Fic: New York, New York | Part One: Road Full of Promise (11/13)
Title: New York, New York | Part One: Road Full of Promise (11/13)
Rating: R
Characters: Kurt/Blaine, Finn, Burt/Carole, assorted family members and OCs
Spoilers: Through 2x22 “New York”
Warnings: Description of a violent hate crime; adult language
Word Count: 6,004
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters. I’m just borrowing them for a little while.
Summary: The visual was strikingly similar to the last time they were in this room together. But Blaine could feel the difference in the air now: no longer rife with tension, but instead wistful, familial. It was like his father had been sitting there since August, waiting for his son to come home.
Author's Note: Is it pathetic that I’ve had this chapter drafted since September? (Don’t answer that.) Anyway, here is the long-awaited reunion between Blaine and his father. I thought long and hard about Blaine’s dad and what could have influenced the way he sees his son. Everybody has experiences that shape how they view the world and react to things. So Blaine learns a lot about his dad’s character and behavior here. All of this will be important way down the road in part three, too.
Also: The incident described in this chapter is completely fictional.
If you really want to get into it, listen to this song as you start reading the scene with Blaine's father. (The lyrics aren’t exactly the same, but this is the version I had on loop while writing this chapter.)
Previous chapters: Kurtain (prologue) | Admission (prologue) | Spark (one-shot) | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten
***
“Unf,” Blaine groaned unintelligibly as he plopped down on the couch next to Kurt, nestling his face into Kurt’s shoulder.
“Sounds like somebody’s satisfied,” Kurt remarked in a smug tone, his arm snaking behind Blaine's waist to wrap him in a half-embrace. He rubbed gentle circles against the soft fabric at Blaine’s lower back as he continued flipping through Carole’s copy of Martha Stewart Living with his other hand.
“That was so good.” Blaine’s drowsy, satiated voice was muffled against Kurt’s sweater. “Promise you’ll always make that for Christmas Eve dinner, forever?"
Kurt turned his face toward Blaine’s head and placed a feather-light kiss on top of his gelled hair. “If that’s what you want, my dear.”
“Okay, boys,” Burt announced as he walked into the living room, Finn in tow. Blaine managed to straighten up a little at the sound of his voice, despite being stuffed to the brim with Kurt’s champagne-glazed ham. He’d grown comfortable at the Hummels’ home since arriving three days ago, but he wasn’t going to push his luck.
“Finn and I are going to the mall to do some Christmas shopping.” Burt moved into the foyer, pulling on his coat and grabbing his keys from the table by the door. “Anybody got any last-minute requests for Santa?”
Blaine looked between Burt and Finn, confused. “Wait. You leave your Christmas shopping till…” He trailed off as he looked down at his watch. “Six-thirty p.m. on Christmas Eve?”
Burt shook his head, mock disappointment in his expression. “I see you’ve recruited him to your side, Kurt.”
“It’s ridiculous.” Kurt threw Blaine a sideways glance, rolling his eyes, before turning his focus back to the magazine. “You do this every year. It’s a miracle you ever find anything, or make it out of there alive.”
Burt grinned. “Makes it more interesting, doesn’t it? It’s like a big game. How fast can I get in there, get through the lines and get the hell out?”
“I bet Carole had all her Christmas shopping done two weeks ago.”
“See, that’s part of the strategy, too. Always make your spouse look better than you.” Burt pointed an index finger between Kurt and Blaine. “That’s an important life lesson, boys.” He waved at them, calling back as he and Finn headed out the door. “Don’t stay up too late, or else Santa won’t come!”
As the door closed behind them, Blaine settled back into the couch cushions with a little laugh. “So, when do I get my Christmas present?” he asked in a low, flirtatious voice, turning to Kurt and giving him a roguish smirk.
Kurt opened his mouth to respond when the sound of Blaine’s ring tone pierced through the air between them. Blaine quickly dug his phone out of his pocket, staring at the single word on the screen for a moment before angling it so Kurt could read.
Mom
“Be right back.” Blaine’s heart was racing as he got up from the couch and walked out of the living room, ducking into the kitchen to answer the call. “Hi, Mom.”
“Blaine.” Her voice sounded warm, relieved. “Where are you, dear?”
“I’m at Kurt’s house. We just had dinner.”
“Oh.” There was a long pause. Blaine heard a slide of static, and then muffled voices in the background. “I’m just starting dinner now,” she said when she came back to the line. “I was hoping you would come over.”
“Mom…I don’t-”
“Please, Blaine. He…” she trailed off as the distant voice spoke again. This time, Blaine could clearly identify his father’s deep, rumbling tone, muttering something indistinct. “I think you should talk to each other.”
“He could call me if he wanted to talk.”
“Enough, Blaine.” Blaine flinched at her sharp rebuke. “I do not want my family apart anymore. Not on Christmas.” She was quiet for a moment; then she laughed lightly, embarrassed. “Look what you stubborn, stubborn men do to me. Sweetheart, you need to come home.”
Blaine felt it again - that wave of yearning crashing over his body. “All right,” he mumbled. “I’ll be over there in twenty minutes or so.”
I’m going home, he thought anxiously as he hung up the phone. How many times had he imagined about this moment? Wondered if it would happen, when it would happen? The circumstances, the consequences?
By the time Blaine returned to the living room, Carole had joined Kurt; he could hear them gushing over their favorite Christmas spreads in Carole’s magazines as he approached. Kurt turned his attention to Blaine, looking up at him with wide, concerned eyes.
“I’m going home for a little while,” Blaine began, his quiet voice revealing his nerves. He fiddled with his phone, tossing it from one hand to the other to relieve the edgy sensation shimmering through his limbs.
Kurt nodded slowly. “Okay. Do you…want me to go with you?”
Blaine’s heart burst with love at Kurt’s sweet, tentative question. “I think I’ll be okay,” he answered bravely, offering Kurt a grateful smile. “I should…I need to be alone with them for a little while.”
“All right.” Kurt jumped up from the couch and shuffled over to the foyer. “Here,” he said, removing his keys from the table and pressing them into Blaine’s hands. “Take my car.”
He’d never driven Kurt’s car by himself, Blaine realized; the absent thought drifting somewhere in the far reaches of his mind. It was a silly little milestone in their relationship, but for some reason it helped comfort him.
“Thank you.” Blaine leaned in to kiss Kurt on the cheek, cognizant of Carole’s presence in the room. As they held each other, Blaine pressed his face tightly against Kurt’s, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to draw all the strength he could from their soft, intimate contact. “I don’t know when I’ll be back,” he murmured.
“That’s fine. I’ll be here. Just call me if you need me.”
With one last hopeful smile, Blaine walked out of Kurt’s house and headed home.
***
It felt so strange, Blaine thought, to knock on the door of his own home, as if he were an acquaintance, rather than a member, of the family who lived inside. But it felt even more unnatural to simply walk in as if nothing had happened. So he stayed in place on the front stoop, listening to the footsteps that grew closer.
When his mother opened the door, her familiar face brightened at the sight of her only son. “Blaine,” she cooed, reaching out to cup Blaine’s cheeks in her hands. “My baby.” Her hands slid down to his shoulders, then around, enveloping him in a secure, loving embrace.
Blaine breathed in the scent of her perfume; the tiniest bit of relief flooding his senses along with the gentle, flowery fragrance. “Hi, Mom.”
“I missed you so much, sweetheart.”
Blaine felt tears prick behind his eyes. “I missed you, too.”
She ushered Blaine into the house, fussing over him just the same way she always did; taking his coat and scarf and hanging them on his peg on the wall, alongside the rest of his family’s winter wear. She plucked invisible lint from his cardigan, then ran her hands down his arms.
“You’ve lost weight,” she observed, her forehead etched with concern.
“I’m fine, Mom. I’ve just been really busy. My schedule was intense-”
He was interrupted by a high-pitched shriek and the sound of feet thumping down the hall. Bridget.
Blaine huffed out a laugh as his little sister threw herself at him, nearly squeezing the breath out of his lungs.
“Blaine Blaine Blaine Blaine!”
“Oh my god, please don’t kill me. It’s Christmas!” Blaine joked, prying her arms from around his chest. “Get off, get off! Let me look at you!”
Bridget finally pulled back; her hazel eyes alight with joy over the return of her beloved brother. Blaine patted the top of her loose curls, cascading past her shoulders in dark, glossy waves. “Jeez, you’ve grown!”
“Almost two inches!” she boasted proudly. “I’m going to be taller than you soon.”
“Wow. I’ve been back home for approximately forty-five seconds, and you’re already insulting me.” Blaine gave her arm a light shove. “I feel so welcome.”
They gabbed excitedly for a few minutes about school and Bridget’s ballet and Blaine’s music, their mother looking on at her children with content happiness. As they talked, Blaine couldn’t help but let his eyes wander down the hall to the soft, pretty light spilling out from the living room doorway.
His mother followed his gaze. “Your father’s in the living room. Why don’t you go say hello?”
Blaine hesitated. “I-“
“Come on, Bridget.” His mother cut him off, taking her daughter by the hand. “We need to finish up dinner if you still want to bake afterwards.”
Bridget looked back at Blaine as she led her away. “She’s showing me how to make chocolate chip cookies!”
Blaine grinned. “I’m going to eat them all,” he teased after their retreating figures. He tried to hold on to his smile, but it slipped as soon as he was alone again. His fear was too big; his anxiety flowing red-hot through his veins.
He pressed his lips together tightly, biting them from inside his mouth as he forced himself to take one step forward, then another, toward the living room. With each quiet step on plush carpet, Blaine could feel his heart dance faster in his chest, hear his pulse race louder in his ears. When he finally reached the doorway, he stopped for a moment to take it all in.
The room was dim and golden, lit only by the tiny white lights on the Christmas tree and the electric candles glowing in each window. Blaine's heart lurched a little when his eyes fell on his father, sitting in his chair with a snifter of brandy in his hand; his face downturned and shadowed in the muted light.
The visual was strikingly similar to the last time they were in this room together. But Blaine could feel the difference in the air now: no longer rife with tension, but instead wistful, familial. It was like his father had been sitting there since August, waiting for his son to come home.
The sounds of clanging pans and happy, girlish voices wafted in from the kitchen, mixing with soft Christmas music that drifted from the speakers in one corner of the room.
Christmas future is far away
Christmas past is past
Christmas present is here today
Bringing joy that may last
Blaine finally stepped into the room; the single creaky floorboard underneath his feet giving away his presence. When his father looked up at him, Blaine stopped again. The two men stared at each other, silent and still, for a long moment.
Blaine swallowed hard, drawing upon his budding acting training to keep his expression carefully blank. He wasn’t about to reveal the weight of his fear in his gaze, or the shake of nerves rattling his teeth. It was so hard, though, the way his father looked at him with pained, anxious eyes.
“Blaine.” His father’s voice broke on the single syllable of his son’s name. He cleared his throat before continuing, gesturing over to the couch. “Sit down, son.”
Wordlessly, Blaine obeyed, settling into the worn, familiar brown leather, littered with colorful crocheted throw pillows his grandmother had taught Bridget how to make.
“Blaine,” his father began again. His voice sounded steadier this time; more like the steely lawyer Blaine knew. “Did I ever tell you about my first internship in law school?”
Are you serious? He’s really still trying to get me to be a fucking lawyer. “Dad…” Blaine trailed off, his voice a warning tone.
“Just-” His father raised a hand to silence him. “Just listen to me. Please.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “I’ve never told you this. I’ve never told anyone this. Only your mother.”
Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Let your heart be light
From now on our troubles will be out of sight
He took a long sip from his brandy, seemingly stalling for more time. Finally, he spoke again on a quiet exhale. “After my second year at Notre Dame, I got an internship with a top prosecutor in Indianapolis. I competed with a lot of people to get that job. It was an honor to be chosen.” His gaze skimmed over the Christmas tree, its bright lights twinkling cheerfully in the night.
“The first case I was part of was a murder trial. This high school kid out somewhere in…Muncie, I think it was. He and some other kids were accused of beating a fifteen-year-old boy to death. I…it was a hate crime, Blaine.” He suddenly met Blaine’s gaze again; his hard eyes misty with unshed tears. “The boy they were accused of killing was gay.”
Blaine blinked at him. Slowly, surely, the sick heat of realization seeped into his body, cell by cell.
“I saw the photos of the crime scene in court. They-” His father stopped short, cleared his throat. “They tied him up. Smashed his head in with a fucking hammer. The one kid’s fingerprints were all over the weapon. It was premeditated homicide, clear as day. God knows how long they’d been planning it.
“I’ll never forget the day the verdict came in. The kid we were prosecuting? Guilty of manslaughter.” He laughed bitterly. “Five years in prison. Five fucking years, Blaine. And another five years’ probation.” He shook his head, sneering at the memory. “His defense was that the gay kid had come on to him. Made him so uncomfortable that he cried in his room at night and stopped going to school. It was bullshit.” Another sharp sigh, another swig of alcohol.
“When you were assaulted, it was like my worst nightmare was coming true. All I could think was…that’s going to be my child.” His father pursed his lips, warring with the tears that threatened to spill over. “Some jury’s going to look at a photo of his dead body in a courtroom and decide his life wasn’t worth as much as a straight kid’s.
“So I - I wanted to change you, Blaine. I know that doesn’t make sense now. But some part of me thought I could. Thought that you could change. That if we went golfing and built the shed and worked on that car together, you might, I don’t know…tap into a different part of yourself.” He sighed again, trailing off. “At least you’d be doing something that wouldn’t make you a target.”
Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Make the yuletide gay
From now on our troubles will be miles away
Blaine gaped in disbelief; unable to wrap his mind around the broken, vulnerable version of the man that sat before him. Everything had seemed so black and white until now: his father’s discomfort with his sexuality and his musical ambitions, his disappointment that Blaine wouldn’t follow in his footsteps. Blaine had always attributed his behavior to simple pride and image - a need to impress those on the outside, concern over what others might think. Never had he imagined his father had these layers, these secrets hidden deep in his heart.
Blaine didn’t think much anymore about that night, so long ago now, that he spent splayed out on hard, rough asphalt. He could still bring the memories back if he let himself - the feel of tiny rocks and broken glass digging into the fresh cuts and bruises on his face, the sound of feet pounding on pavement, of hideous laughter as the bullies ran away.
So he didn’t. He’d come too far, grown too much since then. But apparently, the memories still haunted others more than he knew.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Blaine asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.
His father considered the question, shrugged a little in response. “Back then, I didn’t want to talk about it. We were all going through a lot at the time. I thought it would be easier to ignore it. If we sent you to a new school and urged you to follow a different path, everything would be okay. I knew you were going to have a difficult life otherwise. There were always going to be people who wanted to hurt you.”
Blaine's mind traveled back to all the times that his father had dismissed his dreams, made him feel guilty for being himself. The awkward bonding attempts, the stilted dinner conversations. The tension that had bubbled up and overflowed on that hot, angry night in August, and the resulting stress and loneliness that had sat like lead in his soul.
It was a different kind of bullying than the beating he’d received, or the brutal violence his father had been exposed to. But that’s what it had been, hadn’t it?
We lost so much time together, Blaine thought woefully. One tragedy beget another. Kurt was right, his mother was right - this needed to end.
Here we are as in olden days
Happy golden days of yore
“You were one of those people, Dad,” Blaine said quietly, idly twisting the bright fabric of a pillow in his hands as he spoke. “Do you understand? You didn’t hurt me physically, but…you made me feel like I wasn’t worth as much as a straight kid.”
His father hung his head, staring into the deep amber pool of his glass. “I see that now.”
Blaine pressed on; the words flowing out of him easily. “Everybody has a hard life sometimes. The hardest thing about mine hasn’t been that I’m gay. It’s been the way you treated me. I felt worthless. You tried to mold me into what you thought was better instead of supporting me the way I am.” This is what he had wanted to say, really wanted his father to know - simple honesty, stripped of venom. “And this whole semester? I thought I’d lost my family. Do you know how hard that was? You said you didn’t want me to come crawling back here. As if I was doomed to fail. You never trusted me, or believed in me."
“You’re right.” His father nodded slowly, sadly, then let out a long sigh. “Son, all we want as parents is the best for our children. I thought I knew what that was for you. I let my own experience and fears get in the way of understanding you. And instead of being honest, I resorted to arguing and name calling.” He leaned forward in his chair, bringing himself as close as he could to Blaine; matching pairs of golden eyes staring at each other, unwavering, in the pale light. “I’m sorry.”
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more
Blaine’s gaze faltered at the apology. He was physically unable to hold his father’s stare under the weighty awkwardness, the sheer amazement that this conversation was finally taking place between them. It was long overdue - but not too late, he realized. When Blaine looked up again, he nodded subtly, accepting his father’s sincere words of regret. But he wasn’t finished just yet.
“Going to New York with Kurt has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Dad.” Blaine’s voice grew thicker as he started to think about Kurt - about what they had and how steady it was, even when the rest of his world had turned upside down. “I feel like I’m on my way to achieving everything I’ve ever wanted in life. Yeah, it’s hard. It's always going to be hard. But…it’s what I was meant to do. I know it.”
His father sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, scrutinizing Blaine closely. Blaine could practically see the thoughts tumbling and feuding in his head. “I’ll tell you what, Blaine. I’m still not sure how I feel about this…music thing, but I admire the hell out of you for going after something you really want, and doing it the right way. And you were all on your own, too.”
“No.” Blaine shook his head vigorously. The emotions had caught up with him now: bursts of love, confusion, shock, relief, joy like punches to the gut, over and over again. “I wasn’t alone. I…Kurt. He’s…” Blaine trailed off, overwhelmed by the moment. Every word he tried to utter - my rock, my soulmate, my everything - got caught in his throat like a lump. All he could do was offer his father a shaky smile.
“Yeah.” His father cast an eye to the doorway, and the faint sound of Blaine’s mother in the kitchen. “I have one of those, too.” He turned his face downward, chuckling lightly. “She’s a smart one, your mother. I didn’t even know she was sneaking around, sending you money, emailing you. I only found out when we got the bill for your spring semester…she just grabbed the envelope from my hands and said, ‘I’ll take care of that.’ No discussion.” He chuckled again, lost in the memory of their private exchange.
“You put her in the middle of all this.” Blaine said it just as the realization dawned on him. His sweet, meek mother had been loyal to her husband to a fault: following his lead, internalizing his fears. It had taken an explosion, and Blaine leaving them behind, before she finally peeped out from under her shell.
His father looked at him guiltily. “I guess neither one of us is very good at talking about these things.”
Blaine quirked an eyebrow. He wasn’t quite sure how he could see the humor in this situation - but there it was, glimmering like a tiny Christmas light. “Apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree, does it?”
He hesitated before continuing. He wanted, needed to allay his father’s long-held fears: for his family, for himself, for their future. “You should know that I’m…I feel safer there, Dad.” He nodded at his own words, because he really felt it, really believed it was true. “I’m safe there. I promise. Nobody looks twice at Kurt and me when we’re out together. I don’t need protection anymore. I just need my family.”
Through the years we all will be together
If the fates allow
Until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow
“Even after everything that’s happened, you’ve always been so proud, Blaine. You never hid who you are. Just the opposite - you went after it, even when we discouraged you. You’ve really proven yourself a man.” His father scoffed at himself in disgust. “Much more than me.”
For the first time in his life, Blaine felt like the two of them were on the same level: no longer one below the other, but rather walking side by side. They were both adults, but that didn’t mean they still didn’t struggle to find their way, to deal with the messes the world threw at them.
“So no more anger. No more judging.” His father looked at him pointedly. “I respect you the way you are, and I’ll support you as long as you’re making an effort to do good with your life.”
They couldn’t go back in time and erase the years of shame, of sadness, of fear. But they could move on - facing new challenges with honesty and respect above all else. They could try, at least. All they could do was try.
Blaine nodded. “I’m going to show you,” he declared, a fervent timbre in his voice. “I’m going to make it.”
His father gave him the barest of smiles; but it was kind and confident. “I hope you do.”
So have yourself a merry little Christmas now
“Blaine? Daddy?”
They both looked up to see Bridget loitering tentatively at the doorway. “Dinner’s ready.”
Blaine smiled at his sister, beautiful and young in the shadowy light. “Thanks, B. We’ll be right there.”
Blaine and his father both stood slowly; feet and eyes and minds lingering for a few beats longer. They weren’t yet ready to leave the hushed comfort of the room that had seen the best and worst of them - their falling out and their repentance.
His father shoved his hands in the pockets of his trim brown slacks and looked down at the rug below him. “After dinner, maybe you’d want to ask Kurt to come over for a little while. We’d like to…include him here.”
The dam finally broke. One tear, then another slid down Blaine’s cheeks. He quickly diverted his gaze, brushed the wetness away, cleared his throat. “Yeah. That’d be great. I’ll tell him to come by.” He only dared to glance up again when he finally felt like he wouldn’t dissolve at his father’s feet. “Thanks, Dad.”
His father patted his shoulder firmly, affectionately. He left his palm there - a light, reassuring warmth that Blaine could feel through layers of fabric - as the two walked out of the room together.
***
Kurt was still sitting with Carole in the living room, talking her ear off about some particularly successful New York shopping excursions, when his phone buzzed. He snatched it up from its perch beside his lap, where he’d kept it - close by and in plain sight - ever since Blaine left two hours ago. His heart lurched into his throat when he saw Blaine’s name on the screen.
“Parents asked if u want to come over for a while. It’s ok. Bridget made cookies.”
Kurt bit down on the smile that threatened to take over his entire face. “He wants me to go over there,” he announced as he stared at the message. “His parents asked for me to come.”
Carole’s hopeful expression reflected Kurt’s. “That sounds like good news.”
Kurt sent Blaine a quick reply: “Tell her I must go there and try some, then.”
Kurt bounded up from the couch, starting toward the foyer before stopping dead in his tracks. “Wait. He has my car.”
“You can take Finn’s truck, honey,” Carole offered. “You know where the keys are.”
Kurt barked out a laugh. “Oh, this should be good,” he remarked, plucking Finn’s keys from their spot on the table. “If Finn complains, tell him I’ll take better care of his truck than he ever has.”
As Kurt drove through the cold darkness to Blaine’s house - wincing when the truck hit every bump and pothole along the way - he thought back to all the times he’d made this same drive. It seemed like years, not months, ago that they were in high school: going to each other’s houses on weekends to watch movies, kissing and cuddling and whispering for as long as they could before one of them had to rush home to make curfew.
Everything here was still so familiar; yet it all felt smaller, quainter now. They’d vanished while everyone else had stayed, continuing to live their lives without them. Nothing had changed, really, but he still felt like he’d missed something.
When Kurt rang the Andersons’ doorbell, Blaine opened the door almost immediately. Without a word, he pulled Kurt inside by the hand and threw his arms around Kurt’s shoulders, clutching him tightly, almost desperately.
“Hey.” Kurt’s brow creased with concern when he leaned back to look at Blaine’s face and saw the shiny sparkle of tears welling in his eyes. Kurt reached up and caught one, warm and wet on the pad of his thumb, just as it escaped. “Everything’s okay, right?”
Blaine nodded, blinking back his tears before any more could fall. “I think so,” he murmured softly. “I’ll tell you later.”
He wouldn’t share the whole story until the next night, when they were safe and warm in Kurt’s bed together, surrounded by darkness; shedding tears of mourning for a young boy they never known, lost to hate so many years ago. But it was Christmas now, and there was too much hope brimming here to let any more hostility in.
Kurt held up a small duffel bag that he'd brought in with him. “I packed some stuff for you. I thought, maybe, if you wanted to stay here tonight.”
Blaine smiled gratefully, drawing him close again and tenderly kissing the soft skin at his temple. “I love you so much.”
Kurt smiled against Blaine’s hairline. “I love you, too.” He tipped his head back and looked down at Blaine, humor dancing in his eyes. “Want to know how much?”
Blaine arched an eyebrow in response; his silent way of asking, “How much?”
“Sooooo much that I, Kurt Hummel, drove my brother’s truck here to see you. The shoddy suspension system practically gave me whiplash.” Kurt smirked, then let out a little laugh. “Remember that fact if you ever question my dedication to you.”
Blaine laughed lightly as he took the duffel bag from Kurt’s hand, dropping it by the door and replacing it with his own hand. “I never, ever question your dedication to anything,” he said, tightly interlacing their fingers and bringing their joined hands up to his lips for a kiss. “Although the thought of you driving a truck is doing funny things to my brain right now.”
“Why, Blaine,” Kurt purred, angling his head so his words flowed straight into Blaine’s ear. “I didn’t know you had a…thing for boys in dirty pickup trucks.”
Blaine stifled a groan. “No, I have a thing for you in a dirty pickup truck.” He tugged at Kurt’s hand, leading him forward. “Come on. We have like, four dozen cookies in there. Let’s go eat until we explode.”
“If you don’t gain ten pounds by the time we go back to New York, I am going to be insanely jealous of your metabolism.” As they walked down the hall, Kurt couldn’t help but admire the Andersons’ home, decorated impeccably for the holiday: white lights twinkling through boughs of holly woven along the staircase, the smell of pine and cinnamon and cookies drifting through the air. Perfect as always, Kurt thought ironically as they entered the living room together, still hand in hand.
To his pleasant surprise, Kurt felt more welcome in Blaine’s home that evening than he ever had before - flanked by Blaine and Bridget on the couch, gorging themselves on cookies and making fantasy plans for shopping trips in New York come springtime.
Blaine’s parents didn’t add much to the conversation; instead just listening to the noisy, animated teens, and occasionally exchanging happy, private looks and hushed whispers between them. The simple fact that they were all together in the same room, smiling at Kurt and Blaine’s tales about classes and friends and favorite moments at college, spoke volumes. Kurt could have even sworn that he caught Blaine’s mother getting dewy-eyed when he talked about Blaine’s Christmas surprise.
Kurt knew for sure they’d turned a corner toward something better when Blaine leaned in and kissed him flush on the lips after Kurt presented him with part of his Christmas gift: a hand-sewn journal, bound in beautiful brown leather, to collect the lyrics he’d started composing for his Sunday performances. The kiss was quick and innocent, but a vast departure from the way they’d acted in front of his parents in the past. So were Blaine’s shining eyes and radiant grin, glowing more brightly than their pretty Christmas tree.
There was still something too formal, too polished in the way they all interacted; nothing like the casual, easy camaraderie of Kurt’s family. But they were being included without question and criticism: sharing stories and laughter, fingers tightly intertwined on the couch in plain sight. If this was their new reality, then they couldn’t really ask for more.
When it was time for Kurt to leave, he and Blaine loitered by the front door for nearly twenty minutes, kissing and whispering and giggling in the dark - a sweet flashback to their high school days, but without the glum, desperate air surrounding them. They knew they’d be back together soon; in the meantime, they were happy to hang on to home for a little while longer, now that they both could.
***
It was nearly midnight when Kurt returned home. He couldn’t help but smile adoringly at the familiar, comforting sight that welcomed him: Burt in his chair, reading the newspaper by dim lamplight as he waited up for his son.
“Sorry I’m so late,” Kurt apologized, careful to keep his voice low as not to disturb the sleeping house. “How’d shopping go?”
Burt’s newspaper crinkled lightly as he folded it in half and laid it on his lap. “Once again, Santa prevailed,” he quipped, gesturing toward the pile of shiny presents under the tree in the corner of the room. "Looks like you were good this year."
Kurt sunk down on the couch and curled his legs up underneath him. He was exhausted, but he’d been craving a quiet moment alone with his father ever since he returned to Lima. It was especially welcome tonight after his evening at Blaine's house. “I’m surprised you managed to stay awake this late,” he remarked, nestling his cheek into the soft cushions as he turned to face Burt.
“Yeah, well, I wanted to hear how things went with Blaine.”
“They made up,” Kurt said simply, his voice soft and sleep-filled. “I don’t know much more than that yet.”
Burt nodded, a pleased look on his face. “That’s good to hear. I’m glad they could put aside their differences and enjoy the holiday together.” He cocked his head, raised an eyebrow in contemplation. “Although I have to admit, I was enjoying having him around - and not just because of the extra set of hands around the house. He’s a good kid. I’m sorry we won’t get to see him on Christmas.”
Kurt beamed at his father; his heart melting at the way he spoke about Blaine. They were the two most important people in Kurt’s life: the only two people in the world he opened himself up to completely, the only two people in the world he had limitless love for. The experience of them coming together as one family brought Kurt a kind of pleasure he’d never felt before.
“Thanks, Dad. It means a lot to me that you let him stay here with us.”
Burt shrugged, lifting his palms toward the ceiling. “He’s part of the family now. Couldn’t get rid of him even if I wanted to.”
Kurt chuckled; the blissful, content feeling of love and home and family and right still flowing warm in his chest. “Well, don’t get too sad. He’ll be back tomorrow night, since all his stuff is over here.” He sighed longingly, twisting his head to look out the window at the light snow that had begun to fall during his drive home. “I wanted to spend Christmas with him too, but I’m happier that he made up with his dad. He was so…lost. It broke my heart.”
Burt studied Kurt closely as he spoke. Physically, Kurt was unchanged since leaving home; but underneath, he’d matured in a way he didn’t even realize.
“You know, Kurt,” Burt began. “I think one of the clearest signs of love is finding joy in someone else’s happiness, even greater than your own. You’ve really grown up a lot, haven’t you?”
Kurt angled his head back toward his father, just enough to see his proud, almost misty-eyed expression out of the corner of his eye. “I love him, Dad. So much.” Kurt returned his gaze to the window, mulling over his father’s words before speaking plainly, honestly. “I’m going to be with him forever.”
Burt smiled at his son. “Seems like it.” For once, he didn’t impart any words of wisdom; instead simply accepting Kurt’s statement as fact.
They let the love, the promise rest silently in the room with them as they welcomed Christmas Day together, watching pretty white flurries dance through the darkness beyond.
Rating: R
Characters: Kurt/Blaine, Finn, Burt/Carole, assorted family members and OCs
Spoilers: Through 2x22 “New York”
Warnings: Description of a violent hate crime; adult language
Word Count: 6,004
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters. I’m just borrowing them for a little while.
Summary: The visual was strikingly similar to the last time they were in this room together. But Blaine could feel the difference in the air now: no longer rife with tension, but instead wistful, familial. It was like his father had been sitting there since August, waiting for his son to come home.
Author's Note: Is it pathetic that I’ve had this chapter drafted since September? (Don’t answer that.) Anyway, here is the long-awaited reunion between Blaine and his father. I thought long and hard about Blaine’s dad and what could have influenced the way he sees his son. Everybody has experiences that shape how they view the world and react to things. So Blaine learns a lot about his dad’s character and behavior here. All of this will be important way down the road in part three, too.
Also: The incident described in this chapter is completely fictional.
If you really want to get into it, listen to this song as you start reading the scene with Blaine's father. (The lyrics aren’t exactly the same, but this is the version I had on loop while writing this chapter.)
Previous chapters: Kurtain (prologue) | Admission (prologue) | Spark (one-shot) | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten
***
“Unf,” Blaine groaned unintelligibly as he plopped down on the couch next to Kurt, nestling his face into Kurt’s shoulder.
“Sounds like somebody’s satisfied,” Kurt remarked in a smug tone, his arm snaking behind Blaine's waist to wrap him in a half-embrace. He rubbed gentle circles against the soft fabric at Blaine’s lower back as he continued flipping through Carole’s copy of Martha Stewart Living with his other hand.
“That was so good.” Blaine’s drowsy, satiated voice was muffled against Kurt’s sweater. “Promise you’ll always make that for Christmas Eve dinner, forever?"
Kurt turned his face toward Blaine’s head and placed a feather-light kiss on top of his gelled hair. “If that’s what you want, my dear.”
“Okay, boys,” Burt announced as he walked into the living room, Finn in tow. Blaine managed to straighten up a little at the sound of his voice, despite being stuffed to the brim with Kurt’s champagne-glazed ham. He’d grown comfortable at the Hummels’ home since arriving three days ago, but he wasn’t going to push his luck.
“Finn and I are going to the mall to do some Christmas shopping.” Burt moved into the foyer, pulling on his coat and grabbing his keys from the table by the door. “Anybody got any last-minute requests for Santa?”
Blaine looked between Burt and Finn, confused. “Wait. You leave your Christmas shopping till…” He trailed off as he looked down at his watch. “Six-thirty p.m. on Christmas Eve?”
Burt shook his head, mock disappointment in his expression. “I see you’ve recruited him to your side, Kurt.”
“It’s ridiculous.” Kurt threw Blaine a sideways glance, rolling his eyes, before turning his focus back to the magazine. “You do this every year. It’s a miracle you ever find anything, or make it out of there alive.”
Burt grinned. “Makes it more interesting, doesn’t it? It’s like a big game. How fast can I get in there, get through the lines and get the hell out?”
“I bet Carole had all her Christmas shopping done two weeks ago.”
“See, that’s part of the strategy, too. Always make your spouse look better than you.” Burt pointed an index finger between Kurt and Blaine. “That’s an important life lesson, boys.” He waved at them, calling back as he and Finn headed out the door. “Don’t stay up too late, or else Santa won’t come!”
As the door closed behind them, Blaine settled back into the couch cushions with a little laugh. “So, when do I get my Christmas present?” he asked in a low, flirtatious voice, turning to Kurt and giving him a roguish smirk.
Kurt opened his mouth to respond when the sound of Blaine’s ring tone pierced through the air between them. Blaine quickly dug his phone out of his pocket, staring at the single word on the screen for a moment before angling it so Kurt could read.
Mom
“Be right back.” Blaine’s heart was racing as he got up from the couch and walked out of the living room, ducking into the kitchen to answer the call. “Hi, Mom.”
“Blaine.” Her voice sounded warm, relieved. “Where are you, dear?”
“I’m at Kurt’s house. We just had dinner.”
“Oh.” There was a long pause. Blaine heard a slide of static, and then muffled voices in the background. “I’m just starting dinner now,” she said when she came back to the line. “I was hoping you would come over.”
“Mom…I don’t-”
“Please, Blaine. He…” she trailed off as the distant voice spoke again. This time, Blaine could clearly identify his father’s deep, rumbling tone, muttering something indistinct. “I think you should talk to each other.”
“He could call me if he wanted to talk.”
“Enough, Blaine.” Blaine flinched at her sharp rebuke. “I do not want my family apart anymore. Not on Christmas.” She was quiet for a moment; then she laughed lightly, embarrassed. “Look what you stubborn, stubborn men do to me. Sweetheart, you need to come home.”
Blaine felt it again - that wave of yearning crashing over his body. “All right,” he mumbled. “I’ll be over there in twenty minutes or so.”
I’m going home, he thought anxiously as he hung up the phone. How many times had he imagined about this moment? Wondered if it would happen, when it would happen? The circumstances, the consequences?
By the time Blaine returned to the living room, Carole had joined Kurt; he could hear them gushing over their favorite Christmas spreads in Carole’s magazines as he approached. Kurt turned his attention to Blaine, looking up at him with wide, concerned eyes.
“I’m going home for a little while,” Blaine began, his quiet voice revealing his nerves. He fiddled with his phone, tossing it from one hand to the other to relieve the edgy sensation shimmering through his limbs.
Kurt nodded slowly. “Okay. Do you…want me to go with you?”
Blaine’s heart burst with love at Kurt’s sweet, tentative question. “I think I’ll be okay,” he answered bravely, offering Kurt a grateful smile. “I should…I need to be alone with them for a little while.”
“All right.” Kurt jumped up from the couch and shuffled over to the foyer. “Here,” he said, removing his keys from the table and pressing them into Blaine’s hands. “Take my car.”
He’d never driven Kurt’s car by himself, Blaine realized; the absent thought drifting somewhere in the far reaches of his mind. It was a silly little milestone in their relationship, but for some reason it helped comfort him.
“Thank you.” Blaine leaned in to kiss Kurt on the cheek, cognizant of Carole’s presence in the room. As they held each other, Blaine pressed his face tightly against Kurt’s, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to draw all the strength he could from their soft, intimate contact. “I don’t know when I’ll be back,” he murmured.
“That’s fine. I’ll be here. Just call me if you need me.”
With one last hopeful smile, Blaine walked out of Kurt’s house and headed home.
***
It felt so strange, Blaine thought, to knock on the door of his own home, as if he were an acquaintance, rather than a member, of the family who lived inside. But it felt even more unnatural to simply walk in as if nothing had happened. So he stayed in place on the front stoop, listening to the footsteps that grew closer.
When his mother opened the door, her familiar face brightened at the sight of her only son. “Blaine,” she cooed, reaching out to cup Blaine’s cheeks in her hands. “My baby.” Her hands slid down to his shoulders, then around, enveloping him in a secure, loving embrace.
Blaine breathed in the scent of her perfume; the tiniest bit of relief flooding his senses along with the gentle, flowery fragrance. “Hi, Mom.”
“I missed you so much, sweetheart.”
Blaine felt tears prick behind his eyes. “I missed you, too.”
She ushered Blaine into the house, fussing over him just the same way she always did; taking his coat and scarf and hanging them on his peg on the wall, alongside the rest of his family’s winter wear. She plucked invisible lint from his cardigan, then ran her hands down his arms.
“You’ve lost weight,” she observed, her forehead etched with concern.
“I’m fine, Mom. I’ve just been really busy. My schedule was intense-”
He was interrupted by a high-pitched shriek and the sound of feet thumping down the hall. Bridget.
Blaine huffed out a laugh as his little sister threw herself at him, nearly squeezing the breath out of his lungs.
“Blaine Blaine Blaine Blaine!”
“Oh my god, please don’t kill me. It’s Christmas!” Blaine joked, prying her arms from around his chest. “Get off, get off! Let me look at you!”
Bridget finally pulled back; her hazel eyes alight with joy over the return of her beloved brother. Blaine patted the top of her loose curls, cascading past her shoulders in dark, glossy waves. “Jeez, you’ve grown!”
“Almost two inches!” she boasted proudly. “I’m going to be taller than you soon.”
“Wow. I’ve been back home for approximately forty-five seconds, and you’re already insulting me.” Blaine gave her arm a light shove. “I feel so welcome.”
They gabbed excitedly for a few minutes about school and Bridget’s ballet and Blaine’s music, their mother looking on at her children with content happiness. As they talked, Blaine couldn’t help but let his eyes wander down the hall to the soft, pretty light spilling out from the living room doorway.
His mother followed his gaze. “Your father’s in the living room. Why don’t you go say hello?”
Blaine hesitated. “I-“
“Come on, Bridget.” His mother cut him off, taking her daughter by the hand. “We need to finish up dinner if you still want to bake afterwards.”
Bridget looked back at Blaine as she led her away. “She’s showing me how to make chocolate chip cookies!”
Blaine grinned. “I’m going to eat them all,” he teased after their retreating figures. He tried to hold on to his smile, but it slipped as soon as he was alone again. His fear was too big; his anxiety flowing red-hot through his veins.
He pressed his lips together tightly, biting them from inside his mouth as he forced himself to take one step forward, then another, toward the living room. With each quiet step on plush carpet, Blaine could feel his heart dance faster in his chest, hear his pulse race louder in his ears. When he finally reached the doorway, he stopped for a moment to take it all in.
The room was dim and golden, lit only by the tiny white lights on the Christmas tree and the electric candles glowing in each window. Blaine's heart lurched a little when his eyes fell on his father, sitting in his chair with a snifter of brandy in his hand; his face downturned and shadowed in the muted light.
The visual was strikingly similar to the last time they were in this room together. But Blaine could feel the difference in the air now: no longer rife with tension, but instead wistful, familial. It was like his father had been sitting there since August, waiting for his son to come home.
The sounds of clanging pans and happy, girlish voices wafted in from the kitchen, mixing with soft Christmas music that drifted from the speakers in one corner of the room.
Christmas future is far away
Christmas past is past
Christmas present is here today
Bringing joy that may last
Blaine finally stepped into the room; the single creaky floorboard underneath his feet giving away his presence. When his father looked up at him, Blaine stopped again. The two men stared at each other, silent and still, for a long moment.
Blaine swallowed hard, drawing upon his budding acting training to keep his expression carefully blank. He wasn’t about to reveal the weight of his fear in his gaze, or the shake of nerves rattling his teeth. It was so hard, though, the way his father looked at him with pained, anxious eyes.
“Blaine.” His father’s voice broke on the single syllable of his son’s name. He cleared his throat before continuing, gesturing over to the couch. “Sit down, son.”
Wordlessly, Blaine obeyed, settling into the worn, familiar brown leather, littered with colorful crocheted throw pillows his grandmother had taught Bridget how to make.
“Blaine,” his father began again. His voice sounded steadier this time; more like the steely lawyer Blaine knew. “Did I ever tell you about my first internship in law school?”
Are you serious? He’s really still trying to get me to be a fucking lawyer. “Dad…” Blaine trailed off, his voice a warning tone.
“Just-” His father raised a hand to silence him. “Just listen to me. Please.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “I’ve never told you this. I’ve never told anyone this. Only your mother.”
Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Let your heart be light
From now on our troubles will be out of sight
He took a long sip from his brandy, seemingly stalling for more time. Finally, he spoke again on a quiet exhale. “After my second year at Notre Dame, I got an internship with a top prosecutor in Indianapolis. I competed with a lot of people to get that job. It was an honor to be chosen.” His gaze skimmed over the Christmas tree, its bright lights twinkling cheerfully in the night.
“The first case I was part of was a murder trial. This high school kid out somewhere in…Muncie, I think it was. He and some other kids were accused of beating a fifteen-year-old boy to death. I…it was a hate crime, Blaine.” He suddenly met Blaine’s gaze again; his hard eyes misty with unshed tears. “The boy they were accused of killing was gay.”
Blaine blinked at him. Slowly, surely, the sick heat of realization seeped into his body, cell by cell.
“I saw the photos of the crime scene in court. They-” His father stopped short, cleared his throat. “They tied him up. Smashed his head in with a fucking hammer. The one kid’s fingerprints were all over the weapon. It was premeditated homicide, clear as day. God knows how long they’d been planning it.
“I’ll never forget the day the verdict came in. The kid we were prosecuting? Guilty of manslaughter.” He laughed bitterly. “Five years in prison. Five fucking years, Blaine. And another five years’ probation.” He shook his head, sneering at the memory. “His defense was that the gay kid had come on to him. Made him so uncomfortable that he cried in his room at night and stopped going to school. It was bullshit.” Another sharp sigh, another swig of alcohol.
“When you were assaulted, it was like my worst nightmare was coming true. All I could think was…that’s going to be my child.” His father pursed his lips, warring with the tears that threatened to spill over. “Some jury’s going to look at a photo of his dead body in a courtroom and decide his life wasn’t worth as much as a straight kid’s.
“So I - I wanted to change you, Blaine. I know that doesn’t make sense now. But some part of me thought I could. Thought that you could change. That if we went golfing and built the shed and worked on that car together, you might, I don’t know…tap into a different part of yourself.” He sighed again, trailing off. “At least you’d be doing something that wouldn’t make you a target.”
Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Make the yuletide gay
From now on our troubles will be miles away
Blaine gaped in disbelief; unable to wrap his mind around the broken, vulnerable version of the man that sat before him. Everything had seemed so black and white until now: his father’s discomfort with his sexuality and his musical ambitions, his disappointment that Blaine wouldn’t follow in his footsteps. Blaine had always attributed his behavior to simple pride and image - a need to impress those on the outside, concern over what others might think. Never had he imagined his father had these layers, these secrets hidden deep in his heart.
Blaine didn’t think much anymore about that night, so long ago now, that he spent splayed out on hard, rough asphalt. He could still bring the memories back if he let himself - the feel of tiny rocks and broken glass digging into the fresh cuts and bruises on his face, the sound of feet pounding on pavement, of hideous laughter as the bullies ran away.
So he didn’t. He’d come too far, grown too much since then. But apparently, the memories still haunted others more than he knew.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Blaine asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.
His father considered the question, shrugged a little in response. “Back then, I didn’t want to talk about it. We were all going through a lot at the time. I thought it would be easier to ignore it. If we sent you to a new school and urged you to follow a different path, everything would be okay. I knew you were going to have a difficult life otherwise. There were always going to be people who wanted to hurt you.”
Blaine's mind traveled back to all the times that his father had dismissed his dreams, made him feel guilty for being himself. The awkward bonding attempts, the stilted dinner conversations. The tension that had bubbled up and overflowed on that hot, angry night in August, and the resulting stress and loneliness that had sat like lead in his soul.
It was a different kind of bullying than the beating he’d received, or the brutal violence his father had been exposed to. But that’s what it had been, hadn’t it?
We lost so much time together, Blaine thought woefully. One tragedy beget another. Kurt was right, his mother was right - this needed to end.
Here we are as in olden days
Happy golden days of yore
“You were one of those people, Dad,” Blaine said quietly, idly twisting the bright fabric of a pillow in his hands as he spoke. “Do you understand? You didn’t hurt me physically, but…you made me feel like I wasn’t worth as much as a straight kid.”
His father hung his head, staring into the deep amber pool of his glass. “I see that now.”
Blaine pressed on; the words flowing out of him easily. “Everybody has a hard life sometimes. The hardest thing about mine hasn’t been that I’m gay. It’s been the way you treated me. I felt worthless. You tried to mold me into what you thought was better instead of supporting me the way I am.” This is what he had wanted to say, really wanted his father to know - simple honesty, stripped of venom. “And this whole semester? I thought I’d lost my family. Do you know how hard that was? You said you didn’t want me to come crawling back here. As if I was doomed to fail. You never trusted me, or believed in me."
“You’re right.” His father nodded slowly, sadly, then let out a long sigh. “Son, all we want as parents is the best for our children. I thought I knew what that was for you. I let my own experience and fears get in the way of understanding you. And instead of being honest, I resorted to arguing and name calling.” He leaned forward in his chair, bringing himself as close as he could to Blaine; matching pairs of golden eyes staring at each other, unwavering, in the pale light. “I’m sorry.”
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more
Blaine’s gaze faltered at the apology. He was physically unable to hold his father’s stare under the weighty awkwardness, the sheer amazement that this conversation was finally taking place between them. It was long overdue - but not too late, he realized. When Blaine looked up again, he nodded subtly, accepting his father’s sincere words of regret. But he wasn’t finished just yet.
“Going to New York with Kurt has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Dad.” Blaine’s voice grew thicker as he started to think about Kurt - about what they had and how steady it was, even when the rest of his world had turned upside down. “I feel like I’m on my way to achieving everything I’ve ever wanted in life. Yeah, it’s hard. It's always going to be hard. But…it’s what I was meant to do. I know it.”
His father sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, scrutinizing Blaine closely. Blaine could practically see the thoughts tumbling and feuding in his head. “I’ll tell you what, Blaine. I’m still not sure how I feel about this…music thing, but I admire the hell out of you for going after something you really want, and doing it the right way. And you were all on your own, too.”
“No.” Blaine shook his head vigorously. The emotions had caught up with him now: bursts of love, confusion, shock, relief, joy like punches to the gut, over and over again. “I wasn’t alone. I…Kurt. He’s…” Blaine trailed off, overwhelmed by the moment. Every word he tried to utter - my rock, my soulmate, my everything - got caught in his throat like a lump. All he could do was offer his father a shaky smile.
“Yeah.” His father cast an eye to the doorway, and the faint sound of Blaine’s mother in the kitchen. “I have one of those, too.” He turned his face downward, chuckling lightly. “She’s a smart one, your mother. I didn’t even know she was sneaking around, sending you money, emailing you. I only found out when we got the bill for your spring semester…she just grabbed the envelope from my hands and said, ‘I’ll take care of that.’ No discussion.” He chuckled again, lost in the memory of their private exchange.
“You put her in the middle of all this.” Blaine said it just as the realization dawned on him. His sweet, meek mother had been loyal to her husband to a fault: following his lead, internalizing his fears. It had taken an explosion, and Blaine leaving them behind, before she finally peeped out from under her shell.
His father looked at him guiltily. “I guess neither one of us is very good at talking about these things.”
Blaine quirked an eyebrow. He wasn’t quite sure how he could see the humor in this situation - but there it was, glimmering like a tiny Christmas light. “Apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree, does it?”
He hesitated before continuing. He wanted, needed to allay his father’s long-held fears: for his family, for himself, for their future. “You should know that I’m…I feel safer there, Dad.” He nodded at his own words, because he really felt it, really believed it was true. “I’m safe there. I promise. Nobody looks twice at Kurt and me when we’re out together. I don’t need protection anymore. I just need my family.”
Through the years we all will be together
If the fates allow
Until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow
“Even after everything that’s happened, you’ve always been so proud, Blaine. You never hid who you are. Just the opposite - you went after it, even when we discouraged you. You’ve really proven yourself a man.” His father scoffed at himself in disgust. “Much more than me.”
For the first time in his life, Blaine felt like the two of them were on the same level: no longer one below the other, but rather walking side by side. They were both adults, but that didn’t mean they still didn’t struggle to find their way, to deal with the messes the world threw at them.
“So no more anger. No more judging.” His father looked at him pointedly. “I respect you the way you are, and I’ll support you as long as you’re making an effort to do good with your life.”
They couldn’t go back in time and erase the years of shame, of sadness, of fear. But they could move on - facing new challenges with honesty and respect above all else. They could try, at least. All they could do was try.
Blaine nodded. “I’m going to show you,” he declared, a fervent timbre in his voice. “I’m going to make it.”
His father gave him the barest of smiles; but it was kind and confident. “I hope you do.”
So have yourself a merry little Christmas now
“Blaine? Daddy?”
They both looked up to see Bridget loitering tentatively at the doorway. “Dinner’s ready.”
Blaine smiled at his sister, beautiful and young in the shadowy light. “Thanks, B. We’ll be right there.”
Blaine and his father both stood slowly; feet and eyes and minds lingering for a few beats longer. They weren’t yet ready to leave the hushed comfort of the room that had seen the best and worst of them - their falling out and their repentance.
His father shoved his hands in the pockets of his trim brown slacks and looked down at the rug below him. “After dinner, maybe you’d want to ask Kurt to come over for a little while. We’d like to…include him here.”
The dam finally broke. One tear, then another slid down Blaine’s cheeks. He quickly diverted his gaze, brushed the wetness away, cleared his throat. “Yeah. That’d be great. I’ll tell him to come by.” He only dared to glance up again when he finally felt like he wouldn’t dissolve at his father’s feet. “Thanks, Dad.”
His father patted his shoulder firmly, affectionately. He left his palm there - a light, reassuring warmth that Blaine could feel through layers of fabric - as the two walked out of the room together.
***
Kurt was still sitting with Carole in the living room, talking her ear off about some particularly successful New York shopping excursions, when his phone buzzed. He snatched it up from its perch beside his lap, where he’d kept it - close by and in plain sight - ever since Blaine left two hours ago. His heart lurched into his throat when he saw Blaine’s name on the screen.
“Parents asked if u want to come over for a while. It’s ok. Bridget made cookies.”
Kurt bit down on the smile that threatened to take over his entire face. “He wants me to go over there,” he announced as he stared at the message. “His parents asked for me to come.”
Carole’s hopeful expression reflected Kurt’s. “That sounds like good news.”
Kurt sent Blaine a quick reply: “Tell her I must go there and try some, then.”
Kurt bounded up from the couch, starting toward the foyer before stopping dead in his tracks. “Wait. He has my car.”
“You can take Finn’s truck, honey,” Carole offered. “You know where the keys are.”
Kurt barked out a laugh. “Oh, this should be good,” he remarked, plucking Finn’s keys from their spot on the table. “If Finn complains, tell him I’ll take better care of his truck than he ever has.”
As Kurt drove through the cold darkness to Blaine’s house - wincing when the truck hit every bump and pothole along the way - he thought back to all the times he’d made this same drive. It seemed like years, not months, ago that they were in high school: going to each other’s houses on weekends to watch movies, kissing and cuddling and whispering for as long as they could before one of them had to rush home to make curfew.
Everything here was still so familiar; yet it all felt smaller, quainter now. They’d vanished while everyone else had stayed, continuing to live their lives without them. Nothing had changed, really, but he still felt like he’d missed something.
When Kurt rang the Andersons’ doorbell, Blaine opened the door almost immediately. Without a word, he pulled Kurt inside by the hand and threw his arms around Kurt’s shoulders, clutching him tightly, almost desperately.
“Hey.” Kurt’s brow creased with concern when he leaned back to look at Blaine’s face and saw the shiny sparkle of tears welling in his eyes. Kurt reached up and caught one, warm and wet on the pad of his thumb, just as it escaped. “Everything’s okay, right?”
Blaine nodded, blinking back his tears before any more could fall. “I think so,” he murmured softly. “I’ll tell you later.”
He wouldn’t share the whole story until the next night, when they were safe and warm in Kurt’s bed together, surrounded by darkness; shedding tears of mourning for a young boy they never known, lost to hate so many years ago. But it was Christmas now, and there was too much hope brimming here to let any more hostility in.
Kurt held up a small duffel bag that he'd brought in with him. “I packed some stuff for you. I thought, maybe, if you wanted to stay here tonight.”
Blaine smiled gratefully, drawing him close again and tenderly kissing the soft skin at his temple. “I love you so much.”
Kurt smiled against Blaine’s hairline. “I love you, too.” He tipped his head back and looked down at Blaine, humor dancing in his eyes. “Want to know how much?”
Blaine arched an eyebrow in response; his silent way of asking, “How much?”
“Sooooo much that I, Kurt Hummel, drove my brother’s truck here to see you. The shoddy suspension system practically gave me whiplash.” Kurt smirked, then let out a little laugh. “Remember that fact if you ever question my dedication to you.”
Blaine laughed lightly as he took the duffel bag from Kurt’s hand, dropping it by the door and replacing it with his own hand. “I never, ever question your dedication to anything,” he said, tightly interlacing their fingers and bringing their joined hands up to his lips for a kiss. “Although the thought of you driving a truck is doing funny things to my brain right now.”
“Why, Blaine,” Kurt purred, angling his head so his words flowed straight into Blaine’s ear. “I didn’t know you had a…thing for boys in dirty pickup trucks.”
Blaine stifled a groan. “No, I have a thing for you in a dirty pickup truck.” He tugged at Kurt’s hand, leading him forward. “Come on. We have like, four dozen cookies in there. Let’s go eat until we explode.”
“If you don’t gain ten pounds by the time we go back to New York, I am going to be insanely jealous of your metabolism.” As they walked down the hall, Kurt couldn’t help but admire the Andersons’ home, decorated impeccably for the holiday: white lights twinkling through boughs of holly woven along the staircase, the smell of pine and cinnamon and cookies drifting through the air. Perfect as always, Kurt thought ironically as they entered the living room together, still hand in hand.
To his pleasant surprise, Kurt felt more welcome in Blaine’s home that evening than he ever had before - flanked by Blaine and Bridget on the couch, gorging themselves on cookies and making fantasy plans for shopping trips in New York come springtime.
Blaine’s parents didn’t add much to the conversation; instead just listening to the noisy, animated teens, and occasionally exchanging happy, private looks and hushed whispers between them. The simple fact that they were all together in the same room, smiling at Kurt and Blaine’s tales about classes and friends and favorite moments at college, spoke volumes. Kurt could have even sworn that he caught Blaine’s mother getting dewy-eyed when he talked about Blaine’s Christmas surprise.
Kurt knew for sure they’d turned a corner toward something better when Blaine leaned in and kissed him flush on the lips after Kurt presented him with part of his Christmas gift: a hand-sewn journal, bound in beautiful brown leather, to collect the lyrics he’d started composing for his Sunday performances. The kiss was quick and innocent, but a vast departure from the way they’d acted in front of his parents in the past. So were Blaine’s shining eyes and radiant grin, glowing more brightly than their pretty Christmas tree.
There was still something too formal, too polished in the way they all interacted; nothing like the casual, easy camaraderie of Kurt’s family. But they were being included without question and criticism: sharing stories and laughter, fingers tightly intertwined on the couch in plain sight. If this was their new reality, then they couldn’t really ask for more.
When it was time for Kurt to leave, he and Blaine loitered by the front door for nearly twenty minutes, kissing and whispering and giggling in the dark - a sweet flashback to their high school days, but without the glum, desperate air surrounding them. They knew they’d be back together soon; in the meantime, they were happy to hang on to home for a little while longer, now that they both could.
***
It was nearly midnight when Kurt returned home. He couldn’t help but smile adoringly at the familiar, comforting sight that welcomed him: Burt in his chair, reading the newspaper by dim lamplight as he waited up for his son.
“Sorry I’m so late,” Kurt apologized, careful to keep his voice low as not to disturb the sleeping house. “How’d shopping go?”
Burt’s newspaper crinkled lightly as he folded it in half and laid it on his lap. “Once again, Santa prevailed,” he quipped, gesturing toward the pile of shiny presents under the tree in the corner of the room. "Looks like you were good this year."
Kurt sunk down on the couch and curled his legs up underneath him. He was exhausted, but he’d been craving a quiet moment alone with his father ever since he returned to Lima. It was especially welcome tonight after his evening at Blaine's house. “I’m surprised you managed to stay awake this late,” he remarked, nestling his cheek into the soft cushions as he turned to face Burt.
“Yeah, well, I wanted to hear how things went with Blaine.”
“They made up,” Kurt said simply, his voice soft and sleep-filled. “I don’t know much more than that yet.”
Burt nodded, a pleased look on his face. “That’s good to hear. I’m glad they could put aside their differences and enjoy the holiday together.” He cocked his head, raised an eyebrow in contemplation. “Although I have to admit, I was enjoying having him around - and not just because of the extra set of hands around the house. He’s a good kid. I’m sorry we won’t get to see him on Christmas.”
Kurt beamed at his father; his heart melting at the way he spoke about Blaine. They were the two most important people in Kurt’s life: the only two people in the world he opened himself up to completely, the only two people in the world he had limitless love for. The experience of them coming together as one family brought Kurt a kind of pleasure he’d never felt before.
“Thanks, Dad. It means a lot to me that you let him stay here with us.”
Burt shrugged, lifting his palms toward the ceiling. “He’s part of the family now. Couldn’t get rid of him even if I wanted to.”
Kurt chuckled; the blissful, content feeling of love and home and family and right still flowing warm in his chest. “Well, don’t get too sad. He’ll be back tomorrow night, since all his stuff is over here.” He sighed longingly, twisting his head to look out the window at the light snow that had begun to fall during his drive home. “I wanted to spend Christmas with him too, but I’m happier that he made up with his dad. He was so…lost. It broke my heart.”
Burt studied Kurt closely as he spoke. Physically, Kurt was unchanged since leaving home; but underneath, he’d matured in a way he didn’t even realize.
“You know, Kurt,” Burt began. “I think one of the clearest signs of love is finding joy in someone else’s happiness, even greater than your own. You’ve really grown up a lot, haven’t you?”
Kurt angled his head back toward his father, just enough to see his proud, almost misty-eyed expression out of the corner of his eye. “I love him, Dad. So much.” Kurt returned his gaze to the window, mulling over his father’s words before speaking plainly, honestly. “I’m going to be with him forever.”
Burt smiled at his son. “Seems like it.” For once, he didn’t impart any words of wisdom; instead simply accepting Kurt’s statement as fact.
They let the love, the promise rest silently in the room with them as they welcomed Christmas Day together, watching pretty white flurries dance through the darkness beyond.