Waiting for a Happy Ending - Part One C
Title: Waiting for a Happy Ending
Author: firefly_ca
Pairing,Character(s): Kurt/Blaine, with appearances by Stevie and the Evans family, the Andersons (OCs until Ryan responds the demands of the fanbase and casts a hybrid mutant John Barrowman/Robert Downey Junior as Blaine's father), and large swaths of Glee clubbers (New Directions and Warblers)
Rating: NC-17 for disturbing themes, scenes, etc.
Word Count: TBD - Part One is about 16K
Spoilers: All of S2, a few of the trickier elements of S3 (Blaine's grade/age discrepencies, I'm looking at you)
Summary: AU. Blaine Anderson lived under another name for almost nine years with an abusive man he was forced to pretend was his father. He always thought his own family had given up on him, but now that he's found out the majority of his life was spent believing a lie, he has to try to reconcile the life he had with the life that was taken away from him. Sequel to Looking for a Happy Ending
Note: Huge thanks to my betas LoonyLevicorpus and fingerstowords for taking the fic and trying to help me avoid stupid typos and things that make no sense this time around. Any mistakes you find are all from last-minute edits I made before I posted. Because sometimes I can't leave good enough alone.
A/N: The cat looks weird. There is a reason for this, but I don't know if it will fit into the actual story yet. In case it does, or in case you are cat crazy and just curious, it's a Cornish Rex and it looks something like this.
He'd hoped clearing out all the old toys would make things easier, but Blaine still is getting his ass kicked by a child's bedroom. He's tried, but no matter what he does he can't sleep properly when he's in there. Before long a nightly pattern emerges. It starts as he lies there with his eyes screwed shut so he can't see the pictures on the walls, wondering how much longer he'll be able to pretend like sorting through all of it won't be a problem. He tries to envision himself starting, attempting to prove to himself that looking through a child's things is a stupid thing to get upset about and that it can't possibly be as pathetically terrifying as he's making it out to be. He never gets very far, and before long his brain becomes crowded with fractured images of his parents looking disappointed and upset, maybe because he doesn't remember something he should. No matter what they say, this is a test and it's one that he knows he can't possibly pass. He's going to let them down. Then the panic sets in, as his thoughts become cyclical, concluding in the same place they began: I can't do this. Eventually he can't take it anymore and starts listening for his parents to go to bed and the house to quiet down. He sneaks downstairs and stretches out on the couch, never quite sleeping, listening for anyone getting up so he can sneak back into his room before he's noticed.
It's awful and draining and Blaine's getting so sore he's starting to wonder if his ribs will ever get better, but at least he's getting more than an hour of sleep each night now. At least he doesn't feel like crying when he closes his eyes. Fortunately for him, his entire family seem to be late-risers, so he's always able to drag himself back to his room before the rest of the house stirs to life. The only one who knows his secret is the cat, who is more than happy to crawl onto Blaine's chest at night, purring loudly as she makes herself at home on her own personal heater, occasionally butting her head under Blaine's chin, dragging her odd, curly short fur across his skin.
Blaine wouldn't say it's working well, but at least it's working for him, which is better than nothing. It might have kept working too, if his parents hadn't started to go back to work a couple weeks after he comes home. Part of Blaine is relieved when they tell him they're going back. It's not like they sit around catching up with each other when they stay at home. Blaine doesn't remember any of the people they could tell him about, and he's certainly not about to chat about what he's been doing in the last nine years. Even if his plan wasn't to try his damndest to forget all of it, some things are just naturally hard to talk to your parents about. Psychological torture, for instance, or your strengths and weaknesses in the area of sexual foreplay. Plus, now that they'll be leaving during the day, he might be able to finally have a chance to call Kurt. Cynthia has a babysitter she goes to while they're at work, so he wouldn't have to worry about her ratting him out if she hears him talking about anything particularly damning, not that he expects to be having phone sex with Kurt at this point or anything. It's just nice to know that he's safe. Even though he's nervous being alone in the house all day, he's looking forward to the change. Until his parents start getting up earlier, anyhow, before he has a chance to go back to his room.
"Blaine?" His dad asks, clearly surprised. "What are you doing out here?"
Blaine just looks at him a little helplessly, not exactly sure what he should be saying. His mother walks in behind his dad.
"Are you having nightmares?" She asks. "That therapist I spoke with the other day mentioned that sometimes they can trigger sleepwalking."
"I don't sleepwalk," Blaine grits out, just wanting to run the hell away from this conversation. "I'm not having nightmares."
The last thing he wants is to end up being forced to talk to someone about how screwed up it is inside his head. Everyone knows enough about his personal life as it is.
In the end he refuses to explain anything, just repeats, "I'm sorry" and "it's nothing" and "I'm fine" until he escapes to his room, where he sits with the door closed and his back against the wall, pretending he can't hear when they knock. That night he's determined to stay in his own bed. He lasts until 3 o'clock before he sneaks back to the couch, but he doesn't go to sleep, just sits there staring at the blank television until he hears an alarm go off upstairs signalling it's time to sneak back to his own room.
He does the same thing for the next two nights, opting to fall asleep during the day with the TV on and all the doors locked. He's too tired to even think about calling Kurt. The next night it all goes to hell again though, and he falls asleep where he's sitting at some point just before it's starting to get light out, only to be woken by his father's hand on his shoulder. He doesn't even pretend like he's going to answer their questions this time, just shakes his head at them, apologizes and goes to his room.
The third time it happens his mother follows him with a look of unflappable determination.
"You need to talk to us, Blaine," she says, sounding firmer than he can ever remember hearing her. He feels his pulse speed up.
"It's okay," he insists. "I'm not having nightmares, I promise."
"Then why won't you stay the whole night in here?" she asks, standing in the doorway with her arms folded. "Stop shutting us out. Please. What's bothering you? Is it the room? Do you just not like your room?"
"The room is fine," Blaine mutters, but his mother has latched onto the idea and is running with it.
"It's too young, I know. I'm sorry about that Blaine. We wanted to wait until you felt a little better until we dealt with it, but if you really hate it we can start going through it right away. Tonight even, as soon as we get back from work. We can come up and - "
"No," Blaine says firmly, and he can feel his eyes start to water. He hopes she won't notice but of course he's never going to be that lucky.
"Why is this so upsetting to you, sweetie?" She asks, her voice soft and concerned. "I don't know how I'm supposed to be helping you."
"I don't need any help," Blaine insists. "I don't need you to go through the room with me, I don't need you to worry when I don't sleep in the right room. Everything is fine. I'm fine."
"No, you're not," she says. "You're not fine, Blaine, but that's okay. No one who's gone through what you've gone through could possibly be fine. But unless you talk to someone about what's going on in your head, it's just going to get worse. If you're not comfortable talking to me or Dad, that's okay, but you need to talk to someone. I can call Stevie's psychologist on break today and we can set up an appointment - "
"Please don't do that," Blaine says, trying to sound calm and not convinced he succeeds. "I don't want to talk to anyone about this. I'll get over it on my own. I promise."
She looks at him with an expression that clearly states she doesn't believe a word he's telling her, but finally concedes,
"Fine. I'll hold off for today, but we will be talking about this when we get home. I know it's hard and scary trying to sort through everything you're sorting through, but we love you very much and we can't let this keep happening, Blaine. It's taking too much out of you."
Blaine wants to tell her if she really cared about how he was feeling, she wouldn't make him talk about it, she'd just let him leave it all alone, but talking back to her feels uncomfortable and dangerous in a way he doesn't exactly understand. He honestly doesn't want to make things hard, but he can't agree to go along with her plans, either. So he sits alone in his room, on the ridiculously childish bed and tries to stave off his complete breakdown until everyone else has left the house. He looks wildly around the room without letting his eyes focus on anything for too long, afraid to really let anything register before he finally latches onto the fleeting thought, I should just do it before everyone comes back.
It doesn't make sense, because his parents aren't punishing him for not going through the room or even sleeping on the couch. They're just scared for him and Blaine knows that, but he can't shake the idea that if he gets done before they come home, they'll see that he's coping fine without anyone else getting involved. He won't have to talk about his feelings, he won't have to let anyone know that he's never going to be anything like the perfect child they've built a shrine to in this house. Everyone will keep pretending things are the way they should be and no one will push to see the sick truth underneath. This is something he has to do for them. He has to make sure they don't regret finding him.
Blaine is pretty sure he's left anything that even remotely resembles rational thought, but that doesn't stop him from taking a shuddering gasp of air and walking over to the desk in the corner, yanking open the bottom drawer and spilling the contents out onto the floor around him. He sinks down onto his knees and starts randomly picking things up and putting them into piles, not stopping to look at what he's holding. He keeps hoping that once he's started everything will come easier and he'll feel better, but everything he touches just makes the tension ratchet up higher. He gives up after not even five minutes, holding a piece of paper with a badly drawn family, holding little stick hands underneath a smiling sun. It looks like some old school assignment, and underneath the picture in shaky print are a few lines about family. Blaine hasn't read what they say, can't stop staring at the drawing, almost wanting to laugh at how cliché it is that this is the first thing he let himself look at. This is the reason they loved you: the poster boy for the perfect kid. This is what you have to teach yourself to be all over again. This is what you can never get back. This is why you're worthless.
He doesn't register that he's crying like a girl in the middle of a bedroom littered with grade school art assignments until he feels the tears start dripping off his nose. He's pretty certain he's never felt more pathetic his entire life, but he's also sure the house could collapse on him and he wouldn't feel any worse. He doesn't know what he should do, there's nothing really wrong but it feels like everything's falling apart. He just wants someone he doesn't have to worry about making a mistake in front of, someone who already knows what normal is supposed to look like but still isn't freaked out by irrational panic. He's so tired of hiding who he is to keep the people he cares about. He wasn't supposed to have to do that anymore. He wants someone he can trust.
He doesn't even register that he's gotten up to find the piece of paper until he's picked up the phone and dialling.
"Hello?" Kurt's voice is a little uncertain, but he still picks up almost right away.
"Kurt?" He says, and his own voice is scratchy and uneven. "I don't think I know how to do this. Please, just tell me how I'm supposed to do this."
***
It takes a while to explain what it is he's so upset about when Kurt asks, because Blaine doesn't exactly know the answer. In the end he supposes what it all comes down to is that he has no idea how to act like a rational human being when he's in this house. He feels like an alien with no concept of the native culture. He should feel guiltier for caving so easily when Kurt demands his address so he can come over, especially after Kurt reminds him that he'll be driving up from Lima because school is over for the year, but he doesn't. He just goes downstairs and sits by the front door for hours that go by disconcertingly fast, waiting for the doorbell to ring. When it finally does he's pulling the door open before Kurt even has a chance to lower his hand from the button.
Kurt is staring at him a little like he's looking at a ghost, and Blaine supposes that he probably looks a lot worse than the last time Kurt saw him, even though the cast and a fairly intense meltdown are the only things still visibly wrong now, but Blaine's not in the mood to entertain Kurt's flair for the dramatic at the moment, not when he's got his own issues to wade through. He grabs Kurt's hand with his good one and pulls him inside, before the neighbours can get too curious.
Kurt's arms are around him as soon as the door closes, and Blaine hugs him back just as tightly. It should hurt more than it does, but Blaine is pretty certain he's been on an adrenaline high ever since he woke up this morning, so the numbness isn't terribly surprising. They don't say anything for a long time, just stand there holding each other. It feels so right that Blaine can't stop himself from wishing he'd gotten to stay with him like he'd wanted in the first place, right after Anthony Rashad's party.
"I missed you," Kurt finally says, making no move to pull away.
"I missed you, too," Blaine says. "I'm sorry I didn't call right away. It's all so confusing here."
"I imagine it would be," Kurt says, finally pulling away and looking beyond Blaine's shoulder with a confused look.
"What?" Blaine asked.
"I'm over-emotional," Kurt says, still staring. "I could have sworn I just saw a stuffed toy climbing up your stairs."
He looks at Blaine and grins brightly. "It looks like you're not the only one losing his mind. That's good, we can be one of those couples who do everything together."
"Shut up," Blaine says fondly, relieved at the way the world is slowly coming back into focus. "That was probably the cat. She's really weird-looking."
"Ah," Kurt says, turning to look back at Blaine undeterred. "Well, maybe we can try for the matching his and his straightjackets next time then."
His smile gets a little more serious and he brings a hand up to Blaine's face, stopping abruptly and letting it hover as he asks, "Can I?" Blaine nods, wondering why they both feel like they have to ask before they touch. Kurt starts carefully brushing his hair back from his face in a way that, from anyone else, could be called motherly.
"What happens to the stuff in that room is nobody's business but yours," he says, quietly. "No one is going to judge you if you don't remember something or if you don't want to keep a grandmother's gift sweater that you probably hated when you were seven, too."
"I'm going to hurt them," Blaine insists, and Kurt just nods.
"Probably," he says. "But they'll hurt you, too. It's going to balance out."
"I don't know who these people are," Blaine tries again. "I haven't even told them about us because I don't know what I'll do if they're not okay with it, and you're the only part of my old life that's worth talking about."
"They're your parents," Kurt says. "And they love you. That's why it hurts. I'm guessing that if you severed a limb it would hurt a lot after they sewed it back on."
"You were coming up with that analogy all the way over, weren't you?"
"Only the first hour," Kurt says. "The rest of the time I was thinking about the best ways to get most of the crap out of your room before your parents come back."
"Thank you so much," Blaine says, snuggling back into Kurt's arms again. Technically they haven't even had one date yet, and this level of neediness should be avoided at all costs, because even he knows this isn't a turn on, but he feels too good to care. "I don't know why this is such a problem for me."
"The room's not really the problem, I don't think," Kurt says. "You're just focusing your energy on that because it's something you can fix."
That sounds suspiciously self-help-y to Blaine and so does a lot of the other stuff Kurt's been saying, now that he thinks about it. He lets go a little incredulously.
"Are you feeding me catchphrases and chapter headings from Borders?" He demands.
"What?" Kurt says, defensively. "They don't cover this sort of thing on Google books in accessible language, Blaine. Where else was I supposed to look?"
"Why are you looking anywhere?" Blaine says, not sure if he's feeling mad, frustrated, or just confused.
"Because I know how to deal with all of this stuff just about as well as you do," Kurt says, unapologetically. "And no offence Blaine, but you suck at this. Even Finn can clean his room without having to be prescribed anxiety medication."
He takes Blaine's hand and looks at him expectantly.
"Show me your room and tell me what your family is like," he says. "Then we can get rid of the old you."
***
Kurt is wonderfully methodical about sifting through Blaine's room.
"I did this for my dad a few years after Mom died," he explains. "Her things were all still in his room and some days he'd look at them and have trouble even getting out of bed, but he couldn't let anything go. I didn't want to lose her things either, but I really wanted my dad back, so one day I sorted through their things and asked him about what made him happy and what made him sad. The happy stuff stayed where it was and the sad stuff went into boxes."
"What happened to the boxes?" Blaine asks.
"They're in the attic of our new house, next to the boxes with Carole's memories of her first husband. Sometimes Finn and I go through them, and sometimes Dad and Carole manage to pull them out and get rid of a couple things they can let go of, but for the most part they just stay hidden away. It makes everyone feel better knowing they're still around."
Kurt sorts everything into piles and, unlike Blaine's, they have actual meaning and purpose.
"Tell me what you remember," he commands, holding up an old Little League picture. Blaine shrugs.
"I sort of remember playing a couple games. I don't remember being such a weird looking little kid, but apparently I was," he offers.
Kurt looks at the picture.
"Shut up, you were adorable," he says firmly, before setting the picture down and saying. "Anything you don't remember and don't care about, we can put here. Your parents can look at what there is and decide if they want to keep any of it after, but there's no reason to keep it in your room, right?"
In the end they put everything into three separate piles. The first pile is the biggest, full of things that hold no meaning, where most of his school work and pictures end up. Then Kurt makes a pile for the things that make his skin crawl whether he remembers them or not, like old trophies and awards from clubs and teams he never remembers being a part of, and pictures of school friends he recognizes but can't name. Finally there's a much smaller pile for the things Blaine wants to keep, like a picture they find of him on his grandfather's knee, grinning hugely, and a disturbingly violent stick figure illustration he drew that is very likely a scene from Pulp Fiction, complete with accompanying teacher's note suggesting his parents meet with her to have a talk. His mother has added to the note in pencil "Found out today that Blaine has been sneaking downstairs after bedtime to watch late night TV after Dad falls asleep watching the Movie of the Week. The good news is he thinks 'little sucker' is a swear word, the bad news is his teacher thinks we're unfit parents."
Kurt laughs until he has to wipe away the tears, and Blaine is amazed that this whole process seems so much easier with him here. He's starting to feel embarrassed that he was too scared to try on his own. It's not hard at all when Kurt makes everything so straightforward. At least, it's not hard at first, but the longer they go through drawers and look at pictures, the more hollow and empty Blaine starts to feel inside. He's missing so much. How is he ever going to become part of this family again when there's so little of them left in his memory?
"I'm never going to get any of this back," he says after an hour, trying to keep his emotions in check and failing spectacularly when he throws a book across the room. It's way too advanced for a seven-year-old kid to be reading, but apparently his parents were those "read to your kids at night" kinds of parents, and there's a bookmark indicating that they made it about halfway through before he disappeared. Looking at it triggers distant memories of his father's voice droning on with him tucked into his side, feeling the vibrations of the words come up through his chest as his eyes droop shut. He leans against the bed and stares at the ceiling, an old glow-in-the-dark constellation looking down at him. Another memory he can't hold onto. The air next to him shifts as Kurt settles down beside him.
"It's okay if you don't remember," he says, but Blaine shakes his head.
"It's not that," he says. "I don't remember enough. It's like, I look at all of this and there are pieces that come through, but I need more. I remember but it doesn't help."
"I know," Kurt says. "I feel that way about my mom. It's not fair that what I remember gets fuzzier when it's all that I have left."
"Please don't talk about your dead mother right now," Blaine begs. "You make me feel like an asshole. I shouldn't be whining, it's not like I won't be seeing them in a few hours."
"You're allowed to feel the way you feel, Blaine," Kurt says insistently. "We both lost parents, just in different ways. It's allowed to hurt. When Carole came into the picture it was like losing Mom all over again, because she made me realize how much I'd forgotten what having a mother was like. It felt like I'd betrayed her by forgetting, but I hadn't. Bad things happen, and while you find ways to work through it, sometimes you lose stuff. It's sad but you don't have to feel guilty about it."
Blaine doesn't say anything to that, so Kurt asks,
"Do you need a break?"
"Yes please," Blaine says.
"What do you want to do?" Kurt asks. "Should we grab some lunch or something?"
"Would making out be inappropriate right now?" Blaine asks. "Because I know we haven't actually gone on a date yet, and I don't want to come across as easy, but so far my day has really sucked and that might go a long way towards turning it around."
"Seriously?" Kurt says. "You didn't even hesitate. Is this what you think about in your spare time?"
"There's not a lot to do here," Blaine says. "What else am I supposed to do? Unless you'd prefer that my entire life just becomes one non-stop pity party."
Kurt snorts a little derisively, but still grabs at the front of Blaine's shirt and pulls him closer before moving their mouths together, so he's obviously not adverse to the idea. It still feels as stupid wonderful as it did almost two months ago when they kissed on the Hummel porch, even though Blaine's life has changed so much since then he doesn't even feel like the same person anymore. He leans in, moving further and further into Kurt's space until his sides start catching and his breath comes up short. Kurt's hands are gently pushing back almost at once, as he mutters into Blaine's mouth. "Steady there, tiger. If you want to come out to your parents at your own pace, a call from the hospital telling them you managed to break a rib kissing a devastatingly charming and attractive guy isn't the way to do it."
Blaine laughs.
"'Tiger'?" he says. "Really? My grandmother used to call me that, Kurt. It's not exactly a turn on."
Kurt pulls back to grin at him.
"That's new," he says excitedly. "Maybe my mouth has restorative powers for the memory, like those pills they sell in the herbal remedy aisle at the store. Should I be charging for this?"
"I don't care how much money you spend on your clothes," Blaine says. "Or that you like to pretend you don't play Finn's video games. You're a bigger dork than I am."
When they finally get back to sorting, Blaine sees Kurt picking up the book and moving it to the Bad Memories pile.
"Wait," he says, a little impulsively.
Kurt looks at him expectantly.
"Let's keep it in the room for now," he says, thinking about his father's voice vibrating out from deep inside his chest, and how safe the memory feels. He wants more of it, but he figures maybe there are times when you hold onto the little piece that you have, even if it stings.
***
They work steadily for hours, until Blaine feels raw, like all his nerve endings are on fire. It feels like he's stopping to break down more often than they're actually making any decisions, but Kurt isn't complaining. He just sets down whatever is in his hands at any given moment and grabs Blaine into another hug as he lets him try to make sense of the emotions bubbling up inside of him. Blaine's so tired, he just wants this to be over. He doesn't even hear the side door open and close when everyone gets home, although he does register Kurt tensing a little from where he's sitting on the bed with his arms around Blaine as Blaine sits there leaning his head into Kurt's chest.
He pulls away when the door to his room flies open and Cynthia is there, staring at them in open curiosity before running back downstairs shouting,
"Dad! Mom! There's a strange boy in Blaine's room and they've made a really big mess!"
Kurt raises an eyebrow as she continues.
"Nothing's where it belongs and you told me no friends over without your permission. Are they gonna get in trouble? Can I watch?"
"Wow," Kurt whispers. "She's a charmer, isn't she?"
"You should see her after she's snuck into the powdered sugar," Blaine says, absently putting a hand to his eyes and wishing he didn't look as obviously upset as he's certain he does. His dad pokes his head around the door a moment later, his mother not far behind.
"Sorry," Blaine mumbles, not really looking at them directly. "This is Kurt. He came over to help me sort through some of this. You told me to have him over, I didn't know you meant while you were here."
"No, that's fine," his dad says, looking around as he takes in the chaos of the room. "Cynthia is still learning that the house rules are different when you're six than they are when you're sixteen. Your mom and I were planning on helping you do this tonight, but it looks like you beat us to it. Do you need any more help?"
"I think we're almost finished, Mr. Anderson," Kurt says, and Blaine notices that his father starts a little when he hears the high voice but beyond that doesn't react any differently. "Are there any boxes we can use to put these away?"
"Are you getting rid of everything?" His mother asks. She sounds a little anxious, and Blaine can see her looking at what each pile contains as she tries not to show her panic.
"Oh no," Kurt says, calmly, like he's used to manipulating adults to get what he wants and considering that he now has a new family, he probably is, so Blaine lets him take control happily. It's nice to let someone else handle his parents for a change. "Once we get the boxes out we can show you what we've been doing. We didn't think it would be fair to get rid of anything until you've looked at it, but most of what we're taking out could easily go into storage."
"Most?" His dad asks.
Blaine points to the lamp in the corner with the shade that is covered with footballs, soccer balls, and baseballs.
"You can save it if you have to, but why would you want to?" he asks.
His mother smiles at him.
"I tried telling you that you'd regret getting it when we bought it," she says. "But you were adamant."
She's come home with several catalogues for him to look at so they can replace the furniture as well. Kurt ends up staying for supper and offering very vocal advise on what his new bureau should look like. His parents seem to like him just fine, which is a relief to Blaine, even if they don't technically know that they're meeting his boyfriend. He'd feel bad about keeping it from them but he figures that before he tells his family anything it's only fair to let Kurt know about his new title and there's no way Blaine's going to admit that until they've spent more time fooling around. He has his pride, after all.
With Kurt there the conversation comes easier and feels less awkward. It's like there's a safety net under him and Blaine doesn't have to worry about losing all the progress he's made if he says the wrong thing. It's late when Kurt finally leaves and even though he promises to call and stop by the next time he gets a day off from his dad's shop, Blaine wishes he didn't have to go. Without Kurt there to act as go-between Blaine is back to being the emotional fuck-up who can't function on a day-to-day basis and acts like a stranger in his own house. Everyone told him this part would suck, but they all keep promising it will get better, even Kurt. Blaine wants to believe them, but he can't shake the feeling that trying so hard to make this work will turn out to be pointless in the long run, because maybe it really will hurt less the longer they work at it, but is it going to be worth it if he's still missing a family at the end?
To Masterpost
Author: firefly_ca
Pairing,Character(s): Kurt/Blaine, with appearances by Stevie and the Evans family, the Andersons (OCs until Ryan responds the demands of the fanbase and casts a hybrid mutant John Barrowman/Robert Downey Junior as Blaine's father), and large swaths of Glee clubbers (New Directions and Warblers)
Rating: NC-17 for disturbing themes, scenes, etc.
Word Count: TBD - Part One is about 16K
Spoilers: All of S2, a few of the trickier elements of S3 (Blaine's grade/age discrepencies, I'm looking at you)
Summary: AU. Blaine Anderson lived under another name for almost nine years with an abusive man he was forced to pretend was his father. He always thought his own family had given up on him, but now that he's found out the majority of his life was spent believing a lie, he has to try to reconcile the life he had with the life that was taken away from him. Sequel to Looking for a Happy Ending
Note: Huge thanks to my betas LoonyLevicorpus and fingerstowords for taking the fic and trying to help me avoid stupid typos and things that make no sense this time around. Any mistakes you find are all from last-minute edits I made before I posted. Because sometimes I can't leave good enough alone.
A/N: The cat looks weird. There is a reason for this, but I don't know if it will fit into the actual story yet. In case it does, or in case you are cat crazy and just curious, it's a Cornish Rex and it looks something like this.
He'd hoped clearing out all the old toys would make things easier, but Blaine still is getting his ass kicked by a child's bedroom. He's tried, but no matter what he does he can't sleep properly when he's in there. Before long a nightly pattern emerges. It starts as he lies there with his eyes screwed shut so he can't see the pictures on the walls, wondering how much longer he'll be able to pretend like sorting through all of it won't be a problem. He tries to envision himself starting, attempting to prove to himself that looking through a child's things is a stupid thing to get upset about and that it can't possibly be as pathetically terrifying as he's making it out to be. He never gets very far, and before long his brain becomes crowded with fractured images of his parents looking disappointed and upset, maybe because he doesn't remember something he should. No matter what they say, this is a test and it's one that he knows he can't possibly pass. He's going to let them down. Then the panic sets in, as his thoughts become cyclical, concluding in the same place they began: I can't do this. Eventually he can't take it anymore and starts listening for his parents to go to bed and the house to quiet down. He sneaks downstairs and stretches out on the couch, never quite sleeping, listening for anyone getting up so he can sneak back into his room before he's noticed.
It's awful and draining and Blaine's getting so sore he's starting to wonder if his ribs will ever get better, but at least he's getting more than an hour of sleep each night now. At least he doesn't feel like crying when he closes his eyes. Fortunately for him, his entire family seem to be late-risers, so he's always able to drag himself back to his room before the rest of the house stirs to life. The only one who knows his secret is the cat, who is more than happy to crawl onto Blaine's chest at night, purring loudly as she makes herself at home on her own personal heater, occasionally butting her head under Blaine's chin, dragging her odd, curly short fur across his skin.
Blaine wouldn't say it's working well, but at least it's working for him, which is better than nothing. It might have kept working too, if his parents hadn't started to go back to work a couple weeks after he comes home. Part of Blaine is relieved when they tell him they're going back. It's not like they sit around catching up with each other when they stay at home. Blaine doesn't remember any of the people they could tell him about, and he's certainly not about to chat about what he's been doing in the last nine years. Even if his plan wasn't to try his damndest to forget all of it, some things are just naturally hard to talk to your parents about. Psychological torture, for instance, or your strengths and weaknesses in the area of sexual foreplay. Plus, now that they'll be leaving during the day, he might be able to finally have a chance to call Kurt. Cynthia has a babysitter she goes to while they're at work, so he wouldn't have to worry about her ratting him out if she hears him talking about anything particularly damning, not that he expects to be having phone sex with Kurt at this point or anything. It's just nice to know that he's safe. Even though he's nervous being alone in the house all day, he's looking forward to the change. Until his parents start getting up earlier, anyhow, before he has a chance to go back to his room.
"Blaine?" His dad asks, clearly surprised. "What are you doing out here?"
Blaine just looks at him a little helplessly, not exactly sure what he should be saying. His mother walks in behind his dad.
"Are you having nightmares?" She asks. "That therapist I spoke with the other day mentioned that sometimes they can trigger sleepwalking."
"I don't sleepwalk," Blaine grits out, just wanting to run the hell away from this conversation. "I'm not having nightmares."
The last thing he wants is to end up being forced to talk to someone about how screwed up it is inside his head. Everyone knows enough about his personal life as it is.
In the end he refuses to explain anything, just repeats, "I'm sorry" and "it's nothing" and "I'm fine" until he escapes to his room, where he sits with the door closed and his back against the wall, pretending he can't hear when they knock. That night he's determined to stay in his own bed. He lasts until 3 o'clock before he sneaks back to the couch, but he doesn't go to sleep, just sits there staring at the blank television until he hears an alarm go off upstairs signalling it's time to sneak back to his own room.
He does the same thing for the next two nights, opting to fall asleep during the day with the TV on and all the doors locked. He's too tired to even think about calling Kurt. The next night it all goes to hell again though, and he falls asleep where he's sitting at some point just before it's starting to get light out, only to be woken by his father's hand on his shoulder. He doesn't even pretend like he's going to answer their questions this time, just shakes his head at them, apologizes and goes to his room.
The third time it happens his mother follows him with a look of unflappable determination.
"You need to talk to us, Blaine," she says, sounding firmer than he can ever remember hearing her. He feels his pulse speed up.
"It's okay," he insists. "I'm not having nightmares, I promise."
"Then why won't you stay the whole night in here?" she asks, standing in the doorway with her arms folded. "Stop shutting us out. Please. What's bothering you? Is it the room? Do you just not like your room?"
"The room is fine," Blaine mutters, but his mother has latched onto the idea and is running with it.
"It's too young, I know. I'm sorry about that Blaine. We wanted to wait until you felt a little better until we dealt with it, but if you really hate it we can start going through it right away. Tonight even, as soon as we get back from work. We can come up and - "
"No," Blaine says firmly, and he can feel his eyes start to water. He hopes she won't notice but of course he's never going to be that lucky.
"Why is this so upsetting to you, sweetie?" She asks, her voice soft and concerned. "I don't know how I'm supposed to be helping you."
"I don't need any help," Blaine insists. "I don't need you to go through the room with me, I don't need you to worry when I don't sleep in the right room. Everything is fine. I'm fine."
"No, you're not," she says. "You're not fine, Blaine, but that's okay. No one who's gone through what you've gone through could possibly be fine. But unless you talk to someone about what's going on in your head, it's just going to get worse. If you're not comfortable talking to me or Dad, that's okay, but you need to talk to someone. I can call Stevie's psychologist on break today and we can set up an appointment - "
"Please don't do that," Blaine says, trying to sound calm and not convinced he succeeds. "I don't want to talk to anyone about this. I'll get over it on my own. I promise."
She looks at him with an expression that clearly states she doesn't believe a word he's telling her, but finally concedes,
"Fine. I'll hold off for today, but we will be talking about this when we get home. I know it's hard and scary trying to sort through everything you're sorting through, but we love you very much and we can't let this keep happening, Blaine. It's taking too much out of you."
Blaine wants to tell her if she really cared about how he was feeling, she wouldn't make him talk about it, she'd just let him leave it all alone, but talking back to her feels uncomfortable and dangerous in a way he doesn't exactly understand. He honestly doesn't want to make things hard, but he can't agree to go along with her plans, either. So he sits alone in his room, on the ridiculously childish bed and tries to stave off his complete breakdown until everyone else has left the house. He looks wildly around the room without letting his eyes focus on anything for too long, afraid to really let anything register before he finally latches onto the fleeting thought, I should just do it before everyone comes back.
It doesn't make sense, because his parents aren't punishing him for not going through the room or even sleeping on the couch. They're just scared for him and Blaine knows that, but he can't shake the idea that if he gets done before they come home, they'll see that he's coping fine without anyone else getting involved. He won't have to talk about his feelings, he won't have to let anyone know that he's never going to be anything like the perfect child they've built a shrine to in this house. Everyone will keep pretending things are the way they should be and no one will push to see the sick truth underneath. This is something he has to do for them. He has to make sure they don't regret finding him.
Blaine is pretty sure he's left anything that even remotely resembles rational thought, but that doesn't stop him from taking a shuddering gasp of air and walking over to the desk in the corner, yanking open the bottom drawer and spilling the contents out onto the floor around him. He sinks down onto his knees and starts randomly picking things up and putting them into piles, not stopping to look at what he's holding. He keeps hoping that once he's started everything will come easier and he'll feel better, but everything he touches just makes the tension ratchet up higher. He gives up after not even five minutes, holding a piece of paper with a badly drawn family, holding little stick hands underneath a smiling sun. It looks like some old school assignment, and underneath the picture in shaky print are a few lines about family. Blaine hasn't read what they say, can't stop staring at the drawing, almost wanting to laugh at how cliché it is that this is the first thing he let himself look at. This is the reason they loved you: the poster boy for the perfect kid. This is what you have to teach yourself to be all over again. This is what you can never get back. This is why you're worthless.
He doesn't register that he's crying like a girl in the middle of a bedroom littered with grade school art assignments until he feels the tears start dripping off his nose. He's pretty certain he's never felt more pathetic his entire life, but he's also sure the house could collapse on him and he wouldn't feel any worse. He doesn't know what he should do, there's nothing really wrong but it feels like everything's falling apart. He just wants someone he doesn't have to worry about making a mistake in front of, someone who already knows what normal is supposed to look like but still isn't freaked out by irrational panic. He's so tired of hiding who he is to keep the people he cares about. He wasn't supposed to have to do that anymore. He wants someone he can trust.
He doesn't even register that he's gotten up to find the piece of paper until he's picked up the phone and dialling.
"Hello?" Kurt's voice is a little uncertain, but he still picks up almost right away.
"Kurt?" He says, and his own voice is scratchy and uneven. "I don't think I know how to do this. Please, just tell me how I'm supposed to do this."
***
It takes a while to explain what it is he's so upset about when Kurt asks, because Blaine doesn't exactly know the answer. In the end he supposes what it all comes down to is that he has no idea how to act like a rational human being when he's in this house. He feels like an alien with no concept of the native culture. He should feel guiltier for caving so easily when Kurt demands his address so he can come over, especially after Kurt reminds him that he'll be driving up from Lima because school is over for the year, but he doesn't. He just goes downstairs and sits by the front door for hours that go by disconcertingly fast, waiting for the doorbell to ring. When it finally does he's pulling the door open before Kurt even has a chance to lower his hand from the button.
Kurt is staring at him a little like he's looking at a ghost, and Blaine supposes that he probably looks a lot worse than the last time Kurt saw him, even though the cast and a fairly intense meltdown are the only things still visibly wrong now, but Blaine's not in the mood to entertain Kurt's flair for the dramatic at the moment, not when he's got his own issues to wade through. He grabs Kurt's hand with his good one and pulls him inside, before the neighbours can get too curious.
Kurt's arms are around him as soon as the door closes, and Blaine hugs him back just as tightly. It should hurt more than it does, but Blaine is pretty certain he's been on an adrenaline high ever since he woke up this morning, so the numbness isn't terribly surprising. They don't say anything for a long time, just stand there holding each other. It feels so right that Blaine can't stop himself from wishing he'd gotten to stay with him like he'd wanted in the first place, right after Anthony Rashad's party.
"I missed you," Kurt finally says, making no move to pull away.
"I missed you, too," Blaine says. "I'm sorry I didn't call right away. It's all so confusing here."
"I imagine it would be," Kurt says, finally pulling away and looking beyond Blaine's shoulder with a confused look.
"What?" Blaine asked.
"I'm over-emotional," Kurt says, still staring. "I could have sworn I just saw a stuffed toy climbing up your stairs."
He looks at Blaine and grins brightly. "It looks like you're not the only one losing his mind. That's good, we can be one of those couples who do everything together."
"Shut up," Blaine says fondly, relieved at the way the world is slowly coming back into focus. "That was probably the cat. She's really weird-looking."
"Ah," Kurt says, turning to look back at Blaine undeterred. "Well, maybe we can try for the matching his and his straightjackets next time then."
His smile gets a little more serious and he brings a hand up to Blaine's face, stopping abruptly and letting it hover as he asks, "Can I?" Blaine nods, wondering why they both feel like they have to ask before they touch. Kurt starts carefully brushing his hair back from his face in a way that, from anyone else, could be called motherly.
"What happens to the stuff in that room is nobody's business but yours," he says, quietly. "No one is going to judge you if you don't remember something or if you don't want to keep a grandmother's gift sweater that you probably hated when you were seven, too."
"I'm going to hurt them," Blaine insists, and Kurt just nods.
"Probably," he says. "But they'll hurt you, too. It's going to balance out."
"I don't know who these people are," Blaine tries again. "I haven't even told them about us because I don't know what I'll do if they're not okay with it, and you're the only part of my old life that's worth talking about."
"They're your parents," Kurt says. "And they love you. That's why it hurts. I'm guessing that if you severed a limb it would hurt a lot after they sewed it back on."
"You were coming up with that analogy all the way over, weren't you?"
"Only the first hour," Kurt says. "The rest of the time I was thinking about the best ways to get most of the crap out of your room before your parents come back."
"Thank you so much," Blaine says, snuggling back into Kurt's arms again. Technically they haven't even had one date yet, and this level of neediness should be avoided at all costs, because even he knows this isn't a turn on, but he feels too good to care. "I don't know why this is such a problem for me."
"The room's not really the problem, I don't think," Kurt says. "You're just focusing your energy on that because it's something you can fix."
That sounds suspiciously self-help-y to Blaine and so does a lot of the other stuff Kurt's been saying, now that he thinks about it. He lets go a little incredulously.
"Are you feeding me catchphrases and chapter headings from Borders?" He demands.
"What?" Kurt says, defensively. "They don't cover this sort of thing on Google books in accessible language, Blaine. Where else was I supposed to look?"
"Why are you looking anywhere?" Blaine says, not sure if he's feeling mad, frustrated, or just confused.
"Because I know how to deal with all of this stuff just about as well as you do," Kurt says, unapologetically. "And no offence Blaine, but you suck at this. Even Finn can clean his room without having to be prescribed anxiety medication."
He takes Blaine's hand and looks at him expectantly.
"Show me your room and tell me what your family is like," he says. "Then we can get rid of the old you."
***
Kurt is wonderfully methodical about sifting through Blaine's room.
"I did this for my dad a few years after Mom died," he explains. "Her things were all still in his room and some days he'd look at them and have trouble even getting out of bed, but he couldn't let anything go. I didn't want to lose her things either, but I really wanted my dad back, so one day I sorted through their things and asked him about what made him happy and what made him sad. The happy stuff stayed where it was and the sad stuff went into boxes."
"What happened to the boxes?" Blaine asks.
"They're in the attic of our new house, next to the boxes with Carole's memories of her first husband. Sometimes Finn and I go through them, and sometimes Dad and Carole manage to pull them out and get rid of a couple things they can let go of, but for the most part they just stay hidden away. It makes everyone feel better knowing they're still around."
Kurt sorts everything into piles and, unlike Blaine's, they have actual meaning and purpose.
"Tell me what you remember," he commands, holding up an old Little League picture. Blaine shrugs.
"I sort of remember playing a couple games. I don't remember being such a weird looking little kid, but apparently I was," he offers.
Kurt looks at the picture.
"Shut up, you were adorable," he says firmly, before setting the picture down and saying. "Anything you don't remember and don't care about, we can put here. Your parents can look at what there is and decide if they want to keep any of it after, but there's no reason to keep it in your room, right?"
In the end they put everything into three separate piles. The first pile is the biggest, full of things that hold no meaning, where most of his school work and pictures end up. Then Kurt makes a pile for the things that make his skin crawl whether he remembers them or not, like old trophies and awards from clubs and teams he never remembers being a part of, and pictures of school friends he recognizes but can't name. Finally there's a much smaller pile for the things Blaine wants to keep, like a picture they find of him on his grandfather's knee, grinning hugely, and a disturbingly violent stick figure illustration he drew that is very likely a scene from Pulp Fiction, complete with accompanying teacher's note suggesting his parents meet with her to have a talk. His mother has added to the note in pencil "Found out today that Blaine has been sneaking downstairs after bedtime to watch late night TV after Dad falls asleep watching the Movie of the Week. The good news is he thinks 'little sucker' is a swear word, the bad news is his teacher thinks we're unfit parents."
Kurt laughs until he has to wipe away the tears, and Blaine is amazed that this whole process seems so much easier with him here. He's starting to feel embarrassed that he was too scared to try on his own. It's not hard at all when Kurt makes everything so straightforward. At least, it's not hard at first, but the longer they go through drawers and look at pictures, the more hollow and empty Blaine starts to feel inside. He's missing so much. How is he ever going to become part of this family again when there's so little of them left in his memory?
"I'm never going to get any of this back," he says after an hour, trying to keep his emotions in check and failing spectacularly when he throws a book across the room. It's way too advanced for a seven-year-old kid to be reading, but apparently his parents were those "read to your kids at night" kinds of parents, and there's a bookmark indicating that they made it about halfway through before he disappeared. Looking at it triggers distant memories of his father's voice droning on with him tucked into his side, feeling the vibrations of the words come up through his chest as his eyes droop shut. He leans against the bed and stares at the ceiling, an old glow-in-the-dark constellation looking down at him. Another memory he can't hold onto. The air next to him shifts as Kurt settles down beside him.
"It's okay if you don't remember," he says, but Blaine shakes his head.
"It's not that," he says. "I don't remember enough. It's like, I look at all of this and there are pieces that come through, but I need more. I remember but it doesn't help."
"I know," Kurt says. "I feel that way about my mom. It's not fair that what I remember gets fuzzier when it's all that I have left."
"Please don't talk about your dead mother right now," Blaine begs. "You make me feel like an asshole. I shouldn't be whining, it's not like I won't be seeing them in a few hours."
"You're allowed to feel the way you feel, Blaine," Kurt says insistently. "We both lost parents, just in different ways. It's allowed to hurt. When Carole came into the picture it was like losing Mom all over again, because she made me realize how much I'd forgotten what having a mother was like. It felt like I'd betrayed her by forgetting, but I hadn't. Bad things happen, and while you find ways to work through it, sometimes you lose stuff. It's sad but you don't have to feel guilty about it."
Blaine doesn't say anything to that, so Kurt asks,
"Do you need a break?"
"Yes please," Blaine says.
"What do you want to do?" Kurt asks. "Should we grab some lunch or something?"
"Would making out be inappropriate right now?" Blaine asks. "Because I know we haven't actually gone on a date yet, and I don't want to come across as easy, but so far my day has really sucked and that might go a long way towards turning it around."
"Seriously?" Kurt says. "You didn't even hesitate. Is this what you think about in your spare time?"
"There's not a lot to do here," Blaine says. "What else am I supposed to do? Unless you'd prefer that my entire life just becomes one non-stop pity party."
Kurt snorts a little derisively, but still grabs at the front of Blaine's shirt and pulls him closer before moving their mouths together, so he's obviously not adverse to the idea. It still feels as stupid wonderful as it did almost two months ago when they kissed on the Hummel porch, even though Blaine's life has changed so much since then he doesn't even feel like the same person anymore. He leans in, moving further and further into Kurt's space until his sides start catching and his breath comes up short. Kurt's hands are gently pushing back almost at once, as he mutters into Blaine's mouth. "Steady there, tiger. If you want to come out to your parents at your own pace, a call from the hospital telling them you managed to break a rib kissing a devastatingly charming and attractive guy isn't the way to do it."
Blaine laughs.
"'Tiger'?" he says. "Really? My grandmother used to call me that, Kurt. It's not exactly a turn on."
Kurt pulls back to grin at him.
"That's new," he says excitedly. "Maybe my mouth has restorative powers for the memory, like those pills they sell in the herbal remedy aisle at the store. Should I be charging for this?"
"I don't care how much money you spend on your clothes," Blaine says. "Or that you like to pretend you don't play Finn's video games. You're a bigger dork than I am."
When they finally get back to sorting, Blaine sees Kurt picking up the book and moving it to the Bad Memories pile.
"Wait," he says, a little impulsively.
Kurt looks at him expectantly.
"Let's keep it in the room for now," he says, thinking about his father's voice vibrating out from deep inside his chest, and how safe the memory feels. He wants more of it, but he figures maybe there are times when you hold onto the little piece that you have, even if it stings.
***
They work steadily for hours, until Blaine feels raw, like all his nerve endings are on fire. It feels like he's stopping to break down more often than they're actually making any decisions, but Kurt isn't complaining. He just sets down whatever is in his hands at any given moment and grabs Blaine into another hug as he lets him try to make sense of the emotions bubbling up inside of him. Blaine's so tired, he just wants this to be over. He doesn't even hear the side door open and close when everyone gets home, although he does register Kurt tensing a little from where he's sitting on the bed with his arms around Blaine as Blaine sits there leaning his head into Kurt's chest.
He pulls away when the door to his room flies open and Cynthia is there, staring at them in open curiosity before running back downstairs shouting,
"Dad! Mom! There's a strange boy in Blaine's room and they've made a really big mess!"
Kurt raises an eyebrow as she continues.
"Nothing's where it belongs and you told me no friends over without your permission. Are they gonna get in trouble? Can I watch?"
"Wow," Kurt whispers. "She's a charmer, isn't she?"
"You should see her after she's snuck into the powdered sugar," Blaine says, absently putting a hand to his eyes and wishing he didn't look as obviously upset as he's certain he does. His dad pokes his head around the door a moment later, his mother not far behind.
"Sorry," Blaine mumbles, not really looking at them directly. "This is Kurt. He came over to help me sort through some of this. You told me to have him over, I didn't know you meant while you were here."
"No, that's fine," his dad says, looking around as he takes in the chaos of the room. "Cynthia is still learning that the house rules are different when you're six than they are when you're sixteen. Your mom and I were planning on helping you do this tonight, but it looks like you beat us to it. Do you need any more help?"
"I think we're almost finished, Mr. Anderson," Kurt says, and Blaine notices that his father starts a little when he hears the high voice but beyond that doesn't react any differently. "Are there any boxes we can use to put these away?"
"Are you getting rid of everything?" His mother asks. She sounds a little anxious, and Blaine can see her looking at what each pile contains as she tries not to show her panic.
"Oh no," Kurt says, calmly, like he's used to manipulating adults to get what he wants and considering that he now has a new family, he probably is, so Blaine lets him take control happily. It's nice to let someone else handle his parents for a change. "Once we get the boxes out we can show you what we've been doing. We didn't think it would be fair to get rid of anything until you've looked at it, but most of what we're taking out could easily go into storage."
"Most?" His dad asks.
Blaine points to the lamp in the corner with the shade that is covered with footballs, soccer balls, and baseballs.
"You can save it if you have to, but why would you want to?" he asks.
His mother smiles at him.
"I tried telling you that you'd regret getting it when we bought it," she says. "But you were adamant."
She's come home with several catalogues for him to look at so they can replace the furniture as well. Kurt ends up staying for supper and offering very vocal advise on what his new bureau should look like. His parents seem to like him just fine, which is a relief to Blaine, even if they don't technically know that they're meeting his boyfriend. He'd feel bad about keeping it from them but he figures that before he tells his family anything it's only fair to let Kurt know about his new title and there's no way Blaine's going to admit that until they've spent more time fooling around. He has his pride, after all.
With Kurt there the conversation comes easier and feels less awkward. It's like there's a safety net under him and Blaine doesn't have to worry about losing all the progress he's made if he says the wrong thing. It's late when Kurt finally leaves and even though he promises to call and stop by the next time he gets a day off from his dad's shop, Blaine wishes he didn't have to go. Without Kurt there to act as go-between Blaine is back to being the emotional fuck-up who can't function on a day-to-day basis and acts like a stranger in his own house. Everyone told him this part would suck, but they all keep promising it will get better, even Kurt. Blaine wants to believe them, but he can't shake the feeling that trying so hard to make this work will turn out to be pointless in the long run, because maybe it really will hurt less the longer they work at it, but is it going to be worth it if he's still missing a family at the end?
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