Chapter Text
“At least this can’t get any fucking worse,” he mutters under his breath, hissing when his teeth catch on his split upper lip.
“Sebastian?”
And that would be why people call saying 'at least it can't get any worse’ tempting the fates. Because the universe is always up for a fucking challenge.
“If it isn't Betty White in the flesh. My grandmother is a fan.”
“Hilarious and so fresh. Truly promising stand-up comedian material. I’d tell you to quit your day job if you had one,” is Kurt Hummel’s reply, quick and with just the right amount of bite. Then, with eyes wandering all over Sebastian's face and body, he adds, “What the hell happened to you?”
It probably says something about the pain he’s in (and the amount of alcohol still flowing through his system) that he decides to be honest, instead of just telling Kurt to mind his own damned business.
“Had a run-in with a jealous boyfriend.”
Kurt's eyebrows rise for a second and then furrow, and he looks as though he's about to ask something, so Sebastian adds, “Not my jealous boyfriend.”
Kurt's face clears then, although he's still letting his eyes roam over Sebastian's face with something that Sebastian would read as worry on anyone who gave a damn about him.
The words are out before he knows he's going to say them.
“What? You thought I'd gotten jumped and gay-bashed by some ball cap wearing rednecks or something?”
He regrets the words as soon as they're out.
Kurt had made the news awhile back when he’d gotten the crap beaten out of him in New York to save some other guy from the same fate, what with his daddy being congressman and everything.
He remembers the way his stomach had dropped when he saw the headline of the article on MSNBC, “Son of Ohio Congressman Burt Hummel Gay Bashed in New York City”.
He might've never been Kurt’s biggest fan, but the feeling of having a bucket of ice cold water dropped on him had been there regardless as he clicked on the news article with slightly shaky hands, and as he pored over it with a wildly beating heart, searching for any clues on his health condition, muttering stupid, stupid, stupid under his breath as he read about the circumstances of the attack, about how Kurt had—according to witnesses who wished to remain anonymous— jumped in to defend someone else.
“Sorry,” he says before Kurt can say anything himself, and then sighs, and bitch shit fuck motherfucker— that fucking hurts. “That whole not being a bitch thing is a work in progress.”
“I see,” Kurt replies, and under the dry tone of his words, he can tell there’s a little wry amusement. “It’s reassuring to see at least some things never change, I guess.”
It strikes Sebastian as a bit of a whimsical comment to make.
“Anyway.” Kurt continues after a second or two of awkward silence. “Let me help you up.”
He gives himself a second to think of all the ways he can decline Kurt’s offer before he finally sighs and extends a hand towards the other man, who takes it in a surprisingly strong grip before crouching a little and putting his other hand somewhere between Sebastian’s armpit and his side.
“Ready?” He asks, and he’s frowning in concentration. Sebastian can feel the wet warmth of his breath from their proximity.
“Yeah,” Sebastian whispers, voice hoarse.
Kurt counts to three under his breath, and on three he pulls and Sebastian pushes, until he’s up on shaky feet.
“Well, that fucking hurts like a bitch,” he says, pressing a hand to his most likely bruised ribs.
When Sebastian looks up at him, Kurt’s brow is dipped in concern, and one of his hands is hovering just over where Sebastian’s own is.
When he realizes Sebastian caught him staring, the hand drops. The dip stays.
“That— do you need help getting somewhere? You shouldn’t be driving like that.”
And the thing is— Sebastian knows this, as a pre-med student. And he might still be a haughty little shit, because it’s practically in his blood, right along with smarm and a nose for business, but even he isn’t proud enough to risk getting into a car wreck by driving in his state.
… None of that makes it any easier to swallow his pride and accept Kurt Hummel’s help, though, so he spends a couple of seconds just— just sizing Kurt up with what he hopes is a mildly unnerving and piercing look in his eyes.
Kurt, of course, doesn’t back down. Because why would he? He didn’t when Sebastian was actively trying his best to make his life hell and he was just an insecure high schooler wearing more layers than a nun. So there's no reason he would now that he is apparently none of those things anymore.
“Fine,” he drawls, finally. “If you’re so desperate to get into my car with me, I guess I’ll humor you.”
Kurt snorts.
“Don’t I feel special,” he says, and for once, the words lack a sharp edge. He just sounds— amused.
It’s— it’s a little unsettling.
“My car’s over there,” he says, and feels as though he’s rushing the words out, even though they come out fine.
“Lead the way,” Kurt replies, making a little flourish towards the rest of the parking lot.
After a couple of slow, measured, unsteady steps, Kurt just sighs and rolls his eyes at him, and forcefully shoves an arm under Sebastian’s own, making him lean his weight on him.
Sebastian bites his tongue on a disparaging comment, because the truth is he’s not a fan of being in pain, especially if he can avoid it.
And Hummel smells nice, a part of him pipes up, he smells nice and his arms are strong and warm.
Sebastian ignores that part of him, tramples it the fuck down. It’s the same part that landed him in the situation he’s in right now, so it shouldn’t get listened to.
(At least for a while. He’s gonna need his dick sucked at some point.)
His thoughts are interrupted when his car comes into view, and Kurt bursts into laughter.
“Of course,” he says, after the worst of it has subsided, and he sounds positively gleeful. “Of course you would drive a Ferrari in West Lima. What is it, a 2014 FF? Is it yellow?”
It is yellow.
For some reason Sebastian feels the need to defend himself against unvoiced criticism, so he says, “It’s my father’s.”
“Sure it is,” Kurt says, sounding as though he’s trying to reassure a child about the existence of Santa Claus.
Sebastian scowls and unlocks the car, and Kurt helps him into the passenger side, gingerly.
“I don’t know what model it is,” Sebastian says once Kurt has gotten into the car himself and buckled his belt. “I’m not much of a cars guy.”
Kurt hums as he starts the car.
“Really? Would've thought that’d be right up your alley.”
“What about you? You seemed pretty sure about my car’s model and make.”
Kurt shrugs, eyes on the rearview mirror as he gets them out of the parking spot.
“I'm a mechanic’s kid. Grew up with a monkey wrench in my hand, looking at the Ferrari calendars on the walls of my dad’s garage.”
That piece of information manages to tilt Sebastian's world upside down, somehow. He has no box he can put it into.
“Weren't you afraid of getting grease stains on your sparkly princess dresses?”
Kurt takes his hand away from the gear shift then, and slaps his arm. Hard.
Sebastian yelps.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since senior year,” Kurt says, and Sebastian gapes at him.
Kurt doesn't even deign to spare him a short glance as he finally tears away from the parking lot and into the night, a smug smile firmly in place on his face.
Kurt doesn't say anything as they reach the Smythe residence, but Sebastian can read everything he would say in his face, open like a book.
He doesn't say 'it's my father's’, because that would be a stupid reaction. And anyhow, it's not like Kurt needs Sebastian to say it to know that the mansion is his parents’.
Sebastian just guides him into his preferred parking spot in front of the (yes, frankly unnecessarily huge) garage.
It's not until Kurt’s killing the engine that Sebastian realizes Kurt has no ride back.
Kurt doesn’t seem to be as bothered by the fact, as he gets out and walks over to his side to help him out.
He walks him up to his door, and waits for him to unlock it, and then when Sebastian’s walking in, he follows him without even waiting for Sebastian’s permission, asking him where Sebastian’s living room is, and taking off in that direction as soon as Sebastian gets the words out, still half-carrying him.
“Where’s your first aid kit?” He asks as soon as Sebastian is sitting down on a couch.
Sebastian blinks up at him, confused.
Kurt sighs, and crosses his arms.
“A first aid kit, Sebastian, is a small box with essential supplies for minor medical emergencies.”
“Smartass,” Sebastian says. Then he adds, “And I don't see why you would need my first aid kit. Don't you have anywhere else to be?”
Kurt shrugs.
“Not really. Not much to do in Lima on a weekday, especially when most of my friends are elsewhere. And, really, I'm already here, so I might as well help patch you up, so I won't get tortured by my conscience later on.”
“Why would your conscience torture you?”
“Because you need help. And I can provide it. And just up and leaving would probably be a jerk move.”
“But you hate me.”
“Don't flatter yourself, Sebastian. I just… mildly dislike you most of the time.”
“And yet, you're here. In my house. Wanting to play nurse to me.”
Kurt rolls his eyes again.
“There's one on the bathroom on this floor. Down that hallway, third door to the right.”
“There you go,” Kurt says, smiling at him as though he were a particularly slow pet that had finally gotten something right after a long period of trial and error.
Kurt cleans up cuts and applies balms, and gauzes and plasters where needed in silence for a while.
After he’s done with his face, he asks to check Sebastian's ribs, and Sebastian tells him there's nothing he can do about them, but upon Kurt’s insistence, he still lifts his shirt for Kurt’s examination.
“I'm a pre-med student, Hummel,” he says, “I don't know what you think you'll be able to see or do that I don’t. It’s just a couple of bruised ribs. They hurt like a motherfucker, but they’re hardly life threatening.”
Kurt hums, and reaches out to touch the bruising on Sebastian’s side.
“You need an ice pack. Do you own one?”
“There’s one in the freezer. The kitchen’s over there.”
Kurt goes without saying anything else.
Sebastian’s been icing his side for a short while when Kurt speaks again, from where he's perched on an armchair.
“So, what happened? It’s not that I don’t believe you capable of sleeping with someone else’s boyfriend, but I never pegged you as the type to be stupid enough to do it where the boyfriend in question could catch you in fraganti. Especially if said boyfriend could kick your ass.”
He can admit that he deserves the abuse, after all the bullshit he pulled with Blaine.
He doesn’t know exactly why he does it, but he still says, “I didn’t know he was taken. He was on the bar alone when I found him, and he never brought another guy up. And we weren’t even fucking, really. It was just some heavy petting by the door. And next thing I know? There’s this massive guy honest to God hauling me off my conquest by the collar of my shirt— which he ruined, by the way.”
“A tragedy,” Kurt tells him, and Sebastian rolls his eyes because he’s eyeing Sebastian’s polo with unrestrained disgust.
“Anyway, he was hauling me off my conquest, and sucker punching me in the face. Twice.”
“Does the second one really count as a sucker punch, though?”
“It does when you’re on your third sake bomb.”
“Okay, fair enough. And what about your ribs?”
“I lost my balance, and he kicked me while I was down.”
Kurt winces in sympathy.
“Yeah. And the worst part was that then they just— they just had this big, overblown scream fest, with tears and shit, while I was just curled into a ball on the floor in pain. And they kissed and made up and fucking left together.”
Kurt bites a trembling lip. Sebastian just makes a go ahead gesture with his hand.
And then he’s off, guffawing his heart out, as if he’d only been waiting for Sebastian’s approval. There are tears at the corners of his eyes, and he has to pause every couple of seconds to get a deep breath in, but he looks at Sebastian and giggles until he’s dissolving back into laughter.
And Sebastian? Sebastian isn’t even pissed, is the thing. He can feel himself smirking, and for some reason he feels more relaxed than he’s felt in— in a long time, really.
When Kurt has finally calmed himself down enough, he asks, “Was the heavy petting worth it at least?”
“Hardly. It wasn’t even that satisfying. He had a neck the size of a tree trunk, a dick the size of a pencil, and two left hands. I don’t know how he manages to jerk off without inflicting some serious damage on himself.”
And then Kurt’s off again.
And Sebastian feels oddly proud of himself.
“So what about you?” He asks after a couple of minutes. “You’ve been privy to my mortification. I demand retribution.”
“Who says I have anything mortifying to share?”
Sebastian makes a little tutting noise.
“I saw you walk out of Scandals looking as if you’d run into the devil himself inside.”
Kurt goes quiet, then. Pensive.
He looks at Sebastian, considering.
Finally, he says, “I saw Blaine with his new boyfriend. His new boyfriend, David Karofsky.”
And— well, shit. There's nothing much to say to that.
He’d been vaguely aware of the fact that the engagement had been called off for some reason, but he’d thought that would last only long enough for them to get some emotional performances out of it before they kissed and made up and rode into the sunset on unicorns to get married in the gayest ceremony ever seen and have a batch of babies.
“Wanna get wasted?” He asks, then. Because he has pretty much no experience cheering people up, and even though he doesn't know why he would want to cheer Kurt Hummel out of all people, the impulse is still there.
“You should be taking some ibuprofen for your ribs,” Kurt says, which isn't really an answer.
Sebastian shrugs. And almost immediately regrets it.
“I’ll start taking that tomorrow,” he says, and stomps down on the part of him that wants to make the words persuasive. “I think after tonight we both deserve to get absolutely fucking trashed.”
“Fine,” Kurt says, relaxing into the armchair. “Where's your liquor cabinet?”
Sebastian smirks.
When he wakes up the next morning, Kurt is gone.
There's a note scrawled on a torn piece of paper on the coffee table in front of him, and when he reaches out to grab it (his head and his face and his side, and pretty much his whole fucking body, protesting at the movement), all it has written on it is a phone number.
Sebastian saves the new contact as Nurse Hummel.