For Us

46. Ride home.

{Cary}

On the road home, Cary tried to piece together what had happened while Jon sat rigid in the passenger seat, arms knotted over his chest, leg jumping, giving terse answers to his questions.

"I hate this," Jon said roughly. "I hate that I'm leaving and he's still there with Nicky's fucking hands all over him. And I can't say--that's my boyfriend, you asshole, back the hell up."

Cary's stomach tightened, thinking of the man who had kissed Kurt so possessively the first time they'd met. "His ex was there?" he asked.

"Yes." Jon's teeth snapped together.

"How's Visser getting home?" Cary asked.

"He said he'd call a cab."

Anxiety hummed in his ears and Cary tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, biting the corner of his mouth. "Maybe text him and make sure he's good."

Jon pulled out his phone, but his thumbs stayed motionless over the screen. He took a breath, closing his eyes. "We just fought about this. I don't want Kurt to feel like...I don't trust him."

"I don't trust Nicky," Cary said shortly. "Just check. Get him to text when he's on the way. You can apologize later."

Jon texted him. Twice. Three times. Kurt didn't text back. Jon nearly face-planted on their welcome mat, tripping as he came up the steps while checking his phone.

It was twenty-five minutes from their front door to the Barns, and Cary made the snap judgment that was just too long to wait for some kind of response. Leaping up the stairs three at a time to his bedroom, he tore through his laundry pile to find the ridiculous turtleneck Kurt had bought for him, pulling it on over his tattoos, the feature that made him most identifiable. He jammed an unmarked black ball cap over his hair and hurtled back down the stairs.

Jon was pacing the kitchen, the kettle hissing on the stove. "Where are you going?" His eyes were red-rimmed, and he was still hugging his arms against himself like he was cold.

"I'm going back for Visser," Cary said shortly.

"I'm coming with you," Jon said, and Cary whirled on him, his need to protect all the things he loved so large and black it almost swallowed his head.

"Stay here," he growled. "I need you to fucking--be here safe when I get back."

Jon settled back on his heels, his fists closing on his sweater. He lifted his chin. "Text me when you find him, then. Hopefully it's nothing, just--a busy night for cab drivers." But when Jon met his eyes, it was clear neither of them believed that.

*Trigger warning: references to sexual assault, not shown, no flashbacks. Read someplace safe, lovelies, we are getting Kurt home, just give me a chapter to do that!*

When Cary pushed back into The Barns, it was packed, but no distinctive white-blond head of hair in the crowd. Cary asked up and down the bar, until someone said the band had left for a more queer scene up the street.

Stomach sinking, Cary texted Jon. <anything from Visser?>

One word came back: <no>

"Jesus Christ," Cary said under his breath. Maybe years of living with alarm had made him oversensitive, but his instincts were screaming at him that if Kurt wasn't responding to the one person he loved most in the world, something was wrong.

He took a breath, shutting his eyes just for a second to pray. For real, Jesus Christ knew where Kurt Visser was right now and Cary needed all the help he could get to find him.