. "I need to retake your vitals and then draw some blood. Are you fine with that?"

Kurt shrugged, gasping out loud at the pain the movement caused.

"I'm sensing the good pain killers in your future...and cheesecake if you feel up to it." She was pleased her offer had been met with a smile and perked up ears. It was a good sign that he was still in there and would make it through. She pumped up the cuff, put the tips of the stethoscope in her ears, and pressed the tunable diaphragm to his brachial artery. His blood pressure was still high and she made a note of it on his chart. She talked him through the steps as she took his temperature, slipped the pulse oximeter on his finger, and then got out the equipment for the blood draw, grateful she'd been trained in phlebotomy.

Carole regretted what she had to ask of the kid next, but it was necessary. She kept her words and actions as clinical as possible. "I'm going to need a urine and fecal sample, Kurt. Do you feel you could produce the necessary bowel movements?" She continued after his nod. "Would you like to do it here or in the bathroom?"

Knowing he didn't have a choice in the matter, not a real one anyway, he gave his consent, stealing himself for the mortification to come. Carole had treated him with respect and as a nurse, this was just another day for her. Hell, given the places he'd had to relieve himself while homeless, a medical setting was the least embarrassing. Internal pep talk done, he replied to her as he tried to sit up. "Here is fine. Hurts to walk." He watched as Carole changed her gloves and retrieved a fresh bed pan, two specimen cups, sterile wipes, and what looked like a tongue depressor. He followed her instructions, embarrassed that she had to see him fully exposed and help when his dominant hand couldn't grasp the urine collection cup properly. He was grateful he had "voided," as she had called it, not realizing how full his bladder was until offered the opportunity to empty it. He allowed her to help him clean up, unable to keep hiding how much the movements needed for the collections had hurt.

Further relief came when he was allowed to lie back down and Carole covered him with the blanket, promising to return with news of Blaine once she had dropped the samples off. Kurt tried to thank her, but sleep came on him fast and he drifted off into a restless oblivion.

* * * * * * *

"Hey, Kurt, can you wake up for me? Come on, Buddy, I know you're tired, but I need you to wake up."

"No." Kurt clamped his eyes shut and turned away from the annoying voice.

"Don't make me break out the light pen thingy. What is the name of that Nurse Carole? I can never remember."

"Pen light."

"There's not a fancy word for it?"

"Not as far as I know."

"Don't become a doctor, Kid. All that technical jargon? It messes with your head."

Kurt tried to bat away the hand that was forcing his eyelids open and the other holding the light, but he couldn't make the connection.

"I warned you. His pupils are responding to light. Reaction time is slow and coordination is bit of a mess. Okay, Kurt, time to find out just how extensive your injuries are. If anything hurts or you need me to stop, let me know. Nurse Carole is going to be here with you the entire time. Are you okay with that?"

He glared at the man. "I don't have a choice."

"Mmm...technically you do. No one is going to force you to stay, but I really think you should."

"Fine." He was more annoyed that he wasn't allowed to go back to sleep than anything else. He knew he needed help. It was better than last time when he'd curled up behind some abandoned warehouse thinking he was going to die. The hand Carole laid on his arm was reassuring and he tried to accept the comfort that was offered with it.

"Kurt, I'm going to help you sit up and then I'll have to untie your gown and drop it to your waist so the doctor can check your lungs and heart, and then start assessing your injuries and potential damage to your internal organs. Are you alright with that?"

Kurt nodded his agreement. This was going to suck, but he liked that they asked first, instead of just touching him without warning nor a care to his feelings. He couldn't take the deep breaths Doctor Carl wanted and he didn't need the guy to tell him why. He'd broken ribs before. Or rather, other people had broken his ribs. The pain was a familiar one. "Ow! Ow! Ow! Fuck!" The one in his shoulder as it was manipulated wasn't. "Fucking hell!"

"Sorry about that. As stupid as this sounds, I'm going to need you to tell me on a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, what is the level of your pain in that area?" The man chuckled at the non-verbal reply. "I think we can count that as an eleven, Nurse Carole." He backed away from the bed a few steps to allow her to move into his place. "Carole is going to help you pull your gown back up and then I'll examine your face, mouth, and head. Please don't bite me. It's the one thing I hated about dental school aside from all the halitosis."

The joke seemed familiar to Kurt, but he couldn't place it. He did was he was asked, gasping when gloved hands pressed too hard on the swollen, bleeding skin on his face, when they brushed up against the loose tooth in his mouth, and then again when they touched what he assumed were cuts on the top and back of his head.

"I'm going to need to take the blanket off your legs now so I can look at them. Are you okay with that?"

Kurt gave his consent, but tugged on the edge of the gown and held it in place, warily watching the human doctor's every move. He pushed his foot against the man's hand when asked, allowed him to press on his skin to check for broken bones, and moved to the edge of the bed so that each leg could be bent and extended in turn to check his range of mobility. At least the doctor laughed again when he flipped him off. The pain in his left leg was as bad as his shoulder, and he was surprised when he was told it wasn't broken. When it was requested that he turn over so the backs of his legs and tail could be examined, he was grateful when Carole laid the blanket across his butt, protecting what little modesty he had left. It got lifted away though when the doctor discovered bruising on his hip and wanted a closer look.

Allowed to finally lie back fully on the bed and be covered again, he braced himself for what was surely to come next. There was only one area left.

"Kurt, given that you haven't had proper medical care and where you spent time, I think it best if you consent to a rectal and genital exam. Either I can do it or there's Doctor Jones. She's a mixed race human-hybrid and has special training in trauma cases such as yours."

Kurt immediately regretted shaking his head violently as a fresh wave of nausea swept through him. "Not you."

"Fair enough. You'll consent to the exam?"

His reply came out in a broken, "Yes."

"For your protection, there has to be another person in the room. Would you feel more comfortable with a hybrid nurse as well?"

This time, Kurt didn't shake his head as he replied. "Carole is fine."

* * * * * * *

Doctor Carl left the examination area and another person arrived shortly thereafter, standing behind the wall of curtains. "May I come in?"

Kurt took a deep breath before replying, immediately regretting it as much as he knew he'd regret what he was consenting to. At least the exam would hurt less than broken ribs. At least he hoped so. "Yes."

The woman that appeared was indeed a mixed race hybrid. Her dark skin was more visible under her chestnut fur than a full hybrid. Mixes tended to have less hair than full hybrids, but there were always exceptions of course. His boyfriend, for one, whose fur was curly and dense, and some full humans he'd seen. Her eyes were a striking brown and filled with a familiar sense of genuine kindness.

He was glad when she didn't offer her hand to shake when she introduced herself, keeping them in the pockets of her lab coat. He hated shaking hands. It was unnecessary touching and he was about to be touched far more than he wanted to be.

"Hi, Kurt, I'm Doctor Jones."

"You took care of Blaine?"

"Yes, I did. I can't provide you with any details without his permission, but I can tell you that he's going to be fine. If you'd like, I can try to put you two close together after you've been checked out. You're both going to need to be under observation for awhile, so it actually makes it easier on us."

"Thank you."

"You're quite welcome."

Kurt shifted uncomfortably under her intense gaze. "Is something wrong?"

"No. I'm sorry. This is unprofessional of me and you of course don't have to answer, but by any chance, do you know a Mercedes Jones?"

"Yes."

"So you are her Kurt. She talks about you all the time and you look so much like my dad. No wonder she gets confused. It's nice to finally meet you and it's lovely that you've been helping her out."

"She's nice."

"Well, now that that curiosity is out of the way, shall we begin? Though, if I made you feel uncomfortable I can leave and bring back Doctor Howell."

"You're fine." Kurt let out a shaky breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Does this really have to be done?"

"I honestly think it would be to your benefit. I'll be checking for visible signs of STIs, scar tissue, and any unhealed tears or damage that needs to be repaired. Nurse Carole has taken your blood, urine, and stool samples but those tests can't tell us everything."

The abused hybrid averted his eyes away from the woman's. "I know there are scars. I saw them...with a mirror once."

"I'm very sorry for what happened to you and what you've been through. I promise to be as professional and gentle as possible. I can talk you through the exam using only clinical terms or I can remain silent. And at any time you need me to stop, I will."

Kurt clutched the blanket to his chest tightly, knowing it would soon be taken from him. If this had to be done, he was at least thankful it was Mercedes' daughter. A person that sweet could only have raised another in kind. He felt he could trust her. "What do I have to do?"

"I'm going to ask you a series of questions that I need you to answer as honestly as possible. Then we'll begin the physical exam. Like I mentioned before, I can talk you through it or remain silent. If you have music you'd like to listen to and a pair of earbuds, you can use those. If you need to dissociate yourself from what's happening, that's fine and perfectly normal. Just remember that you are free to stop me at any time."

"You can tell me what's going to happen. Just not too...not in too much...detail." Kurt started to push the blanket away, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.

"You can keep the blanket. I'm going to ask the questions first. Nurse Carole, if you wouldn't mind handing me the clipboard with his chart on it."

Kurt startled for a brief minute. He'd forgotten that she was there. A fresh wave of embarrassment flooded through him. Maybe it was for the best though, that she finally know. Maybe she could help or tell Burt so he could better understand why he was still cautious around him. He was grateful she didn't talk though nor make a move to hold his hand or otherwise touch him. While he'd understand the why, it would be near-unbearable given what was about to happen.

Doctor Jones pulled the stool closer to his bed and began to ask her questions, marking down his answers, sometimes a simple check mark, other times a bit of writing when he was forthcoming with a requested explanation. Yes, he was currently sexually active. All acts between himself and his singular partner were consensual. Yes, he had been forced into non-consensual sex. When? It depended upon what you considered sex. Fine. Then that act and that one and that one at twelve. The rest, the worst, when he was fourteen. Had he ever performed X, Y, or Z for money or services. Yes, to X and Y. When? Fourteen through sixteen if you didn't count the time at the Reformatory. Yes, protection was used. He'd insisted on it. Before then, what Ryerson did to him and made him do, he didn't think so, but he wasn't looking. He could taste it though.

Eventually the questions stopped and he was allowed to rest for a bit. He asked for the bed pan and vomited into it. His stomach heaving out nothing but bile and the bit of water he'd had earlier. He accepted the cup of water and rinsed out his mouth, watching the swirls of blood mix with the saliva and other liquids. There had been blood back then too, but it had been in a different area.

The doctor allowed him more time to collect himself, but eventually had to press on. He couldn't blame her. He wanted to get this over with too.

"Keep lying on your back, Kurt. Nurse Carole will fold the blanket and gown above your waist and then I'll begin the examination of your genitalia. Are you okay with that?"

"Yes." He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he was anywhere else. "It'll be over soon. It'll be over soon." ran on a loop inside his head. He tried to ignore what was going on, but at times he had to reply to a question, and there was still the fact that someone other than himself or Blaine was touching his penis.

"You have some mild abrasions. Are you and your partner using lubricant?"

"We ran out. It was cold and there was...chaffing."

"I'll make sure you're sent home with some and a supply of condoms." Doctor Jones finished her exam, gently folded Kurt's gown down back over him, removed her gloves, and jotted down her notes.

She took a silent, deep breath. The next part of the exam was often the worst for her patients, but if she wanted to be thorough, it had to be done. She pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and retrieved a two part, tube shaped metallic instrument, a couple of sterile culture swabs, and a bottle of lubricant. "Kurt, if you're fine with proceeding, I'm going to need you to lie on the side that hurts you the least and try to bend your knees up to your chest. I'll do an external exam of your rectum and then an internal one. First, I'll use my finger to feel for any irregularities in your prostate." She held up the metallic device on a level that he could more clearly see. "Then I'll insert this anoscope. It'll allow me to see if there's any internal damage and take some samples. Do I have your permission to perform these procedures?"

Tears pooled in Kurt's eyes. "Just get it over with."

"May Nurse Carole help you get into the correct position?"

"Yes." He yelped in pain as his body was bent into place. Where were the good drugs? He had been promised drugs. And surely this wasn't good for his broken ribs. He felt a draft as his gown was pulled away from his back and his tail held out of the way by Carole. He tried to ignore the sound of the doctor's voice and the touch of her gloved fingers. Tears ran down his face as he was entered and his prostate touched. He hated his body for reacting the way it did. This wasn't enjoyable! "No. No. No. No. No."

The doctor pulled her hands away. "Kurt, would you like me to stop?"

Kurt's emotional core screamed, "Yes!" It was the logical part of his mind that replied verbally. "There's only one last thing?"

"Yes, the scope and sample collection."

"Do it." At the first press of the lubricated device, he started shaking. He tried to think of Blaine and the one perfect night they'd had at the roller skating rink. April was alone, the last customer gone, and she'd allowed them to skate for a few of hours with the promise they'd finish her closing duties. And so they had skated, and fallen, but mostly skated, blasting Katy Perry and showtunes, turning on the disco lights, eating too-hot fries, and drinking the last of the shitty Chardonnay she'd previously traded him for the brownies. They had felt so perfectly normal and free then. Just two teenagers in love.

The illusion was shattered when he felt the device being pulled out and his bottom wiped clean. Carole helped him lie back into a more comfortable position and covered him up with his medical gown and blanket.

It was the doctor, not her, that he heard speak. "It's all over now, Kurt. Thank you for trusting me. Doctor Howell or I will let you know when the results come back."

"I want to get dressed."

"I'm sorry, but that's not a good idea given the state that you're in. You're still going to need a few X-rays and a CT scan. Your wounds will need to be cleaned and tended to. And given the state that your clothes are in, I think it best if you don't put them back on until they've been washed. We usually have a few extra sets of clothing around here. I'm sure we can find you something to wear once all that is done."

"I can have Burt bring you some of your clothes from home."

"Thank you, Nurse Carole. It would make things easier given our limited resources. Pajamas would be best for now, something loose and comfortable. Is that alright with you, Kurt?"

He turned away from the voices and pulled the blanket more firmly around himself. "No choice."

"I understand it feels that way. We're just trying to help you. The worst is over. You'll be feeling better in no time."

The doctor left and Carole did too after a pat to his arm and a soft, "Try to get some rest, Honey. I'll come get you when it's time for your X-ray.

* * * * * * *

The worst was far from over. There were the scans of his chest, leg, head, shoulder, and hands. More being manipulated into odd positions that had his too-thin gown either riding up or falling open and his body shaking in pain. After one of them, he finally got to see to Blaine. Or rather Blaine's exposed backside as he was asked to sit on an examination table so that his tail could be laid out and X-rayed. Before the door was shut, he exchanged a forlorn look with his boyfriend. They were in medical hell, but at least they didn't feel so alone anymore.

Carole giving him a sponge bath added to his humiliation. He'd begged her to let him take a shower alone, but both she and Doctor Carl didn't think he was in any condition to do it safely. At least she let him clean his own privates and kept the parts of him not being washed covered. He was given a fresh gown to put on while she changed his sheets and brought him a clean blanket and pillow. There was still no underwear nor the promised pair of pajama pants. He had seen Blaine wearing some when he was being wheeled into the CT scan room, the lucky bastard.

After the bath came stitches to his face and head, splints on two fingers of his right hand, gauze wrapped around both hands, and at least four ACE bandages secured around his thigh. Apparently, he'd torn his hamstring and pulled his ITB when he'd slipped on the ice and fallen after kicking one of his attackers in the balls. He hoped the asshole could still taste them for all the pain he was in because of it. Doctor Carl had told him the surgery to fix his upper carnassial tooth would have to come later. Kurt had thought the examination and scans of his dislocated shoulder had been the worst pain that area would ever feel. Then his shoulder was moved back into place. Aliens hiding behind Pluto would have heard his screams. At least once it was over and his arm put into a sling, it felt better.

Because of the tooth and swelling in his face, he was put on mushy foods. At the clinic, this meant oatmeal, or something that looked a lot like it, and smelled meaty. He snuck it to his boyfriend when the staff wasn't looking. He didn't feel like eating anyway. Even the vanilla pudding Blaine gave him in exchange tasted funny and felt odd in his mouth.

---------------------

Kurt was having a very bad week, and like his really great day, it had started with a fight over food.

Saturday morning, he'd walked into the kitchen, bleary-eyed, and wanting nothing more than coffee and a bowl of cereal. The cereal that he'd bought with his own money. The cereal that he and Blaine had fun making gay dick jokes about. "Do Rooster O's taste like chicken or cocks?" "Or maybe a chicken's cock?" "Cock a doodle me do!" And those were the tame ones. The cereal that Finn had just emptied into a mixing bowl the size of his head. "What the fuck? That's mine!"

The human pulled the bowl away before Kurt could snatch it. "Sharing is caring, Dude."

Furious, Kurt went into the fridge and dug out a brown paper bag filled with smaller, clear baggies. He tossed one into the cereal bowl. "Sharing is caring."

"What the fuck? That's gross!"

Carole yelled from the other room as she hurried in. "Boys, what's going on?"

"Kurt just dropped a mouse into my cereal."

"It's my cereal, Finn!"

"It doesn't have your name on it."

Kurt was having none of his bullshit excuses. "You weren't supposed to be here!"

Carole tried her best to diffuse the argument and get to the root of the problem. "Kurt, Sweetie, why are you still catching mice? I thought we told you that you could have all the food you wanted."

"Blaine's not getting enough to eat. He shouldn't have to make out with Rochelle to get food and he's afraid of fire. It's not right! You have a whole garage full of mice. I catch them and cook them in the oven when you all aren't home."

"That gross! We could like, catch a disease or something. Tell him, Mom!" Finn jumped up from the table, backing far away from the rodent.

"I'm not an idiot, you moron! They're dead and I wash them first. And I line the pan with foil. And I wash my hands...unlike some humans I know." Kurt wished his pointed glare would burn through Finn's skull.

He had to settle for Carole's hushed, "I taught you, better, Finn!"

"It's still gross!"

"And you're still stealing my food!"

Carole tried again. "Kurt, you don't have to catch mice for Blaine. Our offer of food extends to him too."

Kurt shrugged the response off. A meal here and there was nice, but it wasn't enough. They didn't understand what it was like out there. "Only when he's here."

"No, Honey, any time. I thought you knew that."

"No."

"It does."

He chanced a glance at Carole, not wanting to let his guard down around Finn. "Fine...okay, thank you...but he still took my food."

"I didn't know it was yours. What does it matter anyway?"

"Because I paid for it." Kurt grabbed the bowl of cereal off the table and dumped it back into the box, thankful that milk hadn't been poured into it yet. "Because I caught it." Kurt stuck the mouse back in the paper bag. He went over the kitchen cabinets and pulled out the other things he'd bought, filing up his arms. "And I bought this...and this...and this..." He went to the fridge next, pulling out his saved leftovers from last night's dinner and dessert. "Because Carole and I made cheesecake and she said this half was mine." He shook another container from the fridge at him. "This is mine!" The table now piled with boxes, cans, and Rubbermaid containers, he grabbed some plastic grocery bags from under the kitchen sink and filled them up with his food, storming into his room and slamming the door behind him, giving one last furious, "They're mine!"

As Kurt put on his coat and boots, he could hear the two humans' conversation through the door.

"Finn, we talked to you about Kurt's food insecurities!"

"I was just hungry, Mom! Shouldn't he be over that by now?"

"He may never be over it, Finn. You've never been without a meal your entire life. If you were hungry, you were given or bought food. Kurt's never had that. All he's known is that any meal may be his last for a long time. It changes a person. No one touches Kurt's food. That's the rule. And since when did you start eating Rooster O's? They're chicken flavored. I thought you liked Sugar Fruity Squares."

"Who eats chicken cereal? That's weird."

"Anyone who likes chicken. He let me try a piece. They're not bad." Carole finally brought the discussion around to the second most pressing matter. "What are you doing home, Finn? Spring Break isn't until next month."

"Rachel wanted to celebrate Valentine's Day in person. She said it wasn't the same over Skype."

Kurt didn't wait to hear anymore. He didn't need to hear about Finn's sex life nor Carole's explanations about how fucked up his life was, even if she did have good intentions. He finished putting on his winter gear, shoved as much of his food into the knapsack as would fit, hid the rest around his room, and headed outside. Fuck Finn and his stealing ways. Fucking food hog. And no one should be that tall! It wasn't human.

* * * * * * *

Blaine wasn't home when Kurt arrived at the abandoned K-Mart. He hadn't been there in at least an hour given that the book wedged between the door was covered in a light dusting of snow. He removed the pencil he kept in his knapsack and added a small hash mark beside the one already beside the "MG" of the "BS + MG" heart that had been carved into the paint below the loading bay's platform. It was their way of letting the other know where they were. MG stood for Meijer's Grocery, BS - Breadstix. There was other graffiti they'd written too. An erasable pencil mark next to "Skaterboy Rocks" meant the skating rink where April Rhodes was hanging out. "7 days in hell" was the 7-11. "WFM 98.3," the call numbers of a popular radio station, meant "wait for me." A lone wheel was Hummel Tires and Lube. If there was a small square drawn next to it, it meant the Hummel's home. It wasn't a perfect system, but without the means to get Blaine his own cell phone and with Kurt's only supposed to be used for emergencies, it was the best they could do. Handwritten notes could be found, blown away, or ruined by weather. No one paid much attention to badly drawn street art.

Kurt adjusted his knapsack and made the trek to the grocery store. It wasn't a terribly long walk, but he hated being exposed during the daylight hours in the commercial district, covered up thoroughly or not. He found Blaine behind the store waiting for his turn at the waste bins. The guy was too polite. Manners and customs were different out here than they were in a prep school and wealthy society. How he'd survived this long, he honestly didn't know. But the juvie schooled, street smart kid did know that someone watching your back meant protection and an extra set of eyes to help you find the good stuff, or at least the "It won't kill me if I eat it" foods and other vital things.

After only the briefest of nods of acknowledgment and a tiny smile to his boyfriend, Kurt walked up to the dumpster and peered inside. His eyes confirmed his nose's suspicions. "Brett, go back to the 7-11. Your people miss you."

"Woah, there's like three of you."

Kurt looked around him, spotting no one else aside from Blaine, and decided to go with it. "Yes, yes, there are. Now go before we call the narcs."

"No need to get snippy." Brett trailed off when he saw something shiny. "Hey, I could totally turn this into a bong. Wanna trade it for a banana?"

"Sure." Kurt accepted the over-ripe fruit and Brett picked up the object of interest, beaming glassy-eyed as he attempted to climb out of the dumpster.

After a few tries, the stoner's limbs finally cooperated and he strolled away with a mumbled, "Later, Dudes."

Kurt turned in the direction of the cardboard recycling container. "You're up, Blaine. Do you want to be the searchee, the lookout, or have us both go in to make it faster?"

"Um..." Blaine looked at the sky. The clouds had become more ominous and the snow had started falling faster. "If you don't mind can we both search?"

The hybrid sighed and crossed his arms, impatience clear on his face. "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to help."

Blaine looked warily at his boyfriend. "Is everything okay? You seem a bit...snippy. Did I do something wrong? Did something happen?"

"Bad morning. I'll tell you later." He gave Blaine an apologetic grin. "It's not you. Promise." Kurt pulled himself up and into the dumpster, offering a hand to his boyfriend. "Shall we?"

Blaine accepted the help up and together they began their search of finding the source of Brett's rotten bananas in a pile of plastic wrapped packages containing other over-ripe, unsellable produce. It was a great find. Rare too as such was usually the first to go.

Blaine looked into a smashed box of previously frozen White Castle hamburgers. They smelled off, but there was "off" and "curled up for a week wishing you'd die" off. He put them aside in hopes that it was the former. The opened but unused toothbrush was a good find. He could trade it for something. Not a big something, but if he combined it with other things he could trade it for toothpaste. He still had the toothbrush Burt had given him, but was out of toothpaste and didn't feel comfortable asking him for some. Kurt lived with the Hummels, not him. He felt he was taking enough from them as it was with the meals, sleepovers, washing of his clothes, and warm showers. Someone had stopped paying the water bill at the abandoned K-Mart and he'd been without for a few weeks, making him feel worse about needing to use their utilities more often. He longed for the day when he had money for hair gel again.

"Do you need any cleaning supplies?" Kurt held up a gallon jug with an inch of disinfectant fluid sloshing around in the bottom.

"I'm not sure I feel like carrying that back to my place."

"Fair enough. I'll put it in the maybe pile." Kurt's ears picked up the sound of multiple voices and he instantly went on alert. "Blaine. We have to go. Now."

Blaine knew that tone and hastily pocketed the remainder of the finds he'd put at his feet. He helped Kurt get out first, his boyfriend's tail having become untucked from his pants and caught between the wire rods of a broken shelf.

They were barely out when Kurt saw the first members of the hybrid gang. There were seven of them, the two largest in the front. Those two, Karofsky and Azimio, were the ones Kurt was afraid of the most. They had been favorites at the Reformatory and made his life more of a hell in there because of it. Kurt assumed they'd aged out shortly after he, Puck, and Quinn had escaped. How they managed to take over the gang of human McKinley High puckheads he'd first encountered shortly after becoming homeless, he didn't know. Being beaten up by the original five had been bad enough. When Karofsky and Azimio had joined in their idea of fun, he'd nearly died.

To say that they terrified him was an understatement and he'd tried to instill that fear in Blaine. "Run!"

Kurt and Blaine ran, faster than they ever had before, lungs heaving on the cold air, booted feet slipping on the snow and ice. One of their would be attackers caught the fabric of Kurt's coat sleeve. He managed to yank it away, ready to throw a punch, but only if necessary. All his energy and focus was on getting away, dodging down side street after side street and through the yards of the impoverished homes that bordered the grocery store.

Kurt didn't know how they managed to evade the gang, but they did. Both heaving for breath as they slowed their pace, trying to appear like two regular guys out for a walk in the snow, running an errand. As they passed the grade school, they silently agreed on where to go to next. With no one at the front desk, they managed to slip into the library unseen and headed straight for the back of the reference section.

Secure in the ironic knowledge that few ventured near the history books, they tried to catch their breaths and slow their hearts. Kurt focused on things that were real and recited them off in his head, a technique he'd once found in a psychology book to help him get through panic attacks. "That is a book. That is a shelf. That is the ugliest carpet I have ever seen. That is my boyfriend quietly singing Katy Perry songs. And that is his hand in mine."

Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand back and offered a sympathetic look, his brow furrowed, his shoulders high, his eyes full of sorrow for the hell that they had been through and the struggles that filled their lives. None of this was fair or deserved. They had done nothing wrong but be born - the wrong race and the wrong orientation into a world that only wanted to cause them pain.

Just as they managed to calm down and regain their wits, they saw Her - the head librarian. The one with the hate-filled bumper stickers on her car next to the ones proclaiming that "Jesus Saves!" and "God is My Co-Pilot." They covered their faces and bodies as best as they could and tried to casually stroll out of the library - just a couple of humans, nothing to see here. They almost got away with it. They weren't exactly chased out the last few feet, but they were berated with a string of graphic racial slurs yelled at such a volume that the kids in the children's section, the ones the woman swore she was trying to protect, surely heard.

* * * * * * *

Giving up on scavenging and wanting to get out of the weather, they holed up at Blaine's. It was cold, freezing to be honest, even in the nest of old clothes and blankets. The comforter Kurt had brought over the week before wasn't making a dent either. Desperate to warm up and get their blood going, they tried to have sex. Try being the operative word.

"Blaine, as much as I love you and want this, if I don't tuck my dick back into my pants, it's going to fall off or freeze to yours. And no, freezing to yours and creating a big dicksicle is not a good thing."

"I said nothing!"

"You were thinking it."

Blaine blushed at how well his boyfriend knew him and came up with a different plan. "We could try handjobs with gloves on?"

Kurt couldn't help but to burst out laughing. "Well, that gives new meaning to the phrase, 'No glove, no love.' Try it."

It didn't work. There was too much half-melted snow trapped in the knitted yarn. "I feel like I'm being jerked off by Frosty the Snowman."

Blaine didn't know if he should be offended, embarrassed, or find the lament hilarious, so he ended up doing all three via an awkward laugh.

"How about I focus on you? My gloves are fleece and you deserve a turn."

"Okay." Blaine threw his head back, enjoying the first few strokes, moaning from the pleasure until a tear in the leather on the palm of the glove snagged on the tip of his cock. "Ow! Ow! Ow! Please stop."

"Sorry." Kurt pulled his hand away, frustrated for them both. He was just as horny as his boyfriend. "Ohio winters suck."

"That they do."

His complaint gave him an idea, not a good one, but it would work. "I could..."

Blaine knew what his boyfriend was about to say and that his body language was expressing the exact opposite. "Kurt, we agreed - nothing that makes either one of us uncomfortable. Neither of us want to use our mouth and you never want to bottom. Without lube, condoms, and a better way to clean up, I'd prefer not to either."

Kurt pulled Blaine in for a kiss. "I love you."

"I love you too. How about clothes back on and we make out instead? I'd really hate for your lovely dick to fall off."

"Me too." He laughed at the smirk the comment awarded him. "Yours too of course."

"Of course."

Kurt wiggled and tugged until he was back in his long underwear and baggy cargo pants. "You just want to see me in camo."

"It's a total turn on. Very American boy."

Kurt helped his boyfriend into his own thermal wear and outer layers. "So is this eagle clutching an American flag superimposed over a skull tee. Where in the world did you find such a monstrosity?"

"I think it was here."

"No wonder they closed down."

Now fully, if not fashionably, dressed and much warmer, they returned to kissing. Kissing that was becoming more frantic now that important body parts weren't in danger. Rutting against each other with so many layers between them wasn't nearly enough friction. Determination and well-placed kisses on necks however, compensated nicely enough that soon they were both coming.

"And now my come and sweat is freezing to my body."

"Want to do it again anyway?"

"Absolutely!"

* * * * * * *

Aside from sex and singing, which also wasn't as fun in this cold, their days had become increasingly boring. Kurt's Vogues were back in his room, and neither of them had been able to find any new hybrid romance novels to read. Blaine knows they're out there, but his searches had proved fruitless. He'd read "Hybrids on the High Seas," "Walk My Plank," "Shiver Me Timbers," "Coming in for a Landing," and "Docking Maneuvers" so many times they were practically memorized. He really wanted the one where the couple were a superhero and supervillain that have wild sex at nearly every crime scene, "Coitus in Capes." While Kurt was hoping for the one where Noah is a lawyer and Lauren is a judge, "Jump Me for Justice." Giving up on searching the Goodwill, where Blaine had found the other novels, Kurt tried his hand at writing a musical for the horny hybrid couple's outrageous adventures and anatomically impossible sex, but he just wasn't feeling it, and honestly, neither was Blaine.

They ran out of food on Day 3 and on Day 4 had no choice but to go searching for more. Kurt berated himself and apologized to Blaine. For the past few months, his stomach had become used to more food now that it had been routinely fed three meals a day plus snacks anytime he wanted them. He had tried his best to eat less, but it obviously wasn't enough. With a sigh and curse of regret, he wished he'd kept up his supply of glucose tablets. It was a trick he'd discovered early on. The tubes of them were easy enough to steal and the energy boost would keep you going for a little while. They were the next best thing to protein and granola bars.

Kurt heard his cell phone ring at least once during that time. He felt bad because he was supposed to work at the shop. Any of the crew could handle the regular tasks, but Burt couldn't do upholstery repairs without him, and he'd made that commitment. He was stupid for not being brave enough to return to the Hummels' home because Carole at least understood. He had tried once, entering through the back door, but quickly left. The house had smelled too much of Finn and he wasn't ready to deal with him or the consequences of the scene he'd caused. So he had left, not even taking the food left out for him nor his stash of money. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. On top of it all, the loose boards at the back of the garage were iced shut, so he couldn't even catch the mice that lived there.

They walked to Breadsticks first as it was the closest. Even the outside of the building was decked out in a Valentines Day theme. Kurt rolled his eyes. Not only were the red and pink hearts gaudy, but in this political climate, the only kinds of accepted love were human and heterosexual. He and his boyfriend weren't either. Blaine however, was an optimist and refused to be anything but giddy at what he felt the holiday represented. No matter which way it was, at least it meant there would be a high chance they could score some food from either one of the restaurant's staff or its dumpster.

Rochelle wasn't on shift, but Chandler was. Kurt tried not to flinch as he was flirted with. It was funny the first time on his and Blaine's date, but now that he realized the guy wanted more than just friendship, it was different. Chandler didn't do anything overtly sexual. The boy was just a shy, sweet, and innocent teenager with a crush, thinking the cute boy he liked, liked him back.

For Kurt though, it was different, and not just because he already had a boyfriend. He was far from innocent and inexperienced. He knew that by letting Chandler stroke his arm and cheek, hold his hand, and place a chaste kiss on his mouth that he was exchanging intimacy for goods and services...for enough food to keep them from starving. He had thought those days were behind him. The years at the Reformatory followed by two on the streets, where sometimes he was so desperate that he traded "personal services" with the cashiers who worked the 3 am shift at the 7-11. What he'd told Blaine hadn't been a rumor. It was firsthand knowledge. Repulsed at being touched and knowing full well he would likely have to submit to such and worse again, he bid Chandler a good night and thanked him for the food. When the boy had gone back inside, Kurt walked over to Blaine, who had been hiding in the shadow of the dumpster, and handed him the bag of chicken parmesan and "those roasted potatoes I know you love, Kurt," too nauseous to eat.

They knew one meal wouldn't last long, so they tried the Applebee's across the street. The dumpster was as empty as the Lima Bean's next door. Kurt whimpered at the smell of roasted coffee. He missed it so much. Seeing a garbage truck emptying waste from another place, they give up on the restaurant district. If a couple of chain and local eateries could be called a district.

It started snowing again, too hard and heavy for them to try and make it all the way to the bowling alley. They headed to Mercedes' house next, looking for work. As he'd told Burt a few times, brownies and hot chocolate that made you puke were better than nothing to eat at all. Unfortunately, the sidewalks and driveway had already been cleared, most likely by Sam. It was great that the elderly woman had someone looking out for her and the guy had been nothing but nice to him. Still, the lost meal was distressing.

Why Kurt doesn't return to the Hummels, he doesn't know. At least he tries to pretend he doesn't. He's ashamed for blowing up. He's scared he'll be rejected. He doesn't think they'd call the cops and have him sent back to the Reformatory, but he can't imagine them welcoming him back with open arms. Not after all they did for him and how he had yelled at their son. Even if Finn was being an idiot. He refused to back down on that. It was an entire box of cereal for crying out loud! Four days worth of food for him and Blaine, longer if they stretched it. Gods, he was hungry. And an exhausted, stupid, fucking chicken, piece of shit moron who had screwed over not only himself, but the guy he loved. And yet he still couldn't bring himself to walk the two blocks to the home that had offered him refuge.

Disappointed, they headed to the 7-11. They'd barely reached the back lot before they were chased off by a couple of drug dealers and prostitutes. With the early darkness the time change had caused and lacking a watch, Kurt hadn't realized he and Blaine had stumbled into their busiest time of the week. The time when the businessmen, flush with their paychecks and stressed from work, were looking to score both a way to cope with their lives and a warm body to have a dirty fuck with in order to forget their wives.

* * * * * * *

They went back to Blaine's. The snow was near-blinding now, whipping around in a fury. It was hard to smell in this cold, but neither thought anyone had been there. The book seemed to be in place, but Blaine wasn't sure. He was just so cold and tired and begged Kurt to let them go in. That was their second worst mistake. The first was missing barely covered footprints leading up to the loading bay. Maybe, maybe given the winds and slush covered ground, it could be forgiven, but the mistake would cost them dearly.

One of the few things Kurt remembered from that night was opening up the bay's large, metal door and seeing all seven of them there, waiting, laughing. Why were they laughing? The homophobic slurs didn't bother him so much as the laughter. Why Karofsky wouldn't leave him alone, he doesn't know. They're both out of the Reformatory. He assumes they're also both homeless. It shouldn't matter anymore, but it does. Kurt can guess why, but can't confirm it, and never wants to get close enough to the Neanderthal to ask.

The attack began almost immediately after that. Blaine wasn't a lightweight, having taken up boxing at Dalton, but Kurt had more experience at real fighting and he fights dirty. They still get the shit beaten out of them. The pain is something neither of them would forget.

There's a hard fist slammed into Kurt's gut that his coat pads. A punch to his face that connects far harder. Kurt fought back with everything the Reformatory had taught him. What he hadn't learned was how to keep his balance after landing a kick to his attacker's groin. The momentum had sent him falling back, slipping on the ice. That was his third mistake.

He screamed for Blaine. His boyfriend was fighting back just as hard, but there were too many against too few. It didn't take long before both of them were overwhelmed and knocked to the ground. It did take a long time before their attackers got bored of kicking them and left. There was blood mixing with the slush and snow. Kurt wasn't sure whose it was as he reached a shaking hand deep into the layers under his coat and pulled out his cell phone, relieved that it wasn't broken and still held a charge.

He pulled up the first number on the Contacts list and barely managed a croaked out, "Help. Please. Blaine's." He passed out after that. One hand cradling the phone. The other stretched out, trying to reach his boyfriend laying motionless a few feet away.

Kurt awoke to the sound of truck tires, terrified until he heard a rough, scared voice calling out his name. He tried to reply, tried to move, tried to sit up when asked, and limped his way over and up into the backseat of the vehicle. "Blaine."

"I'll get him, Kiddo. Don't worry."

 "Hey, Buddy. Didn't mean to scare you." Burt Hummel put a hand to his heart, not sure who had been more startled - the feline hybrid boy who'd been under his porch one minute and racing down the street the next, or himself when he'd gone to get into his truck only to see a flash of chestnut fur and tattered clothing dart past him. He thought he'd seen the poor kid around a few times before, and with the cold, soggy weather they'd been having lately, who could blame him for seeking out shelter. He'd put some food out for him when he got back home from work. The kid could probably use a decent meal or two.

His body protesting his brain's need to move so quickly after just having woken up, Kurt ran down the street and across two more until he found the overgrown lot with rusting piles of metallic junk he knew he could hide among for a few minutes. He wasn't scared per say of the man whose porch he'd slept under, but you could never been too careful. Gravel wasn't exactly a comfy bed and the walls were in need of some serious repairs, but it was the only underporch in that neighborhood that hadn't been completely sealed off. It had been his refuge on more than one rainy or snowy night since he'd run away from the abuse-filled group home over a year ago. On a rare occasion, he could sneak into the man's detached garage, but it was so piled with junk, it was hard to find a spot where he wasn't poked or forced to sleep by the containers of weed killer and pesticides. The recycling bins always held good bits too. The jars and cans were never rinsed out. Half dried scrapings of chili, soup, and tuna weren't exactly a gourmet meal, or what he imaged one was, but they had kept him fed and alive on more than one dire day, so he was thankful for them and the porch.

Shaking off the surge of adrenaline, Kurt crouched lower in the tall grass, ears twitching off the rain that had started to fall again, and wiggled his way until he was under the remains of the 1950 Chevy propped up on cinder blocks. He'd finish his sleep and then resume his daily rounds later.

Early evening, Kurt found himself back at the man's house. The truck was in the driveway and it's engine was still warm. He wished he was small enough to fit under it to take advantage of that fact, settling for rubbing his body against the chassis as he walked past and towards the backyard instead. His nose caught the smell of something wonderfully pungent coming from under the porch. Curious, he made his way over and discovered an open can of tuna. Not the leavings of one, but a whole can, filled to the brim, and placed carefully in the corner where he had been sleeping that morning. Oh, it was a good day indeed. He ate quickly, licking the tin clean and then depositing it into the recycling bin, hoping to find something for later. Sadly, the bins were empty. It must have been a pick up day. The one meal was better than none though, and as he wouldn't have to continue his search for food, he curled up under the porch and decided to call it an early day. The damn rain had started up again and it was getting colder at night.

"Well aren't you a sweet kid, putting the can away. You didn't have to. Glad you liked the tuna, Bud." Burt smiled as he readjusted his cap and got into his truck. The hybrid boy was long gone, but he felt it needed to be said anyway. Life had to be rough for him, especially in these politically distressing times. Not that being homeless wasn't stressful enough. Hell, the kid probably didn't even know his kind no longer had any rights. Or maybe he did and felt being on his own was better than where he'd been before. He couldn't take the kid in, that'd be too much, but maybe he could make his life a little easier.

Kurt pressed harder on the mouse he'd caught behind the garage, trying to stop it from moving. It wasn't a baby anymore and there were no mouse hybrids, so he felt it was fair game. Ideal? No. Gross? Kind of. Screwed over by the genetic lottery that had created his kind too? Definitely. At least his genes had come with retractable claws and quick reflexes. As he pocketed the now-dead creature to eat later, he heard the man thanking him. Maybe the guy was one of the few good ones. His son and his son's friends not so much when they were being loud and obnoxious in the back yard, but he hadn't seen them lately. He preferred it when it was quiet. Not being taunted, scared, and objects thrown at him were good too. The guy though, he was nice. So was his wife, but he rarely saw her.

Kurt left the man's yard and started making his rounds. His first stop was to Old Lady Mercedes' house. She actually wasn't that old, yet that's what she'd insisted he call her. She was a full Human with dark brown skin and hair that gone to gray. Her voice was a lovely as she was kind. Most days, if she was tending her garden, she'd let him help and pay him with a few dollars or a used article of clothing. He found her today in her side yard, wearing the loudest pink zebra striped housecoat he'd ever had the misfortune of seeing.

"I can't sing with you today, Kurt. Got a nasty sore throat, but the bulbs need planting before the frost hits. Want to help? I could pay you in brownies. Just made batch last night. Can you eat chocolate?"

"I can...a little...but..." Kurt halted his reply. Free food was free food even if it did make you a bit sick. Fortunately, he didn't have to continue, as his benefactor finished answering for him.

"But brownies probably aren't what you need right now. How about I make you a hat? A friend shared a pattern she uses for her cat. I know you're not a house cat, but Mister Tubbington is no small creature. I could size it up for you and have it done by the end of the week. How's that sound?"

"Okay. I could sing for you while we work if you want?"

"Oh, aren't you a peach! If only I were a few decades younger, my boy...well let's just say gardening wouldn't be the only thing we'd be up to."

Kurt swallowed down his gut reaction to the implication and put on a smile. She could never know. It wasn't safe for him for anyone to know. Quickly, he began to sing one of the hymns she'd taught him. He didn't believe in her gods more than to curse them, but the song worked to change the subject away from...those things.

After the visit with Mercedes, and now with a pocket full of brownies, he made his way to the library. He skulked around the building's windows, trying to see which librarians were on duty and if there were classes for the little kids going on. The little kids were always too loud, running around and screaming, the sound reaching even the most secluded spot in the adult section. Lima was a small town and therefore the Lima Public Library was small as well. As for the librarians, there were only two that didn't mind his presence. The others would point to the "No pets allowed" and, newer, "No Furs" signs and chase him out. The library wasn't just a shelter from the elements. It was a place to read. He might not be in high school anymore and his dreams of going to college had been dashed, but he was still going to get an education...on top of catching up on all the latest fashions and celebrity gossip magazines. Plus, to be honest, being homeless was boring. Hard, hellish, hot, cold, hungry, terrifying, but also, filled with long stretches of time where there was nothing to do. So he read. Or tried to anyway. If he couldn't spend time in the library, then he'd root around their dumpster for something to read. Sometimes the Goodwill tossed out donated books and magazines too.

Today, he was lucky and spent the rest of the morning reading up on the history of hybrid fashion through the ages which ranged from near nudity (for fuck's sake, they weren't animals,) to fetish BSDM gear (he shuddered, knowing it wasn't meant for style,) to overly fru fru, and finally to some practical pieces when hybrids had integrated into society as a near-equals.

Current administration was setting that all back though. Someone hadn't bothered to log off on one of the nearby computers, and as he scanned the news sites, the headlines alone told him his fate wasn't going to improve anytime soon. Sure, there were protests, petitions, and lawsuits, but those things didn't help his immediate reality. He was still a homeless, run-away, underage, and orphaned feline hybrid who liked boys. All the Facebook shares and sad emojis weren't going to change any of those things soon.

He looked at a clock on the wall and left. It was nearing 2 o'clock. Schools would start letting out soon and he was not going to be trapped in that deep level of hell.

It was time to get out of sight too, so he took the lesser used streets to the row of strip malls. The Goodwill was busy with a line of cars and SUVs dumping their kids' outgrown clothes and basement junk off. Dumpster diving there would have to be put off for later. He was hoping for a coat, or at least enough used clothing he could sew into a coat. Another pair of pants would be welcome too. Fortunately, the seedy motel was empty and the cleaning lady had left her cart outside while she assessed the horrors of a pay-by-the-hour room. He managed to snitch a couple of bottles of shampoo and bar of soap before she returned. He would have loved to have gotten a towel or roll of toilet paper, but such was not his luck today. Washing would have to wait for the next rain storm or some automatic lawn sprinklers running at night. The house next door to the nice man usually ran theirs when it rained leaving the yard a soggy mess of puddles. Some people were too stupid for their own good.

He crept into the wooded area by the hotel, debating what to do next. It was still too early to check out the grocery stores and restaurants. Those dumpsters could only be searched at night and with great caution. Any major source of food was dangerous unless you had a gang or a few friends around you. He had neither. Tina, a really sweet and cheerful dog hybrid, used to give him pizza when she worked at the Little Caesars, marking it down as expired and pretending to throw it away when her boss wasn't looking. Now the place sported a "No Furs" sign on the door and their dumpster was locked. Gods, he missed pizza.

Stomach rumbling at the memory of it, he closed his eyes and tried to pretend the mouse he'd caught earlier was a slice of extra pepperoni and sausage with double cheese. It wasn't. It was weird and crunchy and furry and so very, very eww. The world sucked.

When the school buses stopped running and the sky grew a lot darker, he decided to make his way back to the nice man's neighborhood. A house on the outskirts of it had put out their recycling bins too late. There weren't any decent food leavings, but some of the cans had collected enough rain water to provide him with a much needed drink. The pair of yapper dogs in the next house came barreling out of their doggy dog, making him regret taking their yard as a shortcut. He hated those dogs. They made picking through the neighborhood trash harder. If he could have gotten away with it, they would have been the base of his winter coat.

There was a stray, golden tabby cat at the nice man's house. A hybrid, he would have tolerated...maybe. Okay, he would have been scared of, but a simple cat? No. This was his shelter house. His territory. The cat could go find some other place to sleep and cans to lick. It was bad enough he had to share it with opossums and squirrels. With a lot of hissing and a well-placed swipe, he chased the cat away. He then proceeded to re-mark the areas he considered his, rubbing the side of his face around the edges of the underporch, along the garage, the perimeter of the yard, and even the recycling bins. He peed on the areas for good measure too. It wasn't dignified, but fucking hell, he was not going to give up this place. He wouldn't have survived his first year on his own without it.

The man didn't put out any food for him the next few days, but there was fresh recycling and some mostly edible bits of garbage. Soggy sandwich crusts and moldy cheese weren't great, but at least they didn't make him cramp up like the brownies did.

By Friday, the temperature had plummeted. The underporch kept out most of the wind, but concrete walls and gravel floor didn't retain any heat and he was freezing. Last year, the man had put an old blanket and torn pair of sweatpants there for him. It was a nice gesture, but the rain had soaked through the cloth and frozen solid. It had been worse than not having anything at all.

Kurt was doing his business behind the garage when he heard the man talking to him again. "Sorry, for not getting to this sooner, Bud, but I had to wait until Jackass Charlie over there left on his annual trip to Florida. Racist, nosey bastard would have called the code enforcer on me if he knew what I was doing. Not that some of the other neighbors are much better, but he's the worst. I know you're not a cat, not by any means, but well, I saw this video on how to make a shelter for stray cats and thought maybe I could make up something for you. Best I could find as an outer base was a plastic storage bench. Was lucky to get one this late in the season. Hope it's big enough for you once I'm done lining it with insulation. I got a second one and a new patio table too. Make it look less conspicuous that way. At least, that's what Carole said. She put some clothes in second one for you. Hopefully, you'll figure that out. Don't mean to scare you, but I'm going to make some noise now with the jigsaw. It won't hurt you."

Kurt did run at the noise. He couldn't help it. His flight or fight instinct was too strong. Loud and harsh meant bad. There was no telling his brain otherwise. So he ran. He ran and ran until he found himself at the grocery store. At least it was quiet there. No one was at the dumpster and the night crew had tossed out old bread and produce. The peppers and strawberries were too far gone, but the apples were merely bruised and the loaf of sliced artisan bread was still in its cellophane wrapper. Right as he was pocketing an over-ripe banana, his ears picked up the sound of the pack of jostling, howling, dog hybrids. Fortunately, he was able to leave before they spotted him. He had the scars to remind him of what could happen if they did.

He ate his breakfast behind the closed down K-Mart. The old docking bay didn't offer much of a windbreak, but it was shelter enough to keep him hidden for a while. To pass time, he started reading a well-worn paperback romance novel he found wedged under the dock's door. It had only the slimmest of plots, lines so cheesy they needed crackers, and the hetero couple on the cover was stereotypically windswept and barely clothed, but at least they were both feline hybrids, so the book had some redeeming value. Before he knew it, the sun had set too low to find out what new, anatomically impossible sex acts Lauren and Noah were up to. He debated taking the book with him, but in the end decided to re-wedge it under the door. He'd let another hybrid appreciate Noah's hard abs and writhing, probing tail.

Back at the nice man's house, he finally had a chance to figure out what the guy had been talking about. It was quiet once again, the man gone back inside, and the engine of his truck long-cold. A bowl of food had been placed on the back yard's patio, right by the two plastic storage benches. It was a mix of tuna, raw egg, and rice this time. More rice than anything, but it tasted good. Cautiously, he sniffed around the benches before lifting the lid of one. Inside was a simple change of clothes - sweatpants and a sweatshirt, new by the looks of them, and a hat. A hat that wasn't fringed in brown yarn to resemble a lion's mane and crocheted by a well-meaning, but bit nutty, old lady. He pulled the new hat on immediately. His ears were freezing and only when desperate and guaranteed to be alone, was he ever going to wear the lion one.

He sniffed again around the other bench. It smelled like straw. When he lifted the lid, he discovered only sheets of a Styrofoam-like board taped together, forming a box. Curious, he closed the lid and inspected the outside. On one end there was a large rubber flap bolted at the top, like a doggie door. He peered inside, not able to see much, but enough to know that there was a bed of straw and blankets. It would be a tight fit, but he assumed this was the shelter the man had been talking about. He backed his way inside, scrunching the natural bedding down and pulling the blankets over him. It didn't take long before he was warm. Warm! Something he hadn't felt in weeks. Cramped, a bit claustrophobic, and warm beat out cold, rocky, and not warm any day. Within minutes he fell asleep, a contented smile on his face, and thoughts of Noah's romantic prowess in his dreams.

Kurt awoke with a start, panicking at being confined and in a place he didn't know. Had he been caught and put in a cage? Where was the exit? This was bad. Very bad. The smell of straw and warmth. Those were good. But footsteps and voices weren't. And they were coming closer. Shit! Lay still. Perfectly still. Maybe they won't notice you and will go away. If they don't, you have your teeth and claws.

"Did he use the shelter?"

"I'm looking, Carole."

"Don't get too close, Burt. You don't want to spook him."

"I'm not! I'm not."

"There's some straw on the ground, so maybe. Did he eat the food?"

"Yep. Bowl's licked cleaned and put in the plastic recycling bin."

"That's good. I always hated the phrase, 'Beggars can't be choosers.' It strips a person of their humanity. As if someone in need doesn't have a right to have things they like. What if they have a food allergy or really hate oatmeal?"

"It's just you who hates oatmeal, Dear."

"It has the consistency of vomit! I see enough of that at work."

"I know you do."

"We're not always perfect with his meals, but I'm trying to be better now that we know we have a hybrid and not a stray cat eating the food and going through the bins. What did you name him?"

"Bud. Buddy."

"Guess I can't call him Mister Fluffypants anymore, can I?"

"No, you really can't."

"What are we going to do, Burt?"

"The best we can for him. It's illegal to have an unlicensed one in your home now."

"Unless you're rich and have power."

"Yes. Unless you're that and have no humanity left. So we're going to do the best we can. Finn's off to college. We're depressed empty nesters. This kid? He got the raw end of the deal. Maybe we're not his only house. He's over here enough though. We'll do the best for him we can. It's not much, but at least it's more than last year, right?"

"You're right. Do you mind if I make the drive to Sam's Club? Pick up some cheap chicken. Batch cook him some chicken and rice meals. Nothing fancy or expensive, but it'll be something."

"I think that's a perfect idea, Carole. Come on. Let's get inside. I need more coffee before I head into work. It starts getting colder and suddenly everyone wants their oil changed and fluids topped off."

-------------

Kurt felt like an idiot. It was just a bowl of cereal that Carole had tossed. Not even a full one; only the scattered remnants, soggy in the little puddle of milk that had collected at the bottom. He'd gotten up to go to the bathroom and she, assuming he was done, had scraped the leavings into the trash and put the bowl and spoon into the sink. The very same kind of food bits he used to eat out of their garbage and recycling. Intellectually, he knew he didn't lead that kind of life anymore. The instinctual, emotional, psychologically damaged part of his brain hadn't gotten the message yet. So he'd grabbed the box of cereal and stormed off in a huff, leaving the house and hiding out in the abandoned lot, eating to the point of painful fullness and heaving near some someone's prized rose bushes. Come the Spring thaw, they'd be in for a unfortunate surprise.

Embarrassed, Kurt returned home and placed the box of cereal back in its place. He was going to make this up to her. Seeing the bowl still in the sink, he began loading the dishwasher.

"Kurt, a package arrived for you. It's from Canada."

Curious, Kurt stopped the task and washed his hands before heading into the living room. He took the pair of scissors Carole had brought out, and paused, afraid to look her in the eye. "I'm sorry for before."

"For what? Being normal? I'm the one who should be apologizing. Sweetie, I can only imagine a fraction of what you've been through and I forget sometimes that this is all new to you. I know better, but I forget."

Kurt gave her a weak smile. "I forget sometimes too."

"How about we call it a draw and start the day over? Open up that box and let's see what you got!"

"Okay." He carefully cut open the seals and opened the top flaps. "I don't know anyone in Canada."

"It's from Aunt Anne and Aunt Dani. They said to expect a box, but not to tell you because they wanted it to be a surprise."

The hybrid frowned at the package. "It doesn't smell like cheesecake."

Carole laughed. "It's not cheesecake. I have the recipe though. We can make some this week if you'd like."

"Yes, please!" No longer disappointed, Kurt finished opening the box and removed the layers of bubble wrap. He pulled out four bundles wrapped in white tissue paper which were further protected by plastic bags. "They weren't holding back on the packaging were they?" He liked that Carole laughed at his joke and continued to try and unearth the hidden contents, getting more and more curious by the minute. When at last he had the first item free, he discovered folded layers of the softest deep green cloth. Kurt held the item up and looked closer at the label. This wasn't just a piece of hybrid clothing, this was designer. Maybe not this year's seasons or even last's, but definitely designer. Eagerly he unwrapped the remaining packages, practically dancing with excitement.

Curious herself, Carole inspected each garment after Kurt had. "The girls wanted you to have something of your own. Something new and nice to wear that was made for hybrids instead of Burt and Finn's hand-me-downs. Do you like them?"

Kurt nodded his head with enthusiasm, his eyes wide, and voice a higher pitch from the exhilaration of it all. "This is too much."

"Oh, Sweetie, I think this is exactly what you needed. New clothes for a new life or fresh clothes for a fresh start if you prefer. Are they the right size? I had to guess. Dani included a gift receipt in case any exchanges needed to be made."

He shrugged and held up one of the shirts to his torso. "I think so. Most of the clothes you've given me have fit, and they look about the same size as the ones I've acquired myself."

"Well go try them on! I'll take some pictures and we'll send them to the girls."

"Okay." Kurt retreated to his room, the bundle of clothes in his hands. This was all so surreal and overwhelming. He knew that in such a small and racist town like Lima, it was too dangerous for Carole to buy him hybrid clothes at the local Walmart. She'd heard of those of his race trying to shop there and getting harassed by customers and staff. Burt had heard the similar stories from his hybrid customers who were having to drive hours away or order online, taking the risk of their packages being stolen or messed with. To have something of his own that he didn't make or modify, that wasn't a Reformatory jumpsuit or the castaways of others, that was right out of the pages of Vogue...It wasn't his life. It was a dream he'd only rarely let himself indulge in.

Kurt pulled off his sweatpants, OSU hoodie, and T-shirt, shivering a bit at the chill in the room. He tugged on the pair of pants that were at the top of the pile. The stretchy, thick fabric was woven into a subtle geometric pattern of rich browns and navy. They hugged his legs, butt, and thighs in wonderful ways. The arms and legs were pieced together with extra seams that permitted the greater range of motion for the flexible joints of hybrid physiology. Best of all, the closure at the back was a decorative, practical snap. Finally, no Velcro! Velcro was an evil used by cheap manufacturers who never had their fur ripped off by it, nor cared about the hybrids forced to sew it onto clothing, let alone wear it.

He chose the matching sweater next. It was just as warm, cozy, and fashionable. Before, he had thought having new underwear was amazing. This was a hundred times better. Wanting to see how he looked in a mirror and to thank Anne and Dani for the clothes, he hurried out of the room, relishing the feel of the fabric against his skin as he moved.

Carole held her hands to her chest, trying and failing to contain her excitement. "Kurt! You look wonderful! Do you like the clothes? How do they fit? Hold still so I can get some pictures."

"I love them." Kurt laughed at her reaction. Carole was an easy person to like. He turned and posed as picture after flash-lit picture was taken. He even allowed her to take a short video of him showing off the clothes and waving at the phone.

"I think we have enough of this outfit. Go try on the next one!"

Kurt indulged her, not that he minded at all. He only wished that Blaine was here to see him or a way to send him the pictures. There was always an in-person fashion show he could put on for him another day.

He picked up the long-sleeved shirt and pulled it on, loving the slit at the end of the sleeves that he could slip his thumbs through, preventing the length from riding up and offering extra warmth without the need for full gloves. He loved that the hood was without openings for his ears. He hated that some human manufactures, and humans, treated animals and hybrids the same. He could hear just fine and his head was far less cold while covered. Same for snow pants with tail holes. If it wasn't safer to hide his tail and take advantage of appearing human in winter, he'd make his own pants with a sleeve for his tail. Shaking off such negative thoughts, he returned to his present, happy reality. Running a hand along the plush pile of forest green, he discovered that the color changed to a smoky blue. The shirt was the color of his eyes!

"You alright, Sweetie?"

Apparently, that squeal of delight hadn't been inside his head. "I'm fine, Carole. Almost ready."

He pulled on the equally transforming chestnut and beige pants. He was wearing himself, without all the horror movie creepiness.

Kurt's entrance was as well received as the last had been. There was applause, squealing from both of them, and even more pictures taken than before. He permitted Carole to brush the fabric along his arm, surprised that the touch didn't make him flinch. "I think this outfit is my favorite."

"Mine too. Though both suit you well."

"They're amazing. Make sure they know, please. I can't thank them enough."

"There was something else in the box for you."

Kurt's ears perked up in shock. "What?"

Carole unrolled a small flag. The rainbow stripes were familiar to Kurt, but not the one at the top. It was single stripe made up of smaller vertical ones in black, brown, beige, gray, and white. "They said it's the new symbol of the LGBTQIA+ hybrid community. It started in Philadelphia and has spread to other larger cities in the U.S. and Canada. They picked it up at a store in Toronto."

Kurt took the item with reverence and blinked away the tears forming in his eyes. "There's a flag just for me?"

"There is, Honey."

"This is a really good day."

"You deserve all of them." Carole opened her arms, hoping, but not expecting to be taken up on her unspoken offer.

Kurt leaned into the hug, relishing the comfort it provided him. It was a really, really good day.

* * * * * * *

"Glad you're home, Kiddo.  Do you mind comin' into the shop for a couple of hours and trying out those upholstery repair skills? Mike and Tina's kids got into a fight and tore up the backseat of their car. They agreed to be our guinea pigs before we start officially offering the service. I closed up the shop early, so you'll be safe. The guys were happy to take a break."

"Sure. Let me change first."

Burt smiled at the kid's reluctant sigh. "I take it you like the fancy duds Anne and Dani sent you?"

Kurt couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "They're perfect."

"I'm happy to hear that. You look real nice. It suits you. I promise you can change back the minute you get home."

"Okay." Kurt left for his room and returned shortly wearing the most worn and grease-stained clothes he owned. He'd refused the offer of a set of Hummel Tires & Lube uniforms; he was done with jumpsuits forever. A shop T-shirt and pair of sturdy work pants he could handle, but the other brought back too many bad memories.

He zipped up his coat, tucked his tail under it, and tugged on his hat, gloves, and scarf, ready to leave through the front door and get into the truck, looking as human as possible should any neighbors be about.

It didn't take long for the pair to arrive at the garage. Burt performing their usual routine of driving into the shop, closing the large door, and making sure all blinds were shut before Kurt left the vehicle and removed his disguise. He found Tina's car easily enough and retrieved the keys from the rack they'd been placed on.

One thing Kurt liked about Hummel Tires and Lube - it was orderly. The office was a bit of a mess and the shop was greasy, a hazard of the trade, but it was a well-run machine. After his own interactions with Burt in "boss mode," it was easy to see why the majority of his staff had stayed on for years. The man expected you to do your job and do it to the best of your ability. If you didn't know how, he'd teach you, and was always on hand to help out. Best of all, he treated you like you mattered, and that meant the world to him.

Kurt heard a familiar voice when he was an hour into his work, carefully sewing up the tears so that the stitching couldn't be seen. It wasn't perfect, but it was far better than it had been before. Only if you looked closely could you see where the fabric had been stretched or a knot of thread tied. He sealed up the last of the holes, a bit of work still needed on it, and knotted the end of the thread before snipping it off. He tucked the needle and spools of thread into their case before stopping.

"Hi, Burt. Is the car ready or is your mechanic going to need more time?"

"Let's ask him."

As the footsteps approached Kurt tried to get into a position where he could see their owners as opposed to the odd sprawl he was currently in, wedged between the seats and halfway out the open door.

"Kurt? Is that you? I told Mike I thought I smelled you before, but he said I was imagining things."

Beaming, the previously-scented hybrid maneuvered his way out of the car and hugged his friend.

"You two know each other?" Human and hybrid questioned Kurt in near-unison.

Kurt laughed at them both, replying to Burt first. "Tina used to sneak me pizza when the manager wasn't looking." And then to his friend. "Burt caught me sleeping under his front porch and took me in."

"Aww, that's sweet. I always knew he was good people."

"So were you. I would have starved some days if it weren't for you."

Tina returned her friend's hug. "It was nothing, Kurt."

"It was everything for someone who had nothing."

"Kurt..." She smiled sadly at the young man before turning a bright smile onto the older mechanic. "I wouldn't have had a car if it wasn't for Burt...and apparently you."

Kurt shrugged the compliment off. "I do what I can to be useful."

"You do more than that, Kiddo. Nice work on the upholstery. What do you think, Tina?"

"I think you'd never know two boys were fighting over who got the biggest McDouble and most fries from the McDonald's drive thru."

"From the stories Carole has told, it sounds just like Finn and his friends when she'd take them out for a treat."

"So having an only child wouldn't have helped?"

Burt shook his head and shrugged. "Nope."

Tina sighed. "Can you build me a giant barrier to separate them?"

Human and hybrids laughed at the shared joke.

Burt gave her a sympathetic shake of his head and leaned on the car. "Do you mind if I take a closer look at your work, Kiddo? It'll give you two some time to catch up."

"I can redo anything that's not right." Kurt grabbed his sewing kit from the back in order to get it out of the way.

Tina peered inside and brushed her hand along the seat's back and bottom cushions. "Kurt, it looks amazing."

"Thanks, Tina, but if it's not perfect, the customers won't pay. It was my idea and his money, so..." He waved his hand in the direction of the office. "Do you want some coffee? Burt buys the good stuff and I made a fresh pot when I got here." Kurt smiled at the laugh of his overheard enthusiasm.

"Sure."

As they walked to the other end of the garage, Kurt put a comforting hand on his friend's arm. "I'm sorry that you lost your job."

"Thanks." Tina poured coffee into a disposable cup and imaged her former boss drowning in it. "The owner was a racist ass. Always cutting my hours, changing my shifts at the last minute, making rude comments about 'my kind.' The guy had six kids from four different women, yet I was the over-breeder for having two while married to the same man."

"Hypocrite. I hope his business goes to shit. The Hummels go to the other pizza place now." Kurt fixed his own cup, adding a generous amount of milk and a dribble of vanilla syrup he'd not so subtly suggested and convinced Burt to buy in order to "make the coffee even better and give the crew a nice sugar buzz."

"In this town? Wishful thinking if you ask me." Tina blew on her coffee to cool it down. "It was rough for awhile, but I have a good job now. It doesn't pay much, but they only hire hybrids and those of us that homeschool can bring our kids there. Have you heard of Millie & Marley's?"

"No. Should I have?" Kurt set down his cup and wiped his hands on a rag tucked into his back pocket. He'd only done upholstery work tonight and yet still he somehow managed to get grease on them.

"They've been trying to get the word out to the hybrid communities. Millie and Marley, I mean. They're a mother and daughter that started the store for those afraid to shop in brick and mortar places or need things that they don't carry. Mostly, it's mail order, but they'll allow you to pick up from their warehouse or do drop offs if you live within a two hour range and pay for gas. Right now most of their business is coming from Ohio, West Virginia, Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois, Tennessee, and parts of Pennsylvania. Orders are coming in from all over all though as word gets around. It's not safe to advertise."

Kurt couldn't help his body's natural instinct to flatten his ears and thrash his tail in barely contained anger. "How could they be safe at all around here?"

Tina sympathized with her friend's situation and tried to make her voice sound as reassuring as possible. "They run out of an old farmhouse about an hour outside of Lima and have a human couple fronting for them - Santana and Brittany's Sensual Skin Care. If you click on their cat's ad for Lord Tubbington's Fondue Master Class, it'll lead you to Millie and Marley's."

"I think I know her, Brittany, I mean. She gives Blaine fish sometimes. Blonde hair, pale skin, tells you that you were a dolphin in a past life?"

"She told me that I was a vampiress, daughter to a great ruler of vampires. Maybe it's because of how I dress?" She tugged at the skirt of her long, black, brocade and lace velvet dress. It was warm and stylish without making her feel old and "momish." "So who's Blaine?"

Kurt pointed to his faded Hummel Tires and Lube T-shirt and tan work pants and then to his ears arched with the same sarcasm as his voice. "Do I look like a dolphin to you? "

"No, you look like someone trying to avoid a question." Tina gave him a sly look noting the flush on her friend's face when she said the name again. "Who's Blaine?"

"Just a friend." Kurt widened his eyes to appear as sincere as possible, but his nervously twitching tail betrayed him.

Tina hummed. "It's okay, Kurt. Your secret is safe with me. I'm glad you're happy."

"Thanks. I am." He changed the subject as quickly as he could. "So what's the website?"

"Let me write it down for you." She silently thanked Kurt when he went to the office and brought her out a piece of paper and a pen. "You won't be able to miss their cat. He's...unique."

"Thanks." Kurt took the note, looked at it, then folded it, and stuck it into a front pocket along with the pen. "I'll check it out and spread the word. Most of the hybrids I know don't have money to spare, or money at all for that matter, but it'd be nice to have some essentials that were made just for us. Humans don't get how evil Velcro is."

"Try having kids. Velco is on everything! Even stuff made just for hybrid babies. I'd like the greedy bastards to try explaining to a crying infant caught in the stuff that it was cheaper to use than a couple of snaps or buttons."

"Humans are idiots." Kurt giggled with embarrassment when he heard a gruff clearing of a throat. "But of course, not all of them are."

Tina laughed, "Of course not. Some are wonderful." She made room for the equally amused human so he could pour his own cup of coffee. "How's my car looking, Burt?"

Burt handed the woman her keys. "You're all good to go. Thanks for letting us work on it. We should be able to offer the service by end of next week."

"Thanks for not charging."

Kurt interrupted the man's reply with a random blurt of his own, holding up his hands and shaking them. "Gloves!"

"What?"

"Put gloves on the kids' hands. That's what my mom said she did with me when I was a baby and then as a toddler when I went through a destructive scratching phase. Two pairs if you have to. They'll learn pretty quick how annoying they are and stop, or at the least will swat at each other and the furniture with less damage."

"That's a brilliant idea, Kurt. I'll try it out the minute they start up again."

"No problem. I hope it works."

Tina tossed her empty coffee cup in the trash bin and gave her friend a long hug. "I have to go, but I'll see you around. I'm glad you're doing better, Kurt. You deserve it."

"You too. Go take the business world by storm."

The woman grimaced. "I fill orders and pack boxes."

Kurt rolled his eyes at her dismissal. "Then take that by storm. And keep the blue streaks in your fur. They look great on you."

"I will. Bye." Tina got into her car and carefully backed out of the shop, after the door was raised for her, offering a quick wave before she left the lot.

Burt waved back and scanned what was visible of the outside, ever protective of the young man standing beside him. "I'm glad that you got to catch up with your friend."

"Me too. She was there for me when..." Kurt wanted to say more, but couldn't bring himself to just yet. It's not as if Burt hadn't heard what he and Tina had talked about. The garage wasn't that big. There was more, of course, but wasn't there always? He shook the thoughts off, poured the last of the coffee into his cup, and began cleaning up the machine so that it would be ready for tomorrow morning's shift.

Burt ran a hand over his head and adjusted his cap, wishing for the millionth time he could offer the boy a hug or simple pat on the back, but knowing that he wasn't there yet and might never be. Words and other deeds were all he had. "You ready to go home, Kiddo?"

"Okay. Can I bring my coffee?"

"Have I ever stopped you before?"

"No."

"Then there's your answer." Burt laughed as he pulled on his coat. The kid was something else.

* * * * * * *

Kurt had barely shut and locked the front door behind him when Carole stepped out of the kitchen and started walking towards them, wiping her hands on a towel. The cuffs of her jean jacket were rolled up as were those of the yellow, long sleeved knit shirt she wore underneath it. Her feet were clad in thick, blue slippers, and a spot of tomato sauce had splattered onto her gray sweatpants. He smiled at the "momness" of it all. It was a comforting familiarness he was enjoying getting used to.

"How'd it go, boys?"

Burt kissed his wife on the cheek before removing his coat. "Kurt did great. Seat looked almost brand new."

Kurt grimaced at the praise. He knew every mistake he'd made and areas he wished he'd gone back to improve. "It wasn't that good."

"That's why I said 'almost'." Burt laughed at his joke, glad that his charge took the teasing well.

"How does spaghetti and meatballs sound for dinner?"

"Sounds great, Honey."

"Kurt?"

"It's fine."

"Just fine or you'd prefer something else?"

The hybrid grinned at the woman's "don't lie to me because I can spot bullshit from a mile away" look. She should patent it. "Meatballs are always fine."

Carole laughed. "I'll remember that."

Kurt walked past her, coat and winter gear already stripped off, and opened the door to the back porch in order to hang them up. "Do you need help cooking?"

"Thank you for offering, but I'm good." Carole joined him in the kitchen and rummaged through the freezer until she found the red, black, and clear plastic bag that she'd been looking for. "I thought you knew my secrets by now. Frozen, pre-cooked meatballs, jarred sauce, and boxed pasta. Dinner in thirty minutes or less. Tricks I learned years ago as a single, working mom that remain useful to this day."

Kurt held up his hands. "You'll get no judgments from me. My mom didn't make much from scratch either. Not that I remember. And then there was the food at the..." He cut himself off and retreated to his room. This was supposed to be a good day. He was reluctant to change back into his new clothes, wishing he could shower first, but still uncomfortable doing so when others were around. Returning to the kitchen, still in his shop clothes, he was pleased to see that Carole hadn't taken offense at his abrupt departure. "If you don't need me, can I use the computer to check out an online store for hybrids that my friend works at?"

Carole finished filling a large pot with water and put it on the stove; turning on the gas burner to start heating the water to a boil. "Of course, Sweetie. Do you remember the password?"

"Buckeyeswin42."

"That's the one. Have at it. You know you can use it anytime as long as you follow the rules." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Kurt watching her fill a microwave safe bowl with meatballs. She retrieved another and did the same. The kid was hungry, but too reticent to say so. Mentally, she kicked herself for forgetting to feed him lunch. Finn had always been the opposite, always hungry and always willing to say so. Kurt's quietness was different, but at least he'd become more forthcoming in writing down a few things he'd like to eat, even if they so far only included coffee, cheesecake, and protein bars.

"Thank you." He hoped she understood his reply on multiple levels. He knew she knew he was watching her. He liked that she added more meatballs and opened up two jars of sauce. The meatballs were great without a doubt, but having control over how much sauce went on the pasta was a pleasure he'd never realized he was missing. Now he could have as much as he wanted and it wasn't watered down to the point of tastelessness, barely clinging to overcooked noodles. And there was always an open shaker jar of Parmesan cheese too; again, allowed as much as he wanted. This was the way spaghetti was meant to be eaten.

Kurt pulled his eyes away from the food and walked to the desk in the living room where laptop was already turned on and a tab opened to one of Carole and Burt's YouTube playlists of 1980's music. While he could freely admit that A-ha's "Take On Me" video was cool, some of the couple's other selections were downright cringe-worthy as were the clothes and make-up. While he could probably rock a knit tie, paisley, and black leather, the neon pastels were a crime against fashion. Carole's continued embracement of denim was at least a look that fit in with the rest of modern day Ohio.

He carefully minimized the tab and brought up a new one. Kurt knew the rules by heart. There weren't many and he wasn't about to go on *those* sites. When he'd first been allowed on the Hummel's computer, he'd discovered from Finn's not-so-secret files that he'd been a frequent visitor though, and had saved a bunch of videos and pictures. Apparently, the guy had a fondness for human brunettes in lacy, pink lingerie and other things Kurt wished he had brain bleach to erase. And why there was a file called 'Think of the Mailman,' he absolutely did not want to know.

After loading up Santana and Brittany's Sensual Skin Care's page, he was bombarded by more images that he didn't want to see. There was so much human female skin and so many tongues. Why were there tongues on a skin care site? He was too mortified to be triggered. His past hadn't included things like a video of Santana rubbing Lustful Lavender Oil on Brittany's...he wasn't even going to think the name of that body part...that started to autoplay just as Burt walked by.

"Hey, Bud, I thought we talk about not looking at inappropriate things being one of the rules."

Was dying of embarrassment a thing? Because he was pretty sure that was happening right now. "I wasn't! Not on purpose! I swear!" He fumbled for the piece of paper with the website's address and shoved it into Burt's hand, going back to the computer, and pointing the mouse onto another section of the site. "I'm trying to find the cat. Tina said find the cat and it'll lead to the hybrid site. I swear I didn't know about the other stuff! I don't want to see it either." After discovering that the tab led to pictures of parts he did know the name for, he gave up and clamped his hands over his eyes. This was starting to not be funny.

"Is that it?" Burt tried not to laugh as Kurt opened his fingers just enough to see through a slit in them.

"You try it. I give up." Kurt shut his fingers and began to hum a random tune hoping to drown out any sound should another video start playing. He stopped when his arm was nudged.

"Lord Tubbington's Fondue Master Class. That matches up with what the note says."

"But that's not a cat." The creature pictured next to the link surely had to be a genetic experiment gone wrong because not even mixed race hybrid-humans, nor any cat he'd seen, looked like that.

"Be brave, Kiddo. I'm right here with you."

"Because that makes it less embarrassing." His grumbled sigh turned into one of relief when the real site loaded. It had a simple, easy to navigate layout, and the only videos he'd seen so far were user-choice, G-rated product demonstrations.

"I'll leave you to it, Kurt, and see if Carole needs any help with dinner."

Kurt directed the mouse over to a promising looking link, praying to gods he didn't believe in, that there would only be thumbnail pictures. "You're going to tell her what happened, aren't you?

"Aw, Kid, I wouldn't be a proper parent if I didn't. Come get me if you need help again. What is it kids say these days? If I die, delete my browser history."

"Very funny." He accepted the tease with the fond humor of which it was intended, and focused his full attention on the site. For such a small company, he was amazed at all that was offered - everything from skin and fur care products to clothing and foodstuffs.

Kurt checked out the personal care section first. He longed for the more expensive creams, shampoos, conditioners, and other toiletries, but settled on the cheapest ones. Basic was fine if it meant he could buy a pair of quality boots made for hybrid feet, which was the section he checked out next.

He longed for footwear that was his size and meant for hybrid physiology. No more cramming his feet into human shoes and stuffing them full of paper or rags to fit. Or the same with tossed or purloined hybrid footwear that was always too big or too small. He'd had to go without for months after escaping from the Reformatory and getting attacked, yet again, by Lima's roving hybrid gang. The rich brown, leather boots he chose weren't the most expensive nor cheapest, but they were highly rated. That they'd fit and would compliment his new clothes was the biggest draw.

He looked at grocery section next. The Rooster O's cereal looked promising, though the product description didn't say if they were chicken flavored or not. The deer jerky was locally made, but too expensive to waste money on. If he honestly wanted deer meat, there were ways of getting it within the homeless community. Burt sometimes accepted it in trade as well. This was rural Ohio after all. The cookie varieties looked good though, as did a cookbook entitled, "Cooking for Mixed Families." It promised "dinners and desserts everyone can enjoy, from hybrid to human."

He moved on to the clothing department and immediately added a package of underwear and socks. He would always be more than grateful for the briefs Carole had given him, but these had a fastener at the back and the edge of the cut-out "U" for the tail was edge-stitched for comfort. There wasn't that weird, folding fly in the front that humans had either. He added another package and two packages of socks. Blaine deserved a good day too.

Kurt looked at the total in the cart. It was nearly half of what he'd made working for Burt. More than he wanted to spend, but nothing he couldn't easily justify buying. He had the money. The new clothes from Canada had made him realize how much he missed wearing clothing that was designed for his race.

His one splurge was a happy, yet sad one. It was a bow tie print graphic tee that reminded him of one he'd gotten for his fifth birthday. He'd always wanted a bow tie, but of course they didn't have the money to spare. So his mom had a taken a black marker and carefully drawn him one on a plain white T-shirt, then added little buttons to the front. "Now you can be a proper young gentleman during our tea parties, my sweet Kurt."

Kurt turned back to the grocery section and added a box of tea and tin of hybrid safe cookies. "In honor of you, Mom." He wiped away his tears and looked at the total in his cart. It was higher than before, but he felt his mom would have approved. Smiling, he retrieved enough money from one of the hiding places in his room, glad it was enough so that he wouldn't have to venture out into the cold for more from another spot.

Burt looked up from the TV to see Kurt with the money in his hand, "You ready, Kiddo?"

"If you wouldn't mind?"

"I wouldn't have offered if I did. You don't have a credit or bank card. I do. It's your money fair and square, to do with as you please. Why don't you go change and get ready for dinner while I take care of it."

"Thank you."

"Not a problem, Bud."

Burt pulled the credit card out of his wallet before sitting down at the computer. The shopping cart's total wasn't much, not nearly enough given what this kid really needed, but it was a lot of money for someone who had previously had none. He noticed the Suggested for You items as well as the Wish List Kurt had set up. If the kid secretly longed for higher quality skin and fur care products, he was going to get them, along with extra undergarments and hybrid specific foodstuffs. The new items nearly doubled the total, but it didn't matter. The kid was going to get what he deserved, not just what he needed. As for the money he'd been handed, it was going into a secret savings account. One day Kurt would be off on his own again and need it. No way was he going to make the boy pay for things he'd freely given to Finn. Kurt was like a second son to him now and had been for awhile. A pair of boots, some jars of fancy cream, and a handful of new clothes wasn't going break the bank and was the least he could do. He and Carole could never replace his mom, but they could give him a home and a family again.

* * * * * * *

Blaine arrived just as dinner was being served, softly knocking at the back door. It was Kurt who heard it first and let him in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You're just in time for dinner."

"Oh, I didn't know you were eating. I can leave." Blaine began to re-button his coat and turned back to the door that led to the porch.

Carole would have none of it. "Sweetie, you know you're always welcome. There's more than enough. Do you like spaghetti and meatballs?"

"I love meatballs!"

Carole laughed. "You and Kurt both. Go have a seat in the living room, and I'll get you a plate."

"That's okay. I can get my own."

"And you'll take too little swearing it's enough. I already raised one teenager, Blaine. You and Kurt will never fool me. A parent knows when their kids are hungry."

"Thank you, Mrs. Humm...Carole."

"You're welcome."

Blaine left to join his boyfriend, immediately noticing his new outfit. Kurt put his plate down and preened, spinning to show off every side, describing every detail. Even though he rushed to his room to retrieve his second set of finery, he stopped short of a full fashion show. The smirk on Blaine's face was enough to express the thoughts between the two of them - a more thorough inspection of the clothes and how well they fit on Kurt's body would come later when they were in private.

For once, Kurt ate as neatly as his boyfriend, not wanting to spill a drop on his clothes and using a dishtowel as a bib. Normally, he was a "shove it in quickly before anyone could steal it" kind of guy, though he was trying to break himself of the habit now that he was in safer company and food more readily available. He stopped just barely at the point of fullness, begging off wanting seconds, and giving his remainder to Blaine who needed it more. While he may be guarded around his food, he couldn't stand to see his boyfriend suffer.

Carole, having a rare night off, got to choose the programs they watched. The first was a forgettable comedy that everyone seemed to ignore while eating and chatting about their days. She and Burt exchanged heartfelt smiles, proud of the progress Kurt had made. After three weeks of standing in the doorway watching TV with them, Kurt was on the couch. The edge closest to the kitchen, but still actually on it, curled up with his boyfriend. Only on occasion did he glance around furtively, checking for danger and the best way to escape should it appear. Burt continued to give the boy his space, relaxing in his favorite recliner. Carole tested the brief closeness she'd shared with him today, asking, and receiving permission, to sit on the other end of the couch. They were slowly becoming a family, same as when she and Finn had moved in with Burt. Now it included a beautiful, broken boy, who needed a new one, of which she was more than willing to provide if for. Raising kids was much more gratifying than feeding a stray cat, even if she had to stop herself from teasingly calling Kurt Mister Fluffy Pants from time to time. His loathing of that cat was understandable, if not at times amusing.

The second program they watched was a reality show that seemed to be a cross between The Real Housewives and Survivor. She exchanged secret laughs with her husband at the boys' incredulous faces and snide remarks.

"What kind of idiots did they sign on for this show? That's not how you catch lunch. They're too loud and their aim is clumsy. You need stealth, patience, and a quick blow."

Blaine readily agreed with his boyfriend. "Hope they like eating tree bark because that's all they're going to catch at this rate."

"I've told you a hundred times, Blaine. Humans are id...not as skilled as hybrids at instinctual survival skills." Kurt took another bite of his spaghetti, pointedly not looking at his human benefactors' reaction to his faux pas. He was relieved when there was a costume change after the commercial. "I wore a drab olive and orange jumpsuit most of my life. Trust me, Honey, orange is not the new black, no matter your race."

Blaine chose a different outfit to sneer at, "I always thought Dalton's blazers should be red with blue piping. How wrong I was. That is not a good look."

Kurt's ears flattened against his head and his tail slashed with fury. "Hybrid stripes! Racist much? I wouldn't wear a pelt of hairless tan skin."

Blaine squinted at the TV. "I think that's from an animal a cameraman caught on the island."

Still not placated, the hybrid growled low in his throat. "It better be."

Blaine tried to lighten his boyfriend's mood, pointing out a couple that had just appeared on screen. The heat of the tropical setting seemed to be affecting the inhabitants' sense of decency in more ways than one. A balding man that couldn't have been more than thirty opted for a coconut shell codpiece as his only form of clothing. A choice the censors were having trouble blurring out. Blaine swore he'd seen more nuttage in the past half hour than a squirrel...and he was gay and had a boyfriend. The woman he was with hadn't done any better. The reverse Dalton blazer was bad enough as it was, but cut up and used as a loin cloth with the matching tie not covering her breasts in the least. This was surely going to scar him for life because worst of all, she looked a lot like his mom. "Those two fight just like my parents. Five bucks says she wins."

"You don't have five bucks, Blaine." He tried not to stare at the atrocities before him, but couldn't help himself. At least it wasn't as bad as what he'd seen earlier on the computer.

"Figurative money."

With a lilting tone, Kurt teased a retort as the scene ended. "Shouldn't have said that because I do and the guy won."

Blaine turned to question his partner's viewing comprehension skills. "No, he didn't. Her girlfriend broke up the fight. We both lose."

Kurt patted his boyfriend's arm and shook his head in woeful dismay. "I think everyone watching this show looses, Honey."

The rest of the evening was the spent in much the same way of mindless TV and snarky commiseration at the letdown television programs had become, even if they did secretly enjoy them.  That was until the news came on featuring a story about a group of hybrid rights activists being attacked by Pure Race Nationalists while the police stood idly by. Blaine's eyes grew wide with fear while Kurt tensed with barely constrained anger. That this was just the latest of incalculable injustices being made against hybrids was upsetting to all and unfair to the two boys and the millions like them.

Burt reached for the remote and turned the TV off. 'You know, I think it's time for bed. Blaine, you're welcome to stay in Kurt's room. Just, you boys be careful. Nothing too enthusiastic. Air mattresses aren't cheap and I'd hate for it to burst." The boys mortally embarrassed, blushing faces and stammered replies as they scrambled out of the room was just the reaction he'd hoped for in order to lighten the mood. He could hear Carole stifling a laugh behind her cup of tea. Some days parenting was easy and embarrassing your kids was one of the perks.

* * * * * * *

Kurt and Blaine snuggled under the covers, fully clothed, and too aware of every sound coming from the main part of the house to do more than a little light kissing before settling in to sleep. Kurt pulled his boyfriend in closer, his left arm and tail wrapped firmly around him. The room was lit in spots from moonlight peeking in through the edges of the curtains.