Fic: Taken (8/8)
Title: Taken (8/8)
Rating: R
Warning: Aliens, disturbing imagery, human experimentation, captivity and generally dark material, unintentional self harm, assumed character death
Word Count: 3,203
Summary: A year and three months ago, Blaine was an ordinary boy with dreams, friends, and the love of his life. Then he was taken. This is the story of when he was found.
A/N: This is the last chapter and whew, I can't believe it's finally here. Please pay attention to the disturbing imagery warning for the first half of this chapter, and if anyone has any hesitations or worries about reading, feel free to send me a PM or a tumblr message (here)
part one
-
His skin burns. It burns and itches and confines. The feeling is everywhere and he wants it off off off. Fingers pull and tear and scratch but nothing helps. It grows and grows, arching from his spine across his ribs, through his shoulders and down his arms. His skin is red with it, so thin at the wrist he thinks he can just…
It doesn’t take much, just a few scrapes with his nails and the skin comes loose over the jutting bone. He peels it back, pulling up his arm, a long strip but the itching doesn’t stop, grows down to his fingers and up over his face. So he keeps scratching and pulling and peeling, scratching, pulling, peeling, scratchingpullingpeeling…
Blaine
Hands are on him and the touch is fire, shoots through him and he curls into a ball, tries to keep himself from exploding.
Blaine
He’s melting, his blood pounding through him, his tongue dry and useless, and someone threw rock salt back in his eyes and he screams and screams and screams…
“Blaine!”
Eyes snap open, a gasping breath filling his lungs and he’s rolling, barely makes it to the side of the bed when he’s retching, coughing, gagging. Steady hands are on his shoulder, anchoring him as he heaves. He feels like he’s losing everything, energy and strength and life and he’s back under.
-
Kurt holds Blaine’s head in his lap, strokes a hand through his short hair. John is getting the car ready, Melissa cleaning up where Blaine had gotten sick. Kurt’s hand grazes over Blaine’s forehead, pushing curls aside and worry builds in him at the heat radiating from his skin.
The clock says it’s shortly after midnight, Kurt’s thoughts still fuzzy at the edges. He’d woken abruptly to Blaine struggling against him, crying out and scratching at his own skin, his eyes rolled back in his head. It had taken a few panicked shouts to get Blaine to wake up and when he had, he’d immediately been sick and passed out.
Kurt’s shouts had caused Blaine’s parents to come running in; his mom had called the hospital while wrapping bleeding arms, his dad had insisted on driving them there whatever the doctor said. And now Kurt sits, tries to calm his pounding heart. Blaine shifts, a soft moan escaping his lips.
“You’re okay,” Kurt soothes, even though he knows that’s not true, Blaine is anything but okay, runs his fingers down Blaine’s cheek. “I’ve got you.”
Long eyelashes flutter, head turning to look up at Kurt and Kurt feels his breath catch in his throat. The tiny veins have made their way across his cheeks, his temples, gathering near his eyes. Eyes that are normally a warm hazel, now a cold, milky blue.
He blinks and Kurt tries to find his voice.
“Blaine…” he manages before the words catch in his throat, Blaine’s hand searching out his own, holding tight.
“I think…” Blaine says, voice rough and he breaks eye contact, turns his face into Kurt’s leg. “I think I didn’t fail it. The experiment. I think it never ended.”
Kurt doesn’t know what to say, except that he’s starting to actually believe Blaine, so he stays quiet.
-
The doctors are baffled, Blaine’s mother nearly hysterical. They can’t explain anything, which doesn’t surprise Kurt. They never can. His numbers are everywhere, his oxygen low, his back still not healing. Kurt holds his hand as they stitch up his scratches, try and start an IV, made difficult by the tiny branching veins, secure an oxygen mask to his face. He avoids Blaine’s pale blue eyes, can’t stand the fear that accompanies the sight of them. They give Blaine medication for nausea that makes him sleepy and they spend the rest of the night that way, Blaine dozing and Kurt wide awake.
With the morning comes more tests, more blood draws, more bewilderment. The dread in Kurt grows, as his eyes graze over Blaine’s sleeping face, almost unrecognizable from the boy he’d first fallen in love with, the words of Lily Adams echoing through his head.
“Are you scared?” A soft, labored voice draws Kurt’s attention. Blaine is looking at him, his expression neutral.
“Scared of what?” Kurt asks, forcing himself to look in Blaine’s eyes.
“Scared of me.”
Kurt reaches for Blaine’s hand, hold tightly.
“No, of course not.”
Cold blue eyes search his face.
“I’m scared of what’s happening to you,” Kurt whispers honestly. Blaine lets his eyes slide shut, his face tired.
“I don’t… I don’t even really feel like me anymore.”
“You are,” Kurt says quickly, moving closer. “You are because I still love you.”
Blaine’s fingers tighten their grip on Kurt’s, his eyes peeking back open and despite everything, despite the veins and bony cheeks and milky eyes, it’s still just Blaine, lost and hurting.
“You haven’t kissed me,” Blaine says, voice barely a whisper. “Not since I came back.”
And Kurt knows Blaine’s right. He’s kissed Blaine’s cheek, his forehead, the back of his neck, but never on the lips. He doesn’t know if he’s scared, for him or for Blaine, if he hasn’t because Blaine hasn’t really been Blaine. It wasn’t a conscious choice, it just never seemed right and now, with Blaine looking so small and destroyed in his too-big hospital gown, Kurt regrets every minute he wasted.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, lifting his free hand to stroke down Blaine’s cheek. It catches on the plastic of the nasal cannula, Blaine’s skin feeling thin and warm under his fingers. He leans forward, hand sliding to cup Blaine’s cheek, lips pressing against Blaine’s. The kiss is soft, just skin on skin, but Blaine inhales sharply, his eyes fluttering closed and Kurt hadn’t realized quite how much he’s missed Blaine’s lips until now.
Kurt presses forward, deepening the kiss slightly, and he’s pretty sure Blaine’s stopped breathing, his hand flexing and tightening on Kurt’s. They stay like this for a few moments, the place between a chaste kiss and a passionate kiss, until Kurt breaks away, stays inches from Blaine’s face and smiles. Blaine leans forward, brushes their noses together in an Eskimo kiss.
“Thank you,” Blaine says quietly, breath tickling Kurt’s skin.
“I wish I could kiss everything better,” Kurt murmurs, stroking his thumb along Blaine’s jaw.
“You just did,” Blaine replies, and Kurt feels something tight inside him, restricting his lungs and pressing on his heart.
It feels like a goodbye.
-
The doctors want Blaine to stay. His lungs aren’t quite working right, his metabolism practically nonexistent, his arms still scratched open, his back red and tortured. Blaine knows they think this would be best for him, that he could get the care he needs, can see the hope in his mother’s eyes, his father’s thin lips, Kurt’s gentle touch. But he knows. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if he’s here, in the hospital, or home in his own bed. It doesn’t matter because this is beyond all of that; this is something that can’t be fixed.
So he tells them he doesn’t care, he wants to leave. He needs to leave. He can feel the pull, the aching inside him. When he closes his eyes he can see it, the stars. The night sky, wide and dark above him, holding so much more than anyone would ever know. His doctor argues with him, tells him that leaving would be against his medical advice and his mother pleads, tells Blaine to stay and get better. But he can’t, doesn’t understand why they don’t see. He can’t.
He’s eighteen and they can’t keep him there, ignores his mother’s tears as he signs discharge papers. He agrees to an oxygen tank, to come in for checkups and emergencies (even though he won’t, he already knows this). And then he’s going home, feels like he can finally breathe again, his head resting on Kurt’s shoulder the whole drive. There’s a loud beeping in his ears and he flinches, Kurt’s hand tightening on his. The beeping turns to clicking and he can smell it, the too crisp, too clean smell of the tube. Everything is muffled and he squeezes his eyes shut, surrounded by the beeping, the clicking, the smell, the cold glass underneath him.
And then a voice breaks through it all, Kurt’s hand on his cheek and concerned gaze on his face.
“You with us?”
“Yeah, sorry,” Blaine responds, voice tired. “Just a memory.”
He almost believes it himself. Almost.
-
Later, Blaine falls asleep on the couch. Kurt’s home because he has to work early in the morning, Cooper’s flight coming in the day after next. Melissa busies herself with dishes, folding laundry and sweeping the entryway. She can hear the soft whir of Blaine’s oxygen tank, his too rapid exhales.
The broom slips down the wall from where she leaves it, sitting quietly on the couch beside Blaine. He shifts slightly, a small moan escaping his lips and she smiles, pulls his head up to rest on her lap. The nasal cannula moves when he nuzzles his face against her and she readjusts it, making sure it’s perfectly in place. It’s the only thing she can do, making sure everything is perfect for Blaine.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she whispers, quiet enough to not wake Blaine. “I know…” her voice cracks and she feels the hot press of tears behind her eyes, clears her throat and tries again.
“I know you’re tired, I’m tired too and you’ve been through so much more than any of us.” A pause, fingers stroking along his bandage wrapped arms. “I can see the way you’ve been watching us lately, like you’re trying to find the best time to say goodbye. I… I know you’ve been fighting, you’ve been fighting so hard Blaine, for so long. You’re so brave, sweetheart. So brave.”
She hesitates, closes her eyes against prickling tears. “I want what’s best for you. You’re my little boy and I will always love you. Always. And as much as I want you to stay with me forever, you need to do what’s best for you, okay? Whatever makes it stop hurting, okay sweetheart?”
There’s a noise, quiet footsteps and John is sitting beside her, brushing a curl from Blaine’s forehead. She doesn’t say anything, no words are needed, the solid weight of her husband beside her is enough and she leans into his shoulder and cries.
-
They spend the day outside in the sun. Kurt lays out blankets, fills a picnic basket with food and drinks, gathers as many pillows as he can find. Blaine actually smiles when Kurt helps him outside, situates the tank on a pillow, Blaine leaning against him.
“This is nice,” Blaine sighs, closing his eyes and tilting his face towards the sun. Kurt chastises him, gently applying sunscreen to his paper pale face. Near lunch time Blaine’s dad brings them ice cream, ruffles his hair and comments on the weather. Blaine squeezes his hand and tells him thank you and Kurt can’t help but notice the shift in Blaine’s behavior. The way he seems happier, brighter, despite how much worse he looks, and it should make Kurt feel better but it doesn’t.
They eat their ice cream and watch the birds in the nearby woods, the bunnies that venture into the yard. Some ice cream smudges on Blaine’s chin and Kurt smiles, swipes it up with his thumb. Eyes slide shut and in the sunlight Blaine’s skin looks almost transparent, a ghost of himself. But his face is so honest, the way he parts his lips so hopeful and Kurt doesn’t think, just presses his lips to Blaine’s. Blaine lifts a shaky hand to Kurt’s shoulder, grips tight and sinks back onto the pillows. Kurt follows him down, propping himself up on his arms so he can lean over Blaine, kisses him deeper.
He can tell Blaine’s tired, lets Kurt do most of the work, but he doesn’t pull away, his hand sliding to the back of Kurt’s neck, fingers curling into Kurt’s hair. Kurt moans and sucks Blaine’s lower lip into his mouth, wonders why he hasn’t been kissing Blaine every day since he’s been back.
“I love you so much,” Kurt breaths, opening his eyes to take in his boyfriend. Dark lashes sweep his cheeks, lips pink and wet, curls framing his face. In this moment he only sees the beautiful boy he fell in love with, the boy who means everything to him. Blaine’s eyes stay closed, face relaxed and Kurt kisses down his cheeks, back to his lips. They stay like this for awhile, kissing slowly in the sun, the occasional breathy moan escaping Blaine.
“Thank you, for this experience,” Blaine whispers after they break apart, nuzzling against Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt thinks the words are odd but he doesn’t say anything, just kisses into Blaine’s curls, pulls him up until his chest is flush with Blaine’s back, Blaine’s head resting against Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt snakes his arms around Blaine’s waist, anchoring him.
The sun is starting to get low in the sky, long shadows draping over them when Blaine speaks.
“Kurt,” he starts, voice serious and Kurt already knows he won’t like where this is going. “I want you to promise me something.”
“What is that?” Kurt asks, lips brushing the hair just behind Blaine’s ear.
“Promise me that… if something happens to me, that you’ll go out with that boy from your class. He’ll be good to you, I know it.”
A painful lump forms in Kurt’s throat and he swallows around it. “Blaine… don’t talk like that.”
“Please, just promise me.”
“I can’t,” Kurt’s voice catches and all he can hear is the hum of the oxygen tank, Blaine’s rapid breathing.
“When you think of the future, what do you see?”
Kurt closes his eyes, lets the setting sun wash over him as he thinks.
“I see you and our tiny New York apartment. I see you going to school out there, coming to bed late and letting me be the little spoon. I see us getting jobs, my future in musical theater, yours in whatever you decide. I see us getting a cat and some day getting married, if you want to. I see us, Blaine. I’ve always seen us.”
Blaine hums, his fingers tangling with Kurt’s.
“I don’t see anything.”
-
Melissa lets them sleep outside that night. It’s warm and Kurt promises to stay with him all night, Blaine gazing up at the stars with wonderment. They cuddle under blankets, Margaret Thatcher dog between them, Kurt’s arms on Blaine’s waist, Blaine stroking Kurt’s arm. Blaine gazes at Kurt for a long time, his skin glowing in the moonlight, the smile that pulls at his lips as he dreams.
It hadn’t taken long for Kurt to fall asleep, the warm air and closeness of Blaine lulling him into comfortable dreams. Blaine can’t help but smile back, despite everything. The buzzing in his ears is back and this time he knows it’s not going away. Just like the tightness in his lungs, the way every breath seems to fall short, the world blurring around the edges. Just like the weight that’s pulling on his limbs, the way he suddenly weighs a million pounds and his skin is itchy and too small.
He strokes his thumb down Kurt’s cheek, Kurt smiling and murmuring something unintelligible in his sleep. Blaine slips the nasal cannula from his nose, turns off the oxygen tank. He pushes it off their makeshift bed until it’s buried in grass. Kurt shifts when Blaine stands, settles back down when Blaine pulls the blankets back up around his shoulders. His steps are quiet as he makes his way into the house, careful and calculated. His father is asleep on the couch and he pauses, rests a gentle hand on his father’s shoulder, feels the broad and solid shoulder.
The third step creaks as he tiptoes up the stairs and he can feel all the breath leaving his body but he keeps going, silently opens the door to his parents room. His mother is asleep on the giant bed, Blaine’s school picture on the bed stand beside her.
“Thank you,” is all he whispers, because he can’t call her mom, not now. He leans down to press a kiss to her forehead, lets his fingers drift over the soft down of her comforter. She sighs in her sleep, and Blaine draws away, stops to let his fingers touch the cold glass over a picture of Cooper, wishes he could have seen him again.
And then he’s gone, making his way back out of the house, the grass damp under his feet. He gazes up into the endless sky above him, the dark blue dotted with silver stars and suddenly everything is clear.
“I understand,” he whispers and his voice is sad because he doesn’t want this to end, but it’s not his to have. He knows that now.
Kurt hums when he crawls back under the covers, strength seeping from his body, his breaths short and fast, his skin cold. He finds Kurt’s hand, tangles their fingers, tears pricking his eyes for the first time when Kurt squeezes back.
“I will always love you,” he breathes, voice shaking, eyes memorizing every line, every curve of Kurt’s face. “Thank you for loving me.”
Blaine closes his eyes for the last time, a tear slipping down his cheek and a smile pulling at his lips, the pillow soft under him.
And then Blaine Anderson takes his last breath and everything is silent.
-
-
-
Specimen twenty-seven watches as a boy with curly hair and pale eyes grows still, hand still tangled with the boy’s beside him. He watches through tears, the tube too constricting to wipe them away. It was bound to happen, he knows. No copy has made it beyond a few months, in Earth’s unpredictable environment. This one made it the longest, and by the excited clicking around him, knows this is a good thing. At least, for them.
Blaine closes his wet eyes, eyelashes clumping, doesn’t have it in him to watch anymore. It had to happen, the copy had understood, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Doesn’t make him wish that maybe the experiment had worked, that Kurt, his family, could have finally been happy again. Could have kept what they found, instead of losing what they never really had.
But a hope rises in Blaine, even as cold metal bites into his wrists, under his jaw, even as the boy in the tube beside him screams and cries. A hope that maybe now, maybe finally, they can move on. That Kurt can go back to New York, find someone full of life and love and music, that his mother and father can have closure, can visit Cooper, can dote upon Cooper’s kids and take vacations whenever they want, wherever they want.
The world will go on, he knows, and grief will fade, and Blaine will be up here, watching it all happen. But it’s okay, now.
It’s okay.
There’s a click and a whir and the tube opens and this time, Blaine smiles.
end
Rating: R
Warning: Aliens, disturbing imagery, human experimentation, captivity and generally dark material, unintentional self harm, assumed character death
Word Count: 3,203
Summary: A year and three months ago, Blaine was an ordinary boy with dreams, friends, and the love of his life. Then he was taken. This is the story of when he was found.
A/N: This is the last chapter and whew, I can't believe it's finally here. Please pay attention to the disturbing imagery warning for the first half of this chapter, and if anyone has any hesitations or worries about reading, feel free to send me a PM or a tumblr message (here)
part one
-
His skin burns. It burns and itches and confines. The feeling is everywhere and he wants it off off off. Fingers pull and tear and scratch but nothing helps. It grows and grows, arching from his spine across his ribs, through his shoulders and down his arms. His skin is red with it, so thin at the wrist he thinks he can just…
It doesn’t take much, just a few scrapes with his nails and the skin comes loose over the jutting bone. He peels it back, pulling up his arm, a long strip but the itching doesn’t stop, grows down to his fingers and up over his face. So he keeps scratching and pulling and peeling, scratching, pulling, peeling, scratchingpullingpeeling…
Blaine
Hands are on him and the touch is fire, shoots through him and he curls into a ball, tries to keep himself from exploding.
Blaine
He’s melting, his blood pounding through him, his tongue dry and useless, and someone threw rock salt back in his eyes and he screams and screams and screams…
“Blaine!”
Eyes snap open, a gasping breath filling his lungs and he’s rolling, barely makes it to the side of the bed when he’s retching, coughing, gagging. Steady hands are on his shoulder, anchoring him as he heaves. He feels like he’s losing everything, energy and strength and life and he’s back under.
-
Kurt holds Blaine’s head in his lap, strokes a hand through his short hair. John is getting the car ready, Melissa cleaning up where Blaine had gotten sick. Kurt’s hand grazes over Blaine’s forehead, pushing curls aside and worry builds in him at the heat radiating from his skin.
The clock says it’s shortly after midnight, Kurt’s thoughts still fuzzy at the edges. He’d woken abruptly to Blaine struggling against him, crying out and scratching at his own skin, his eyes rolled back in his head. It had taken a few panicked shouts to get Blaine to wake up and when he had, he’d immediately been sick and passed out.
Kurt’s shouts had caused Blaine’s parents to come running in; his mom had called the hospital while wrapping bleeding arms, his dad had insisted on driving them there whatever the doctor said. And now Kurt sits, tries to calm his pounding heart. Blaine shifts, a soft moan escaping his lips.
“You’re okay,” Kurt soothes, even though he knows that’s not true, Blaine is anything but okay, runs his fingers down Blaine’s cheek. “I’ve got you.”
Long eyelashes flutter, head turning to look up at Kurt and Kurt feels his breath catch in his throat. The tiny veins have made their way across his cheeks, his temples, gathering near his eyes. Eyes that are normally a warm hazel, now a cold, milky blue.
He blinks and Kurt tries to find his voice.
“Blaine…” he manages before the words catch in his throat, Blaine’s hand searching out his own, holding tight.
“I think…” Blaine says, voice rough and he breaks eye contact, turns his face into Kurt’s leg. “I think I didn’t fail it. The experiment. I think it never ended.”
Kurt doesn’t know what to say, except that he’s starting to actually believe Blaine, so he stays quiet.
-
The doctors are baffled, Blaine’s mother nearly hysterical. They can’t explain anything, which doesn’t surprise Kurt. They never can. His numbers are everywhere, his oxygen low, his back still not healing. Kurt holds his hand as they stitch up his scratches, try and start an IV, made difficult by the tiny branching veins, secure an oxygen mask to his face. He avoids Blaine’s pale blue eyes, can’t stand the fear that accompanies the sight of them. They give Blaine medication for nausea that makes him sleepy and they spend the rest of the night that way, Blaine dozing and Kurt wide awake.
With the morning comes more tests, more blood draws, more bewilderment. The dread in Kurt grows, as his eyes graze over Blaine’s sleeping face, almost unrecognizable from the boy he’d first fallen in love with, the words of Lily Adams echoing through his head.
“Are you scared?” A soft, labored voice draws Kurt’s attention. Blaine is looking at him, his expression neutral.
“Scared of what?” Kurt asks, forcing himself to look in Blaine’s eyes.
“Scared of me.”
Kurt reaches for Blaine’s hand, hold tightly.
“No, of course not.”
Cold blue eyes search his face.
“I’m scared of what’s happening to you,” Kurt whispers honestly. Blaine lets his eyes slide shut, his face tired.
“I don’t… I don’t even really feel like me anymore.”
“You are,” Kurt says quickly, moving closer. “You are because I still love you.”
Blaine’s fingers tighten their grip on Kurt’s, his eyes peeking back open and despite everything, despite the veins and bony cheeks and milky eyes, it’s still just Blaine, lost and hurting.
“You haven’t kissed me,” Blaine says, voice barely a whisper. “Not since I came back.”
And Kurt knows Blaine’s right. He’s kissed Blaine’s cheek, his forehead, the back of his neck, but never on the lips. He doesn’t know if he’s scared, for him or for Blaine, if he hasn’t because Blaine hasn’t really been Blaine. It wasn’t a conscious choice, it just never seemed right and now, with Blaine looking so small and destroyed in his too-big hospital gown, Kurt regrets every minute he wasted.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, lifting his free hand to stroke down Blaine’s cheek. It catches on the plastic of the nasal cannula, Blaine’s skin feeling thin and warm under his fingers. He leans forward, hand sliding to cup Blaine’s cheek, lips pressing against Blaine’s. The kiss is soft, just skin on skin, but Blaine inhales sharply, his eyes fluttering closed and Kurt hadn’t realized quite how much he’s missed Blaine’s lips until now.
Kurt presses forward, deepening the kiss slightly, and he’s pretty sure Blaine’s stopped breathing, his hand flexing and tightening on Kurt’s. They stay like this for a few moments, the place between a chaste kiss and a passionate kiss, until Kurt breaks away, stays inches from Blaine’s face and smiles. Blaine leans forward, brushes their noses together in an Eskimo kiss.
“Thank you,” Blaine says quietly, breath tickling Kurt’s skin.
“I wish I could kiss everything better,” Kurt murmurs, stroking his thumb along Blaine’s jaw.
“You just did,” Blaine replies, and Kurt feels something tight inside him, restricting his lungs and pressing on his heart.
It feels like a goodbye.
-
The doctors want Blaine to stay. His lungs aren’t quite working right, his metabolism practically nonexistent, his arms still scratched open, his back red and tortured. Blaine knows they think this would be best for him, that he could get the care he needs, can see the hope in his mother’s eyes, his father’s thin lips, Kurt’s gentle touch. But he knows. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if he’s here, in the hospital, or home in his own bed. It doesn’t matter because this is beyond all of that; this is something that can’t be fixed.
So he tells them he doesn’t care, he wants to leave. He needs to leave. He can feel the pull, the aching inside him. When he closes his eyes he can see it, the stars. The night sky, wide and dark above him, holding so much more than anyone would ever know. His doctor argues with him, tells him that leaving would be against his medical advice and his mother pleads, tells Blaine to stay and get better. But he can’t, doesn’t understand why they don’t see. He can’t.
He’s eighteen and they can’t keep him there, ignores his mother’s tears as he signs discharge papers. He agrees to an oxygen tank, to come in for checkups and emergencies (even though he won’t, he already knows this). And then he’s going home, feels like he can finally breathe again, his head resting on Kurt’s shoulder the whole drive. There’s a loud beeping in his ears and he flinches, Kurt’s hand tightening on his. The beeping turns to clicking and he can smell it, the too crisp, too clean smell of the tube. Everything is muffled and he squeezes his eyes shut, surrounded by the beeping, the clicking, the smell, the cold glass underneath him.
And then a voice breaks through it all, Kurt’s hand on his cheek and concerned gaze on his face.
“You with us?”
“Yeah, sorry,” Blaine responds, voice tired. “Just a memory.”
He almost believes it himself. Almost.
-
Later, Blaine falls asleep on the couch. Kurt’s home because he has to work early in the morning, Cooper’s flight coming in the day after next. Melissa busies herself with dishes, folding laundry and sweeping the entryway. She can hear the soft whir of Blaine’s oxygen tank, his too rapid exhales.
The broom slips down the wall from where she leaves it, sitting quietly on the couch beside Blaine. He shifts slightly, a small moan escaping his lips and she smiles, pulls his head up to rest on her lap. The nasal cannula moves when he nuzzles his face against her and she readjusts it, making sure it’s perfectly in place. It’s the only thing she can do, making sure everything is perfect for Blaine.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she whispers, quiet enough to not wake Blaine. “I know…” her voice cracks and she feels the hot press of tears behind her eyes, clears her throat and tries again.
“I know you’re tired, I’m tired too and you’ve been through so much more than any of us.” A pause, fingers stroking along his bandage wrapped arms. “I can see the way you’ve been watching us lately, like you’re trying to find the best time to say goodbye. I… I know you’ve been fighting, you’ve been fighting so hard Blaine, for so long. You’re so brave, sweetheart. So brave.”
She hesitates, closes her eyes against prickling tears. “I want what’s best for you. You’re my little boy and I will always love you. Always. And as much as I want you to stay with me forever, you need to do what’s best for you, okay? Whatever makes it stop hurting, okay sweetheart?”
There’s a noise, quiet footsteps and John is sitting beside her, brushing a curl from Blaine’s forehead. She doesn’t say anything, no words are needed, the solid weight of her husband beside her is enough and she leans into his shoulder and cries.
-
They spend the day outside in the sun. Kurt lays out blankets, fills a picnic basket with food and drinks, gathers as many pillows as he can find. Blaine actually smiles when Kurt helps him outside, situates the tank on a pillow, Blaine leaning against him.
“This is nice,” Blaine sighs, closing his eyes and tilting his face towards the sun. Kurt chastises him, gently applying sunscreen to his paper pale face. Near lunch time Blaine’s dad brings them ice cream, ruffles his hair and comments on the weather. Blaine squeezes his hand and tells him thank you and Kurt can’t help but notice the shift in Blaine’s behavior. The way he seems happier, brighter, despite how much worse he looks, and it should make Kurt feel better but it doesn’t.
They eat their ice cream and watch the birds in the nearby woods, the bunnies that venture into the yard. Some ice cream smudges on Blaine’s chin and Kurt smiles, swipes it up with his thumb. Eyes slide shut and in the sunlight Blaine’s skin looks almost transparent, a ghost of himself. But his face is so honest, the way he parts his lips so hopeful and Kurt doesn’t think, just presses his lips to Blaine’s. Blaine lifts a shaky hand to Kurt’s shoulder, grips tight and sinks back onto the pillows. Kurt follows him down, propping himself up on his arms so he can lean over Blaine, kisses him deeper.
He can tell Blaine’s tired, lets Kurt do most of the work, but he doesn’t pull away, his hand sliding to the back of Kurt’s neck, fingers curling into Kurt’s hair. Kurt moans and sucks Blaine’s lower lip into his mouth, wonders why he hasn’t been kissing Blaine every day since he’s been back.
“I love you so much,” Kurt breaths, opening his eyes to take in his boyfriend. Dark lashes sweep his cheeks, lips pink and wet, curls framing his face. In this moment he only sees the beautiful boy he fell in love with, the boy who means everything to him. Blaine’s eyes stay closed, face relaxed and Kurt kisses down his cheeks, back to his lips. They stay like this for awhile, kissing slowly in the sun, the occasional breathy moan escaping Blaine.
“Thank you, for this experience,” Blaine whispers after they break apart, nuzzling against Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt thinks the words are odd but he doesn’t say anything, just kisses into Blaine’s curls, pulls him up until his chest is flush with Blaine’s back, Blaine’s head resting against Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt snakes his arms around Blaine’s waist, anchoring him.
The sun is starting to get low in the sky, long shadows draping over them when Blaine speaks.
“Kurt,” he starts, voice serious and Kurt already knows he won’t like where this is going. “I want you to promise me something.”
“What is that?” Kurt asks, lips brushing the hair just behind Blaine’s ear.
“Promise me that… if something happens to me, that you’ll go out with that boy from your class. He’ll be good to you, I know it.”
A painful lump forms in Kurt’s throat and he swallows around it. “Blaine… don’t talk like that.”
“Please, just promise me.”
“I can’t,” Kurt’s voice catches and all he can hear is the hum of the oxygen tank, Blaine’s rapid breathing.
“When you think of the future, what do you see?”
Kurt closes his eyes, lets the setting sun wash over him as he thinks.
“I see you and our tiny New York apartment. I see you going to school out there, coming to bed late and letting me be the little spoon. I see us getting jobs, my future in musical theater, yours in whatever you decide. I see us getting a cat and some day getting married, if you want to. I see us, Blaine. I’ve always seen us.”
Blaine hums, his fingers tangling with Kurt’s.
“I don’t see anything.”
-
Melissa lets them sleep outside that night. It’s warm and Kurt promises to stay with him all night, Blaine gazing up at the stars with wonderment. They cuddle under blankets, Margaret Thatcher dog between them, Kurt’s arms on Blaine’s waist, Blaine stroking Kurt’s arm. Blaine gazes at Kurt for a long time, his skin glowing in the moonlight, the smile that pulls at his lips as he dreams.
It hadn’t taken long for Kurt to fall asleep, the warm air and closeness of Blaine lulling him into comfortable dreams. Blaine can’t help but smile back, despite everything. The buzzing in his ears is back and this time he knows it’s not going away. Just like the tightness in his lungs, the way every breath seems to fall short, the world blurring around the edges. Just like the weight that’s pulling on his limbs, the way he suddenly weighs a million pounds and his skin is itchy and too small.
He strokes his thumb down Kurt’s cheek, Kurt smiling and murmuring something unintelligible in his sleep. Blaine slips the nasal cannula from his nose, turns off the oxygen tank. He pushes it off their makeshift bed until it’s buried in grass. Kurt shifts when Blaine stands, settles back down when Blaine pulls the blankets back up around his shoulders. His steps are quiet as he makes his way into the house, careful and calculated. His father is asleep on the couch and he pauses, rests a gentle hand on his father’s shoulder, feels the broad and solid shoulder.
The third step creaks as he tiptoes up the stairs and he can feel all the breath leaving his body but he keeps going, silently opens the door to his parents room. His mother is asleep on the giant bed, Blaine’s school picture on the bed stand beside her.
“Thank you,” is all he whispers, because he can’t call her mom, not now. He leans down to press a kiss to her forehead, lets his fingers drift over the soft down of her comforter. She sighs in her sleep, and Blaine draws away, stops to let his fingers touch the cold glass over a picture of Cooper, wishes he could have seen him again.
And then he’s gone, making his way back out of the house, the grass damp under his feet. He gazes up into the endless sky above him, the dark blue dotted with silver stars and suddenly everything is clear.
“I understand,” he whispers and his voice is sad because he doesn’t want this to end, but it’s not his to have. He knows that now.
Kurt hums when he crawls back under the covers, strength seeping from his body, his breaths short and fast, his skin cold. He finds Kurt’s hand, tangles their fingers, tears pricking his eyes for the first time when Kurt squeezes back.
“I will always love you,” he breathes, voice shaking, eyes memorizing every line, every curve of Kurt’s face. “Thank you for loving me.”
Blaine closes his eyes for the last time, a tear slipping down his cheek and a smile pulling at his lips, the pillow soft under him.
And then Blaine Anderson takes his last breath and everything is silent.
-
-
-
Specimen twenty-seven watches as a boy with curly hair and pale eyes grows still, hand still tangled with the boy’s beside him. He watches through tears, the tube too constricting to wipe them away. It was bound to happen, he knows. No copy has made it beyond a few months, in Earth’s unpredictable environment. This one made it the longest, and by the excited clicking around him, knows this is a good thing. At least, for them.
Blaine closes his wet eyes, eyelashes clumping, doesn’t have it in him to watch anymore. It had to happen, the copy had understood, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Doesn’t make him wish that maybe the experiment had worked, that Kurt, his family, could have finally been happy again. Could have kept what they found, instead of losing what they never really had.
But a hope rises in Blaine, even as cold metal bites into his wrists, under his jaw, even as the boy in the tube beside him screams and cries. A hope that maybe now, maybe finally, they can move on. That Kurt can go back to New York, find someone full of life and love and music, that his mother and father can have closure, can visit Cooper, can dote upon Cooper’s kids and take vacations whenever they want, wherever they want.
The world will go on, he knows, and grief will fade, and Blaine will be up here, watching it all happen. But it’s okay, now.
It’s okay.
There’s a click and a whir and the tube opens and this time, Blaine smiles.
end