• 1-Prologue
• 2-Chapter One
• 3-Chapter Two
• 4-Chapter Three

Title: Differences (Previously Untitled) Author: telepathichawk Rating: PG Character(s)/Pairing(s): Puck/Kurt (eventually), Will/Emma, Finn/Rachel, Burt/Carole, Ensemble Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Xover Warnings: Almost completely AU. Past attempted suicide. Spoilers: None. Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. I make no profit from this. Author Notes: Wanted to give a HUGE shout out to my new beta ricarseinrp from LJ. This would suck so much without you and I know you're only going to make it better as we go! Thanks so much for working with me!Please leave a comment if you have a minute! Thanks, TH. Summary: "What if I told you, Burt, that I don't think your son is insane at all? What if I told you that I think he is very special?" Crossover with X-Men. Word Count: ~2,800 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "So…how many students are at the school?" Burt's voice was low and calm. "With the addition of Kurt, there will be ten full time students living at the school," The professor's voice was calm and confident. "Six young men and four young women. A number of my former students also live at the school to both teach and pursue their own interests." "How many of those?" Burt asked. "Ten or so at any given time. I can assure you, Burt, even when you leave us, Kurt will be in the best of hands." "You brought my kid back to me, Prof. I'm not gonna doubt anything you say," Burt said, stroking Kurt's hair. He, the professor, and Ms. Munroe chuckled quietly and then the car fell silent. Kurt wasn't actually sleeping and he knew that they knew it. He was grateful that they were just allowing him to be. He kept his breath steady, even as he took in all that was around him, feeling a simple contentment that he could finally breathe freely again. He took a deep breath and let a smile spread across his face. It felt a little unnatural, a little bit difficult to get his lips to turn up. It had been so long since he really, truly had a reason to smile. But, how could he not? His father smelled as he had always smelled, like a comforting mix of Old Spice aftershave and motor oil. He nuzzled into the denim encased leg a little more and let the calm, loving feeling of his father's mind wash over him. And wasn't that a revelation? The voices he heard in his head weren't just in his head. What the doctors had diagnosed as delusional, paranoid schizophrenia wasn't a mental illness at all. It was a mutation, the ability to hear what other people were thinking. The ability to feel their emotions, to read from them what had been, what had happened in their lives. He wasn't sure if it was better to be the mental patient or the freak. The corners of his mouth turned down slightly in a much more natural feeling frown. Mutant. He had seen the news stories, of course. Everyone had. Mutants, people with extraordinary gifts, had just started coming to the forefront of the world's awareness when Kurt's mother had died. For so many years he and his father had been so wrapped up in their grief and in just trying to live day to day that it had never seemed all that important. There weren't any mutants in Lima, Ohio. At least no one knew of any. And even if there were they weren't going to reveal themselves any time soon. It was dangerous. So, he and his father were both unprepared when, three months after turning twelve, things began changing for Kurt. It started small. If his father came home in a bad mood, even if he tried to hide it behind smiles and cheerful words, Kurt knew it. When Jesse St. James came to school with bruises that he claimed were from falling down the stairs Kurt knew without knowing why that they were actually from his mother. Soon, though it had been more than moods he was picking up on. Soon the moods had become words. He heard what his seventh grade pre-algebra teacher actually thought when Milla Van Dean walked past his desk. He'd run out of the room before he could hear any more. It was the same way at the football game his father had dragged him to see on one of their "father-son bonding nights". A man in jeans and a battered leather bomber jacket had taken one look at him and sneered. Their eyes had met and a rough voice he'd never heard in his life invaded his thoughts. The last thought had been accompanied by an all too realistic image in his mind of the man holding him down, one hand wrapped around his thin throat and the other digging a sharp knife into his stomach. He'd felt the man's satisfaction and glee at the thought of taking his life. It was the first time he'd ever been confronted with something so very hateful. It overwhelmed him and he'd fallen to his knees, clutching his head and trying to scream out of the fear and hate that were warring for dominance in him. He'd screamed in horror until an ambulance had come and they'd taken him to the hospital to be sedated. Nothing had been able to get through to him. His father had been so scared the entire time, trying to calm him down, whispering that he loved him and that he was there. Kurt had told him, while he laid in the hospital bed with the drugs running through his system making him feel light and his tongue loose, that he was hearing things, things he wasn't sure were real. Burt had just held his hand tighter, whispering to him that everything would be okay, that they would find something to help him, and kissed his forehead as he fell into a drug induced sleep. After the football game Burt had tried his very hardest to help him. He had taken him to countless doctors, all of whom had put him on medications that did nothing at all. He got him people to talk to. He pulled him out of school when being around so many other people just got too overwhelming for him. But nothing helped. Soon it wasn't just one or two voices, one or two thoughts at a time. Soon he hadn't been able to shut anything out at all. And the moods he used to just sense, he felt, even if they weren't his. He couldn't go to the garage anymore because even the thoughts of the five mechanics who had known him all of his life and had only ever loved him were just too much. The thoughts began to invade so deeply and so quickly, even when he was alone in the house, that he couldn't tell if they were his or not. The day he couldn't figure out if he had started a near fatal fire in a neighbor's house or not because the thought had come into his mind, he had taken one of the kitchen knives and slashed three deep gashes in both of his wrists, so afraid that one day he might actually hurt someone without meaning to because someone had put the thought into his head. His father had found him laying on his bathroom floor, his life leaking out of him, not quite unconscious, but unable to respond when Burt cried out his name and begged him to talk to him. Kurt had tried to focus on his worried, loving face as his dad pressed towels to his wrists and called for an ambulance on his cell phone. The thoughts invading his mind had made Kurt want to take it all back, to touch his dad's face and tell him that he was sorry and he loved him. Then, everything had gone dark. And it had stayed mostly dark for three years. There were occasional fleeting dreams, flashes of his father rocking him, singing to him brokenly and telling him he still loved him more than anything. Those were the good flashes. The bad flashes were when he opened his eyes to white and cold, where doctors with thoughts so inhuman and calculating that they left a metallic aftertaste in his mouth pushed his head under water filled with ice cubes and tied him down so that they could send lightning flying through his body. Then, three days ago, what felt to Kurt like a miracle. Above all of the dark haze and the thick fog a voice penetrated his mind. He'd thought desperately, sure he was moaning on the floor of his room, hoping they would bring him his medication soon so that it would all just go away, The voice had been gentle and slightly amused. Kurt had tried to argue, He felt his face flush with shame. Kurt sat up slowly and set his fingers to his temples. It was a grounding move that he didn't necessarily need to use to reinforce his shields, but it helped. The professor assured him that soon shielding would become second nature and he wouldn't even have to think to keep them up, much less use a physical movement to help him. The trees in his mind, loose and allowing the sun to peek through, began to knit together tightly once more and the vague thoughts he had been hearing became simple impressions again. Kurt smiled at his dad in accomplishment and Burt ran a hand over his hair with a smile. He turned to the window and looked out at the trees. The leaves were an explosion of colors. Red, yellow, orange and every variation in between. It wasn't going to be a hardship to live in New York in the fall, Kurt could tell. He unrolled the window and took a deep breath of the air, made spicy and fascinating by the season. He let the wind blow his hair into his eyes and giggled quietly when he stuck his hand out the window and felt the air pushing it back. He rolled the window back up and sighed. He still felt so weak, so tired all the time. But, hadn't he been sleeping, or something very close to it, for years? He began to bite his bottom lip. What would the other students think when they learned that he'd spent that past three years in a mental hospital? How far behind the rest of them would he be in his schooling? "Are you nervous, child?" Ms. Munroe asked from behind the wheel of the car. She was the most stunning woman he had ever seen with her bright blue eyes and her long white hair. He wasn't quite sure where her accent was from, he only knew that he thought it was beautiful and he liked it very much. He waited until her eyes met his in the mirror and nodded, knowing she would understand that his voice was still not up to par and that he wasn't trying to be rude by not answering aloud. "Don't be," She smiled gently, "The other children are very much like you. You'll find yourself among friends, very much the same way I did." He raised an eyebrow at her and she didn't even have to ask what he wanted to know. With a wave of her hand out of her open window a gentle rain began to fall. He unrolled his window again and let the rain fall on his fingertips. He turned back to her, his eyes wide and she laughed gently. "We all have our gifts, Kurt Hummel. You will not be out of place at the school." Her voice was kind and understanding. "I hope so," Kurt whispered, and smiled at his father when he reached over and took his hand again. Kurt allowed his dad to take his shoulder and pull him slightly so that his head was in his lap again, "Sleep, Kurt," He said, his voice halfway between parentally worried and lovingly amused, "And really sleep this time. Everything is going to be fine now. Just fine." Kurt closed his eyes and let himself do as his father said.