{Cary}

When the nurse at the clinic called Kurt's name, he grabbed Cary's hand with freezing fingers. "Don't leave, okay?' Kurt said. "Don't leave. You're my ride home." He pushed Cary into a little plastic chair in the waiting room, patting his chest. "Okay Care?" His smudged make up made his eyes look bruised.

"I'm not going anywhere, Visser " Cary rumbled, returning the man's hands to himself. "I'll be right here when you come out. Cross my heart."

Kurt swayed into an exam room and Cary bowed with his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands on the back of his neck. The smell of antiseptic made his skin prickle and he wished he'd smashed Nicky's ugly face into mush and broken every finger. He swallowed, closing his eyes, praying without words, like he pulled the beads of a rosary through his fingers.

To Cary's weary amazement, Kurt came out thirty minutes later, giggling, flinging his arms wide to the room like he'd done a magic trick. "Ta-dah!" Damp hairs stood up around his clean-washed face. He tripped a little, hurrying over, and nearly fell into Cary's lap. "We can go; this ole ass is gonna be fine."

Cary put an arm around Kurt's angular shoulders to get him to the exit doors. As he glanced back, he noticed the exam nurse giving him a scathing look of accusation and he ducked his head, pushing the door open for Kurt. You and me both, lady, he thought.

Back in the van, Kurt waved a slip of paper, his eyes over-bright. "Louise says it's just bruisin' an' a concussion an' she gave me a note for some pills to get better soon."

Cary caught the prescription out of his fingers. "I assume she gave you something for the pain right now."

Kurt chuckled. "Ohh yup yup yup. Kurt is high as a kite."

"Good for Kurt," Cary said, scanning the name of the medication. "Yeah we can pick this up. You'll have to lock it up or keep it in the truck."

"Uh-huh?" Kurt said brightly. "Why?"

"For your boyfriend to stay sober and vertical, Visser. Your alcohol addiction will kill you slow—a bottle full of these will put Jon down in one night."

"Jonathon," Kurt sang softly. He pulled a knee up to his chest, tipping against the door with his eyes closed. "I'm gonna take good care of him. He's a keeper, Care-bear."

Cary rolled his eyes. Hopefully Kurt wouldn't remember the nickname in the morning. "Sounds like you don't need these tonight. Let's just get you home."

Navigating yet another set of streets full of night traffic, Cary felt like he was stuck in a nightmare that was at once horrifying and completely tedious. "You want to report this?" he asked, after long minutes of silence.

Kurt blew out his lips in a rude noise without opening his eyes. "Who's gonna listen? Imma drunk, slutty queer and who's gonna listen, Care. Imma be fine." His face twitched and he shifted.

Cary sighed, knuckling his eye, wishing he could argue with any kind of conviction.

"We're not telling Jon, yeah?" Kurt's voice was soft and light.

When Cary stayed silent, Kurt looked around, his icy hand finding his on the gear shift. "Care?" His eyes were huge with pupil in his white face. "We're not. Please don't." His voice frayed to a whisper. "This was my own stupid fault. An' I can't. Lose him."

"This was not your fault. And you're not gonna lose him," Cary muttered.

Kurt made a noise that broke Cary's heart. "Please Cary. Jon's the best thing I ever had."

Finally Cary tucked his chin in a nod, tracing an 'x' over his chest.

{Jon}

Jon waited up, leaning against the window to watch the street from the darkened living room. Stomach churning with anger and worry, he tried to focus on each breath, his bare feet dug into the floorboards, his fingertips pressing into his arms. He eased his neck from side to side, eyes catching on every vehicle that flashed its headlights around their corner.

Finally the familiar roar of Cary's truck materialized out of the hush of traffic, and a minute later it pulled up beside the curb. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Jon watched his boyfriend half-fall out of the cab, trip over the edge of the lawn, and start to crawl towards the steps. Jon could hear Kurt laughing even through the thick pane of glass. Jogging, Cary caught up to him, pulling him to his feet to support him up the steps.

The front door opened and a blast of cold air made Jon shiver.

"Home!" Kurt said brightly. He tipped against the wall of the entryway with his arms spread like he was hugging it. "I missed you." His drawl was slurred.

"For fuck's sake," Cary muttered. "Quiet down Visser. You'll wake Jon up."

Jon flicked the hall light on and both men flinched. Kurt peered at him under the shade he made with his hands. His boyfriend was enveloped in Cary's massive flannel jacket, but his feet were bare. For some reason Jon fixated on that detail. "Where the hell are your shoes, Kurt?" he said softly.

Kurt started to giggle. "Ohhh shit Kurt's in trouble. That's my boyfriend's angry face." He covered his face, one blue eye peeking out through his fingers as he swayed. "Ohhh yup, he's mad. Jon-Jonny-Jon is mad at me."

Jon lifted his chin, turning his pointed look to Cary, who ducked his head. "I dunno--he didn't have them when I found him," Cary said. His friend was looking anywhere but his face and Jon wanted to lose his shit right there, but there was really no one to be mad at except himself.

Kurt abruptly sagged against the wall, drooping towards the floor. "Can I be in trouble tomorrow?" he mumbled plaintively. "I just want bed an' blankets an' bed."

Jon caught him before he fell on his butt, pulling Kurt's arm across his shoulder and hugging him around his waist. "Let's go. You're not making it up those stairs alone."

"You got him?" Cary asked.

Jon shot him a look. "He's half your size," he said shortly. "I've done this before."

"Maybe I should--" Cary said.

"Back off," Jon snapped. Now that he had his arms around Kurt's trembling body, he wasn't letting him go for anything. "I said I got him. I never should've left him in the first place."

Kurt hummed to himself as he tripped up the stairs, leaning heavily on Jon. The heavy sweet smell of alcohol was overwhelming. Jon rapidly judged that Kurt was too far gone to get him in and out of the shower, so he just kicked open the door to Kurt's room and manoeuvred him inside.

He tugged at the cuffs of the flannel jacket. "C'mon, let's get you out of your things."

Kurt abruptly pulled away from him, falling sideways onto the bed. "No-no-no--Cary said no, say no."

"You can't sleep with a jacket on--" Jon said, exasperated, but Kurt was crawling over the bed and burrowing into the covers.

"Don't want to. No, say no." The soles of Kurt's feet were black as asphalt.

Jon had worked with enough children to know a lost cause when he saw one. "Okay, fine. Sleep in your clothes. No offence but I'm sleeping in my own bed tonight. You stink, Visser."

There was a shaky intake of breath from the lump under the covers and Kurt said faintly, "Can you just make it stop turning round and round...?"

Jon grabbed the wastebasket just in time for his boyfriend to lean over the edge of the bed and noisily empty his stomach. Pressing his lips closed on the smell, Jon pushed Kurt's hair out of his face as the other man heaved and spat.

"All done?" Jon asked.

"Mm-hmm." Kurt sank back on the pillow, green-white, his eyes squeezed shut. "Never drinking again. Never never."

"I'll be sure to remind you you said so," Jon muttered, as he carried the waste basket into the bathroom to deal with later. He washed his hands, wishing he could wash the smell out of his mouth as well, and returned with a cup of water and a damp cloth. Propping Kurt's head up, he got as much of the water into his half-conscious boyfriend as he could, then wiped his face and hands. When he was done, Kurt was snoring softly.

Sighing, Jon went to finish cleaning up his mess in the washroom.

He checked on Kurt once more before turning in himself. The jacket was tangled around Kurt's body, and Jon climbed onto the bed to take it off now that Kurt was too deeply asleep to protest. Kneeling on top of the covers, he unsnapped the garment and pulled it off Kurt's arms. A smudge of make up on Kurt's bicep puzzled him, and he rubbed it with his thumb.

It didn't come off.

Flicking on the bedside lamp, Jon tipped the light over Kurt's body. Kurt's eyes flinched, but he didn't move, his chest rising and falling slowly under his sequined shirt.

Five unmistakable fingerprints were pressed purple into Kurt's bare arm. Jon barely breathed, putting his own fingers feather-light into the marks: bigger hands than his. Rapidly, he checked Kurt's other arm, his hands and knuckles, finding similar bruises on his boyfriend's wrist. He lifted Kurt's shirt, stroking his hand over the unmarked skin on his ribs. Not a beating or a fight; his knuckles and fingernails were unmarked.

Biting the corner of his lip, Jon gazed in Kurt's face, like he might wake up and answer his questions.

His eyes caught on another bruise resolving out of shadow, ugly and mottled in the corner of Kurt's neck and shoulder. Jon's made a tight, dry noise, leaning over him, touching the heat of that skin light as a feather, then running his fingers over the faint, shadowy marks on his boyfriend's throat. Sick and voiceless, he slid his arms around Kurt's shoulders, gathering his body close.

1681 words.