Kryptonite

Summary: From a prompt of the LJ Fluff Meme: "Finn's found the perfect way to get Kurt to talk to him whenever he's upset. For everything conversation they have about why Kurt's upset, Kurt gets to replace something in Finn's wardrobe." Just add fireworks. Brotherly!Furt.

Kurt didn't know quite how this happened, but he had a sinking feeling that it had to do with his ego, his brother's inability to wear anything that even remotely flattered him without his help, and a really ugly pair of jeans.

"You tell me what's wrong, and I'll let you pick one thing in my closet to destroy and replace with something you approve of."

Kurt stared him down and Finn stared right back as if he hadn't just found Kurt's proverbial kryptonite. From where he sat on the bed, phone in his lap, Kurt's brain instantly jumped to those. Those pants were the bane of his existence, and every single time Finn happened to wear them (he suspected that it was done solely to raise his blood pressure), Kurt could feel his hands start to itch in the desire to burn them like nothing had ever been burned before. And damnit, Finn knew it.

"I hate you so much right now," Kurt muttered, flopping onto his pillows and rolling over so that his face was pressed into Egyptian cotton that smelled like his shampoo.

"We got a deal?" Finn asked above him, and Kurt could feel the mattress sink under his weight when the taller boy sat down next to him, and Kurt glared into his pillowcase when a large, slightly clumsy hand patted his hair.

"No, go away. You fight dirty and I hate you. I hope you're ashamed of yourself."

The next day, Finn wore those thrice damned jeans and Kurt, whose temperament and overall state of mind hadn't improved in the slightest since then, could feel himself start to crack. He was used to keeping his issues to himself, but experience didn't make it any easier to deal with and those horrible pants must be messing with his head because the knowing, raised eyebrow plastered smugly over Finn's face was more and more tempting.

"Hey, Kurt. How do these jeans look? I remember how much you like them."

"…drop dead."

Ten hours later, Kurt was throwing those pants onto his brother's bed with a ferocity he usually saved for birthdays and his and Mercedes' annual closet run-throughs, two glasses of warm milk in his other hand. He wore a very recalcitrant expression on his face, eyes flashing more blue than grey or green, and Finn scooted over just in time to make enough room for him.

"Those. I will be burning those the second we are through."

Finn snorted, only Kurt could make this sound more like a business transaction than a heart-to-heart. Ironic, considering how many times it had been the situation in reverse with Kurt prying out all the stuff that Finn didn't want to talk about.

"So, spill," the taller boy said finally, taking the offered glass and taking a sip, savoring the cinnamon and nutmeg that Kurt had taken to adding once the cold weather had set in. Said something about warming spices. "Did someone at Hogwarts say something bad to you or something?" Kurt scowled.

"Why does everyone insist on calling it Hogwarts? Yeah, it's uniforms and ties and kind of castle-y but still… No, though. Everyone at Dalton's nice and everything."

"But?" Finn prodded, furrowing his brows when Kurt averted his eyes.

"I don't…everyone's nice. No one messes with me or shoves me or hits me or uses my sexuality against me. But I kind of feel like…like I'm losing myself. I can't even accessorize my uniform in half the ways I want to, and I love being part of the Warblers but I feel so…" He stopped and compulsively glanced at his phone, "I feel so expendable. Yeah, I spent a lot of time swaying and harmonizing behind Ma'am Berry, but I never felt like I could be so easily thrown away. Who needs a ukulele?"

Finn didn't know what a ukulele had to do with singing –that was a fruit, right?-, but he knew it was important, watching as Kurt visibly processed his own words and his face crumpled.

"I'm not needed! I'm not stupid enough to think that my voice isn't an asset that should be utilized, so why don't they use it? I'm nothing without my voice, so why can't I do anything? I keep telling myself that it's not something I need to function, but it is and I feel so alone all the time." Kurt's voice cracked and his face went so pale and he turned away, setting down his milk long enough to drop his face into his hands. His shoulders shook and Finn wondered if he was crying, before reaching out and forcing his hands down. His cheeks were wet, definitely crying, and he felt something tighten unpleasantly in his stomach.

"Hey…hey. If they're too stupid to let you sing, then they don't deserve for you to-" Wrong thing to say, Finn realized instantly when a sob wrenched itself out of Kurt's throat at his words.

"I need it, Finn. I need to sing."

"Then sing for me," Finn suddenly blurted out. Kurt froze. "Sing for me. Sing for this Blaine kid that you always talk about. If they won't let you sing in practice, do it on your own. You never shut up, here."

"Sometimes when it's after curfew, I sneak into the gym with my boombox and do my own thing and practice old Cheerios routines, since the auditorium had surveillance cameras…" Kurt finally muttered out.

"Keep doing that. I know you skype with Mercedes and Brittany and Tina, do some duets with them," Finn insisted, "And do 'em with me. Hell, you and Puck and Artie can go hit the streets and busk. McKinley isn't safe for you, we all understand that. But that doesn't mean that you're some sort of like…messiah with us. You can leave the school, but you don't leave New Directions." Finn trailed off when Kurt locked eyes with him, wiping the tears off his cheeks, one of the corners of his lips tilting up.

"I think you mean pariah."

"Whatever, same thing."

Kurt would have made a snarky comment that no, it definitely was not, but didn't get a chance to before he was being grabbed and pulled close. A year ago, the thought of Finn Hudson hugging him so easily would have made his insides fluttery and tight, but now, all he could feel was content and safe and grateful that he wasn't an only child anymore. Smiling wryly against Finn's shoulder, Kurt twined his arms around the other boy's waist and squeezed, content with the weight wrapped around him before pulling away.

His eyes were still watery but he could smile for real, and Finn smiled back at him.

Hey, Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"…thanks. And now, you're coming with me."

"Where and why?"

"I believe I said something about burning this crime against couture, and Kurt Hummel always keeps his promises," For emphasis, Kurt picked up the jeans again and flapped them against the comforter as if they had personally offended him. Which, frankly, they did. "Now, move it. We've got some bottle rockets and roman candles left over from last 4th of July, which is a perfect way to send these things straight to hell."

Later, as Finn watched his pants, tied expertly to the ends of several fireworks, soar into the air and burn in a show of color and light and cracks that would definitely piss off the neighbors (who the hell other than Kurt would be ballsy enough to set off fireworks in November?), he couldn't help but feel like it was totally worth it. Sure, he lost his favorite pair of pants, but the satisfied smile on his brother's face for a job well done brought a matching one to Finn's.

Job well done, indeed.

And if he happened to get a new pair of pants (Kurt-approved of course, as had been the deal) that made him feel awesome and cool and hot and much more awesome than Sam, well, there was nothing to be done about it.

And if Kurt just happened to get caught by Blaine one night in his pajamas in the gym, belting out Passion Pit's Little Secrets with Mercedes and Tina on skype on his laptop, dancing like a maniac and doing moves with his hips that boys shouldn't be able to do, well, there was nothing to be done about that either.

AN: I had so much writing this. If you enjoyed it, please read and review! I graciously welcome both compliments and constructive criticism.