Mistakes We Made (3/?)
Title: Mistakes We Made
Author:
Rating: PG (for right now, I thin)
Word Count: 1,262
Spoilers: None
Summary: In a world, where every one is either a Dom, switch, or sub, and certain people "carriers" can get pregnant. Kurt Hummel, a sub, at sixteen makes a mistake and ultimately lives well with the consequences. However, five years later, the person who also took part in th mistake finds out the results and nothing is ever the same.
A/N: Updates will probably never again be this fast.
Mistakes We Made: The Question of the Hour
Earlier that day: Blaine’s Apartment
Blaine stared at his flat screen TV in shock, not really registering anything after “…I found out I was pregnant.” The words had come out of Kurt Hummel’s mouth, lodged a lump in Blaine’s throat, and now echoed in his head. He said he was sixteen at the time. Sixteen. Holy shit, Ian’s mine. Holy fuck, I am a father and that bitch didn’t tell me.
On its own volition, Blaine’s body started moving, grabbed his car keys, and before he knew it he was unlocking the door to his apartment, heedless of Wes’ yelling, “Blaine, what are you doing? Get back here! You need to hear the rest of this before you go off and do something that you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”
He didn’t see Wes get up to follow him and didn’t even notice when the door he’d slammed shut collided with his best friend’s nose, causing a gush of blood to flow. In a semi-coherent daze by the time he got into his car, he quickly found out the shooting location of The Ellen Show - all he’d known before was that it was in California - then sped to Burbank.
Blaine saw red and pushed down on the accelerator as if there were no tomorrow. He was lost in his anger and it was only the roads’ being relatively clear and his being a good driver that didn’t lead him to an early death in the first few minutes of his drive. I had a kid for four years and I missed everything - his first steps, his first words, and God only know what else - the first four years of his life and it’s all Kurt’s fault.
But even in his anger, Blaine couldn’t wrap his head around Kurt’s doing something like this because the Kurt he’d remembered was beautiful - even more on the inside that the outside, if that were possible. He remembered flushed cheeks, shy smiles, shy kisses, wide vulnerable eyes, and beautiful submission.
Why the fuck would you do this, Kurt? Was enduring the hardship of raising a kid on your own worth the apparent joy you got from keeping my kid from me, from keeping your own kid from having two parents like every other kid? He didn’t even notice that he’d made the thirty-mile drive in ten minutes, but, as he pulled into the parking lot, he had no trouble spotting the dick, who had stolen years with his child from him, walking away from a mob of pen-and-magazine-wielding fans.
He jumped out of the car, not even bothering to shut the door, and stalked over to his prey, who was too busy texting to even notice Blaine’s presence until he ran into his chest. Then, as Kurt started apologizing, a startling doubt hit Blaine with the force of a freight train, but all doubt disappeared when Kurt’s eyes widened upon seeing him.
Oh no, you don’t, he thought grabbing Kurt by the arm when he tried to escape. He didn’t even realize that he was using his domineering tactics to get Kurt to admit the truth of Ian’s parentage to him. He didn’t realize that he was basically abusing Kurt. He didn’t realize that he was basically forcing himself on a sub - a crime punishable by jail - who clearly didn’t want to go down, at least not with him, which was apparent by his struggles to not fall.
He was surprised when Kurt managed to push him away and, in his surprise, let him get into his car. And when the car pulled away, all he remembered was his threat - no, his promise to take the matter to the media (perhaps threatening to ruin his career would break Kurt’s resistance down a little) and, if all else failed, to the court.
With a plan firmly cemented in his head, he walked calmly to his car and drove back home. The first thing he registered when he unlocked the door was a fist colliding with his face and the resulting pain that bloomed on the spot that he was no rubbing. He’d expected it to be some intruder, who’d perhaps injured or maybe even killed Wes, so suffice it to say he was surprised when he saw a fuming Wes with napkins shoved up his nose, rubbing his knuckles.
“What the fuck, Wes? What was that for?” He exclaimed as he headed to the fridge in the kitchen to grab an icepack for his face. “And what happened to your nose?” he added, walking back into the kitchen and flopping on the couch.
“That was for being a monumental asshole, you dick,” snapped Wes, his voice slightly stuffy. “This,” he pointed to his nose, “is all your doing. God, next time you’re pissed don’t take it out on doors or me.”
Wes sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose and grimacing when he realized he couldn’t do that without causing himself a tremendous amount of pain, “How’re you holding up?”
“I’m fine.”
“So your little drive cooled you off?”
“Yeah, if by “little drive” you mean confronting Kurt.”
“Wait, what?” shouted Wes. “You idiot, what did you do?”
“Dude, you’re my best friend! You’re supposed to be on my side!” He’d expected more from his friend. “And all I did was tell him that if he didn’t admit the truth - if he didn’t let me see my son, I would take the matter to the media and, if need be, to court.”
“Okay, first of all, to the media? Blaine, he’s already told the entire world his story. Your going public with the story wouldn’t do anything to him. No,” he snapped when Blaine tried to cut in, “I’m not done, yet.” He bit his lip and sighed, “You should’ve listened and finished the interview because it would’ve changed everything -“
This time Wes couldn’t keep a passionate Blaine from interrupting, “He took my kid -“
“- Yeah, but why did he do it?”
“I don’t know! Out of spite, probably, which is just stupid because I never said that we were together, he just assumed and to get so fucking petty as to keep my kid from me.”
“Blaine, quite assuming shit, it makes an even bigger ass out of you and watch the fucking interview.”
“God, I will,” conceded Blaine, grabbing the DVR remote and using it to click the TV on, “Calm down, Wes.” Blaine shook his head and pressed play wincing five minutes late when he heard the rest of the interview, “I couldn’t ruin someone else’s life…I would raise my kid myself.”
“God, I’m an unequivocal douche.”
“Truth hurts, brother.”
“Yeah, but, Wes, he still…he had no right to decide for me.”
“Yep.”
“What do I do now?”
“Now that, my brother, is the question of the hour.”
Blaine smirked at Wes’ cluelessness and declared, “We should probably call David.”
“Probably,” agreed Wes, pulling out his phone and punching a few buttons. “Hey, David, you need to come over to Blaine’s…like now. ‘Kay.” He hit the end button and looked up at Blaine, “He’s on his way.”