Fic: Trying
Title: Trying
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers/Warnings: Small hints up to 308, but mostly none.
Word Count: 2,679
Summary : Blaine had always planned on moving out on his eighteenth birthday and never looking back. But his father wasn’t ready to let him go that easily.
A/N: Because I'm a sucker for fix-it fic and can't stand the thought of anyone not loving Blainers...
This story is part of my Escape verse that includes Escape and Somewhere To Run, but can be read on it’s own.
Complete Escape Verse fics found here
****
Blaine sat in his bedroom, sorting through all of his things. He'd lived in the same house, been in the same room, since he was born. In his eighteen years, he'd accumulated a lot of stuff. Sadly, he knew most of it couldn't fit into the small room he would have at his mom’s. Most of his trophies and photo albums had already been boxed away and put in the basement. Old sheet music, piano and violin books, along with some picture frames were stacked around the room waiting to be packed as well. His punching bag would have to stay in the basement. It was technically Conner's anyway.
It was sad to realize that he would probably never see any of his stuff again once he left. It wasn't as if he would be coming over to spend quality time with his father. His brother Conner and him weren't close. Even if they were, he was away at school. Claire would come over every other weekend as per the custody agreement. He wouldn’t have to come back to Ohio to see her. His father... well, his father could go screw himself. It wasn't like he'd done anything to save their relationship in the past four years.
No, tomorrow was his eighteenth birthday. He would finally be a legal adult. He had been waiting for this moment ever since the judge made the decision last year to hand custody over to his father. There was nothing the law could do to stop him from living with his mom now. Tomorrow morning, bright and early, he was moving to Detroit.
"So you're really going to leave," his father said with a tired voice. He walked into his room without so much as an invitation.
Blaine rolled his eyes. He wasn't going to miss that.
"I'm eighteen. You can't stop me."
"You forget who's paying for your schooling," he said, giving him a pointed look.
That stopped Blaine. He had considered this a possibility, but he didn't think his father would really go there. Did he want to ruin his life? Did he hate him that much?
"You know what, I don't even care what you do," he said, tired of talking about this. Tired of fighting with this man. "I'm not stupid, I know that you legally have to pay for all of our schooling. That's the only reason that Mom agreed to not take any alimony. I know that even if you don't pay, Grandpa will. But I really don't care. I'd work three jobs if it meant getting to leave Ohio and never having to come back."
"You really hate me that much?"
Yes, Blaine thought. He wanted to scream it. This was the man that had made his life hell for the past four years. This was the man who used to be his biggest supporter, his best friend. This was the man that had thrown all of that out the window when he'd found out that he was gay. So yes, there wasn't any reason he shouldn't hate him.
Except, Blaine knew that he didn't. He never could. He'd been hurt beyond belief, sure. But he'd never hated this man. He loved him. That was what made it so bad. Blaine had spent the past four years working his ass off to make his father proud.
He studied hard. He had been on the honor roll every semester. Even that terrible semester where he'd missed two months and had to make up all his work from a hospital bed. But he never noticed. Claire was always going to be smarter than him. She'd always be the miracle child that skipped third grade and was enrolled in Senior Honors courses as a sophomore.
He had been a great soccer player once, too. You know, before he was bullied so much in the locker room that he'd been forced to quit. He'd taken up boxing and fencing to learn how to defend himself and work out his anger issues. He could now fight like a “proper man." But still, he would never be the star athlete that Conner was. He wasn't lettering in three different sports. Ohio State hadn't offered him a full ride for basketball.
It didn't even matter that he was one of the best violin players in the state. It didn't make a difference that he had lead the Warblers in countless successful performances and was now leading the New Directions. Worst of all, it didn't matter that he'd gotten into Columbia after he'd played an original piece on the piano and a professor had been moved enough to lobby his acceptance. No, the only thing about that weekend his father cared about was that he'd stayed with his boyfriend. Music was gay. Blaine was gay.
But no, he didn't hate his father. He couldn’t.
"I don't want you to leave," his father said, his voice sounded pleading.
But that couldn't be right. Blaine was reading him wrong. He didn't care about him. Blaine had made that mistake before... too many times before. Each time it got harder and harder to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart.
He doesn't mean it, he told himself.
"I'm going to live with Mom," he said, stealing his voice. Blaine was a good actor, he did this everyday. He acted calm and confident in front of everyone else. He could do this with his father. He didn't have to turn into a crying mess every time they talked.
"If you leave, if I let you move out, I'm never going to talk to you again. You're going to run off with that boy and never look back."
"Kurt, his name is Kurt," Blaine said, holding back his anger. They had been dating for two years, couldn't he even say his name?
"You're going to spend all of your holidays with your mother. Where does that leave us?"
"The same place we've always been," he said, busying his hands by putting together another box. He needed something to do. His hands were starting to shake with the familiar rage his father put him in. "You know what, I don't understand you. Why now? Why do you even care? Is it Mom? Is it because you're still a bitter old fuck-"
"Language," his father snapped. "I will not stand for your attitude Blaine Michael Anderson. I'm trying to have an adult conversation here."
Blaine took a few calming breaths. When he opened his eyes again, they were moist with unshed tears.
"Can I ask you something? Why did you fight for me?" he asked, his voice shaky.
"You're my son," he said, as if it should be obvious.
"But you knew I wanted to live with Mom. You knew that she'd take me in a heartbeat. That I'd be happy with her. But still you spent thousands, you moved mountains to make sure that you got full custody. Were you just trying to punish her? Did you even want me?"
"Of course I wanted you," he said.
Blaine chanced a glance at his father. He had his arms crossed over his chest, but it wasn't intimidating. It was like he was trying to hold himself together. He kept opening his mouth to talk but he couldn't find the words.
"I don't know how we got here," his father said after several painful minutes of silence.
"You haven't told me you love me since the divorce. Maybe even since I came out," Blaine said, crying openly now. There was no point in hiding it anymore. He would probably have to listen to a lecture about how men don't cry. But what did it matter? He'd be gone and away from this place soon.
"That's absurd. Of course I've said I love you." He threw his arms up, frustrated.
"Not once."
His father stepped farther into the room and took a seat on his bed. Not even taking care not to mess up his carefully folded piles of clothes that still needed to be packed.
"God, Blaine... I know that we haven't been close in a long time. But you're my son. Of course I wanted you. Of course, that's not even a question. I love you, I... God. I'm sorry I didn't try harder to make this work."
"I heard you talking to the judge at one of the hearings. We were supposed to be waiting in a different room, but I listened by the door. You told him about how we used to go out to pizza alone together after my soccer practices. You talked about how much you cared about me. Told him that you'd make sure I was happy, safe and cared for. You said..." Blaine had to take a steadying breath before he could finish. "You said that you wanted me more than anything else in the world. I... I believed it."
"I meant it."
"You haven't tried. Not once have you ever made an effort to be in my life. You don't come to my performances. You've never accepted Kurt. You purposefully kept me away from Mom. I believed you wanted to start trying, but you never did."
"I don't know what you want me to say-" he started, but Blaine couldn't deal with it.
"Nothing," he cut him off. "There's nothing you can say. It's broken. You want that little boy that used to talk sports with you? Well guess what, I'm still that boy. While you had to call Conner because nobody in this family appreciated college ball, I’ve spent every Sunday at the Hummel’s watching the games. But you never cared to see past the musicals or the bullying. All you ever see when you look at me is gay. Fuck the fact that I've been accepted into an ivy league school. Screw the fact that I'm a really good kid. I'm so much more than you even know. So there's nothing you could possibly say anymore."
"I was wrong," he said.
Blaine was floored. His father had never admitted he was wrong a day in his life. He was the kind of man that would argue a point to the grave. He was the guy that had to be right in every instance.
"Not that... I can't..." his father took a moment to compose himself. It wasn't becoming to fumble for words, he had once told Blaine. "I'm not going to lie and say I'm comfortable with it. I'm not. I don't understand it. But I could. If you gave me a chance, I think I could learn to understand it."
"I've given you chances," he said, crossing his arms. He couldn't get his hopes up. Not yet.
"I know." He sighed. "I've failed you. I should have done something earlier. I just thought it was teenage angst. Every kid goes through a phase where they hate their parents. I didn't realize... I never thought you actually believed that I didn't love you. I shouldn't have let us go on this long like this."
"So what?" Blaine asked. "You apologized and now I'm just supposed to forget it. I unpack and stay here with you?"
"You've grown up to be a really remarkable young man. I haven't been completely blind. I know how talented you are. Shit, you got into Columbia. I didn't even get into that school and I was first in class at a math and science high school. You're special, Blaine. You're going to go off to New York and they are going to see how talented you are. You're going to make something of yourself and have no need to come back. I know that. I just want a chance to get to know you. I want to be in your life. And truth be told, I don't think you really want to go live with your mother."
Blaine gave him a hard look, really?
"I know you love her," he said. "I know you'd prefer to be with her more than me. I get it, she's one of the most loving compassionate women in the world. But you're two months from graduation. Your show choir is competing for nationals in three weeks. All of your friends are here. You're violin teacher is here... I don't think you should throw away all of your hard work when you're so close. Just stay. Graduate with your friends. It's two months. I promise you, if you still hate me after graduation, I'll help you pack your car."
Blaine wasn't sure what did it. What it was his father said that finally made him break. But one moment he had been sitting there, crying silently, the next he was sobbing hysterically. His father moved to the floor and pulled him into the most awkward hug in the world. But he didn't complain when his suit got wrinkled and never mentioned the tears and snot that was now on his jacket. So maybe there was still a chance for them. Maybe he didn't have to live the rest of his life estranged from his father.
"I've... I just... I tried... you didn't... I wanted you to be proud..." he couldn't even make sense of his own words, so how his father understood what he was trying to say was a miracle.
"Don't," he said, patting his back. "Just don't say anything else. It's my fault you never knew any of this. You don't have to work so hard, Blaine. I would be proud of you no matter what you decided to do."
Blaine pulled away and tried to calm himself down. His father, thankfully, had enough tact to stand up and brush off his suit as if nothing had happened. As if Blaine hadn't just had an embarrassing break down.
"I'm going to go change," he said. "O'Neils is playing the hockey game."
Of course, Blaine thought. His father was going out to meet his friends for the game.
"Have fun," he said, his voice a still a little hoarse.
"Why don't you clean yourself up and meet me downstairs?"
"What, go with you?"
He couldn't be serious. They never watched games together, not anymore. That was Conner and his thing. Blaine didn’t get invited to guy’s nights.
"You like hockey, right? The girls all watch it with us, so you'll probably... I mean... if you don't, I'm sure they'll be playing other games, too. Or we could go do something more... I don't know what you do anymore. Dinner theatre?"
"Okay," he said, quickly. Anything to make his dad stop talking and ruining the moment.
Because that was his dad, and it probably always would be. But Finn still made offensive comments now and again and they’d learned to get along. Maybe things could change. He was trying, at least. And that was more than Blaine had ever expected of him. It wouldn't be perfect. It probably wouldn't even be great. But he was eighteen, he could leave at anytime. And he had his entire life to be free. What was two months in the grand scheme of things? He could give it a try and see how it went. What did he have to lose?
This was something he needed to try. His mom would understand. She would still be there on the bad days, offering him a place to stay and a warm hug. And this way he could graduate with his friends. He could go to Nationals in New York, where his supporting boyfriend would cheer him on.
In a few months he'd join Kurt in New York. He couldn't promise that'd he'd ever be back. But this... this he could do. He could give his father the time to make things right. And who knew, maybe this time... Maybe this time he actually would.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers/Warnings: Small hints up to 308, but mostly none.
Word Count: 2,679
Summary : Blaine had always planned on moving out on his eighteenth birthday and never looking back. But his father wasn’t ready to let him go that easily.
A/N: Because I'm a sucker for fix-it fic and can't stand the thought of anyone not loving Blainers...
This story is part of my Escape verse that includes Escape and Somewhere To Run, but can be read on it’s own.
Complete Escape Verse fics found here
****
Blaine sat in his bedroom, sorting through all of his things. He'd lived in the same house, been in the same room, since he was born. In his eighteen years, he'd accumulated a lot of stuff. Sadly, he knew most of it couldn't fit into the small room he would have at his mom’s. Most of his trophies and photo albums had already been boxed away and put in the basement. Old sheet music, piano and violin books, along with some picture frames were stacked around the room waiting to be packed as well. His punching bag would have to stay in the basement. It was technically Conner's anyway.
It was sad to realize that he would probably never see any of his stuff again once he left. It wasn't as if he would be coming over to spend quality time with his father. His brother Conner and him weren't close. Even if they were, he was away at school. Claire would come over every other weekend as per the custody agreement. He wouldn’t have to come back to Ohio to see her. His father... well, his father could go screw himself. It wasn't like he'd done anything to save their relationship in the past four years.
No, tomorrow was his eighteenth birthday. He would finally be a legal adult. He had been waiting for this moment ever since the judge made the decision last year to hand custody over to his father. There was nothing the law could do to stop him from living with his mom now. Tomorrow morning, bright and early, he was moving to Detroit.
"So you're really going to leave," his father said with a tired voice. He walked into his room without so much as an invitation.
Blaine rolled his eyes. He wasn't going to miss that.
"I'm eighteen. You can't stop me."
"You forget who's paying for your schooling," he said, giving him a pointed look.
That stopped Blaine. He had considered this a possibility, but he didn't think his father would really go there. Did he want to ruin his life? Did he hate him that much?
"You know what, I don't even care what you do," he said, tired of talking about this. Tired of fighting with this man. "I'm not stupid, I know that you legally have to pay for all of our schooling. That's the only reason that Mom agreed to not take any alimony. I know that even if you don't pay, Grandpa will. But I really don't care. I'd work three jobs if it meant getting to leave Ohio and never having to come back."
"You really hate me that much?"
Yes, Blaine thought. He wanted to scream it. This was the man that had made his life hell for the past four years. This was the man who used to be his biggest supporter, his best friend. This was the man that had thrown all of that out the window when he'd found out that he was gay. So yes, there wasn't any reason he shouldn't hate him.
Except, Blaine knew that he didn't. He never could. He'd been hurt beyond belief, sure. But he'd never hated this man. He loved him. That was what made it so bad. Blaine had spent the past four years working his ass off to make his father proud.
He studied hard. He had been on the honor roll every semester. Even that terrible semester where he'd missed two months and had to make up all his work from a hospital bed. But he never noticed. Claire was always going to be smarter than him. She'd always be the miracle child that skipped third grade and was enrolled in Senior Honors courses as a sophomore.
He had been a great soccer player once, too. You know, before he was bullied so much in the locker room that he'd been forced to quit. He'd taken up boxing and fencing to learn how to defend himself and work out his anger issues. He could now fight like a “proper man." But still, he would never be the star athlete that Conner was. He wasn't lettering in three different sports. Ohio State hadn't offered him a full ride for basketball.
It didn't even matter that he was one of the best violin players in the state. It didn't make a difference that he had lead the Warblers in countless successful performances and was now leading the New Directions. Worst of all, it didn't matter that he'd gotten into Columbia after he'd played an original piece on the piano and a professor had been moved enough to lobby his acceptance. No, the only thing about that weekend his father cared about was that he'd stayed with his boyfriend. Music was gay. Blaine was gay.
But no, he didn't hate his father. He couldn’t.
"I don't want you to leave," his father said, his voice sounded pleading.
But that couldn't be right. Blaine was reading him wrong. He didn't care about him. Blaine had made that mistake before... too many times before. Each time it got harder and harder to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart.
He doesn't mean it, he told himself.
"I'm going to live with Mom," he said, stealing his voice. Blaine was a good actor, he did this everyday. He acted calm and confident in front of everyone else. He could do this with his father. He didn't have to turn into a crying mess every time they talked.
"If you leave, if I let you move out, I'm never going to talk to you again. You're going to run off with that boy and never look back."
"Kurt, his name is Kurt," Blaine said, holding back his anger. They had been dating for two years, couldn't he even say his name?
"You're going to spend all of your holidays with your mother. Where does that leave us?"
"The same place we've always been," he said, busying his hands by putting together another box. He needed something to do. His hands were starting to shake with the familiar rage his father put him in. "You know what, I don't understand you. Why now? Why do you even care? Is it Mom? Is it because you're still a bitter old fuck-"
"Language," his father snapped. "I will not stand for your attitude Blaine Michael Anderson. I'm trying to have an adult conversation here."
Blaine took a few calming breaths. When he opened his eyes again, they were moist with unshed tears.
"Can I ask you something? Why did you fight for me?" he asked, his voice shaky.
"You're my son," he said, as if it should be obvious.
"But you knew I wanted to live with Mom. You knew that she'd take me in a heartbeat. That I'd be happy with her. But still you spent thousands, you moved mountains to make sure that you got full custody. Were you just trying to punish her? Did you even want me?"
"Of course I wanted you," he said.
Blaine chanced a glance at his father. He had his arms crossed over his chest, but it wasn't intimidating. It was like he was trying to hold himself together. He kept opening his mouth to talk but he couldn't find the words.
"I don't know how we got here," his father said after several painful minutes of silence.
"You haven't told me you love me since the divorce. Maybe even since I came out," Blaine said, crying openly now. There was no point in hiding it anymore. He would probably have to listen to a lecture about how men don't cry. But what did it matter? He'd be gone and away from this place soon.
"That's absurd. Of course I've said I love you." He threw his arms up, frustrated.
"Not once."
His father stepped farther into the room and took a seat on his bed. Not even taking care not to mess up his carefully folded piles of clothes that still needed to be packed.
"God, Blaine... I know that we haven't been close in a long time. But you're my son. Of course I wanted you. Of course, that's not even a question. I love you, I... God. I'm sorry I didn't try harder to make this work."
"I heard you talking to the judge at one of the hearings. We were supposed to be waiting in a different room, but I listened by the door. You told him about how we used to go out to pizza alone together after my soccer practices. You talked about how much you cared about me. Told him that you'd make sure I was happy, safe and cared for. You said..." Blaine had to take a steadying breath before he could finish. "You said that you wanted me more than anything else in the world. I... I believed it."
"I meant it."
"You haven't tried. Not once have you ever made an effort to be in my life. You don't come to my performances. You've never accepted Kurt. You purposefully kept me away from Mom. I believed you wanted to start trying, but you never did."
"I don't know what you want me to say-" he started, but Blaine couldn't deal with it.
"Nothing," he cut him off. "There's nothing you can say. It's broken. You want that little boy that used to talk sports with you? Well guess what, I'm still that boy. While you had to call Conner because nobody in this family appreciated college ball, I’ve spent every Sunday at the Hummel’s watching the games. But you never cared to see past the musicals or the bullying. All you ever see when you look at me is gay. Fuck the fact that I've been accepted into an ivy league school. Screw the fact that I'm a really good kid. I'm so much more than you even know. So there's nothing you could possibly say anymore."
"I was wrong," he said.
Blaine was floored. His father had never admitted he was wrong a day in his life. He was the kind of man that would argue a point to the grave. He was the guy that had to be right in every instance.
"Not that... I can't..." his father took a moment to compose himself. It wasn't becoming to fumble for words, he had once told Blaine. "I'm not going to lie and say I'm comfortable with it. I'm not. I don't understand it. But I could. If you gave me a chance, I think I could learn to understand it."
"I've given you chances," he said, crossing his arms. He couldn't get his hopes up. Not yet.
"I know." He sighed. "I've failed you. I should have done something earlier. I just thought it was teenage angst. Every kid goes through a phase where they hate their parents. I didn't realize... I never thought you actually believed that I didn't love you. I shouldn't have let us go on this long like this."
"So what?" Blaine asked. "You apologized and now I'm just supposed to forget it. I unpack and stay here with you?"
"You've grown up to be a really remarkable young man. I haven't been completely blind. I know how talented you are. Shit, you got into Columbia. I didn't even get into that school and I was first in class at a math and science high school. You're special, Blaine. You're going to go off to New York and they are going to see how talented you are. You're going to make something of yourself and have no need to come back. I know that. I just want a chance to get to know you. I want to be in your life. And truth be told, I don't think you really want to go live with your mother."
Blaine gave him a hard look, really?
"I know you love her," he said. "I know you'd prefer to be with her more than me. I get it, she's one of the most loving compassionate women in the world. But you're two months from graduation. Your show choir is competing for nationals in three weeks. All of your friends are here. You're violin teacher is here... I don't think you should throw away all of your hard work when you're so close. Just stay. Graduate with your friends. It's two months. I promise you, if you still hate me after graduation, I'll help you pack your car."
Blaine wasn't sure what did it. What it was his father said that finally made him break. But one moment he had been sitting there, crying silently, the next he was sobbing hysterically. His father moved to the floor and pulled him into the most awkward hug in the world. But he didn't complain when his suit got wrinkled and never mentioned the tears and snot that was now on his jacket. So maybe there was still a chance for them. Maybe he didn't have to live the rest of his life estranged from his father.
"I've... I just... I tried... you didn't... I wanted you to be proud..." he couldn't even make sense of his own words, so how his father understood what he was trying to say was a miracle.
"Don't," he said, patting his back. "Just don't say anything else. It's my fault you never knew any of this. You don't have to work so hard, Blaine. I would be proud of you no matter what you decided to do."
Blaine pulled away and tried to calm himself down. His father, thankfully, had enough tact to stand up and brush off his suit as if nothing had happened. As if Blaine hadn't just had an embarrassing break down.
"I'm going to go change," he said. "O'Neils is playing the hockey game."
Of course, Blaine thought. His father was going out to meet his friends for the game.
"Have fun," he said, his voice a still a little hoarse.
"Why don't you clean yourself up and meet me downstairs?"
"What, go with you?"
He couldn't be serious. They never watched games together, not anymore. That was Conner and his thing. Blaine didn’t get invited to guy’s nights.
"You like hockey, right? The girls all watch it with us, so you'll probably... I mean... if you don't, I'm sure they'll be playing other games, too. Or we could go do something more... I don't know what you do anymore. Dinner theatre?"
"Okay," he said, quickly. Anything to make his dad stop talking and ruining the moment.
Because that was his dad, and it probably always would be. But Finn still made offensive comments now and again and they’d learned to get along. Maybe things could change. He was trying, at least. And that was more than Blaine had ever expected of him. It wouldn't be perfect. It probably wouldn't even be great. But he was eighteen, he could leave at anytime. And he had his entire life to be free. What was two months in the grand scheme of things? He could give it a try and see how it went. What did he have to lose?
This was something he needed to try. His mom would understand. She would still be there on the bad days, offering him a place to stay and a warm hug. And this way he could graduate with his friends. He could go to Nationals in New York, where his supporting boyfriend would cheer him on.
In a few months he'd join Kurt in New York. He couldn't promise that'd he'd ever be back. But this... this he could do. He could give his father the time to make things right. And who knew, maybe this time... Maybe this time he actually would.