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Kurt Hummel would never be one of 'them'.
He didn't behave like the other boys his age and that made him an outsider, a loser. He was teased constantly, pushed around, and ignored. Even the teachers did it, looking through him, never calling on him in class even though they knew he had the answer.
He learned to deal with it, learned to hold back the tears until they eventually stopped coming. He grew up faster than any boy his age should have had to, but he accepted the fact, reveled in the thought of being smarter than them, better than them.
She died, just months later.
His mom, she was so full of life and love. She sang show tunes and Broadway hits while making blueberry pancakes. She taught him how to play piano and trained him to notice his pitch and the weight of his voice. Even during her last days, at the hospital, she always had a smile waiting for him.
Kurt realized that his mom would be gone soon, and so he spent the last few days making her laugh and telling her all about the lead role he had gotten in the third grade Christmas play.
His dad was there too, yelling at the doctors and constantly holding her hand. It was sweet but Kurt resented his dad at the same time, he wanted to be alone with her.
He wasn't as close to his dad as other kids were to their dads. He understood just how different he was and how much his father wished he weren't. His mom explained that his dad didn't mean to hurt his feelings and he would soon grow to accept Kurt for who he was.
Kurt didn't mind though. He didn't feel that he needed his father's approval, he had hers and that was all he really cared about.
Except she would be gone soon and he would still be here.
He spent her last day alive curled up with her in her hospital bed. Her scent, cinnamon and vanilla, surrounded him as he lay in her arms and breathed her in. Her breathing stalled and the machines began beeping loudly. He was pulled away from the bed roughly by the doctors and deposited by the door when his dad ran in from the nurse's station.
He would always remember that moment and, strangely enough, draw comfort from it. Her hand, hanging limply over the side of the bed, still gleamed faintly, the product of his first manicure. Her nails, freshly polished, caught the sunlight, a rare occurrence this late into an Ohio winter.
Silent tears fell from his eyes as he smiled; his last view of his mother before he was led away by his dad. Kurt could feel the sobs rack his father and vibrate into him; he reached up and grabbed hold of his hand.
He and his father grew closer after her death, his dad tried to accept the fact his son was never going to love football or fly fishing and Kurt attempted to reach out and make an effort to let his father in.
He started helping out at his dad's shop and actually found the work enjoyable. He picked up the skill quickly, his agile mind dissecting the engine and its various parts easily.
But no matter how many transmissions he rebuilt or how many camshafts he installed his father refused to see him as anything more than a girl. A quick pat on the shoulder in the place of a slug, a casual dismissal of his attempts to bond over late night re-runs of Seinfeld.
Yes, Kurt liked keeping his skin smooth and he preferred not getting dirt on his new slacks but that didn't change the fact that he was a guy. His dad just couldn't see it.
His dad would get this look, a quick flash of resignation, whenever he encountered one of the other neighborhood boys tossing a football or shooting hoops. He was quick to turn away and wipe the look away, but never with enough alacrity that Kurt missed it.
Sometimes Kurt wished he weren't so mature. Sometimes he longed to lash out, throw a tantrum, and be a child. But he never did.
He would be strong and stay silent. He would keep his head up and he would get away from the small town and the small-minded people who lived in it.