Fic: When Fears Are Realized (2/?)
Title: When Fears Are Realized (2/?)
Characters / Pairings: Vague Kurt/Blaine. Burt, Carole, Finn.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Vague spoilers for 2.15
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
Summary: Burt's worried and Kurt doesn't understand why. Then Blaine shows up on their doorstep.
A/N: I know. I know. I'm supposed to be writing the epic fic for the Nick-verse. Sorry! I am still working on it, but I'm already 7,000+ words in and still haven't gotten through Special Education. Trust me when I say that this fic is going to be insanely long. Anyways, to keep the creative juices flowing I decided to continue this fic that was originally a one-shot. So here!
Part One
The next day dawns bright and cheerful. Too bright and cheerful for the two teenagers nestled together in Kurt’s bed.
They’d laid in silence for a long while after Kurt’s dad had gone, but just as Kurt was drifting into unconsciousness, he’d felt slight tremors coursing through the arm pressed against his and he’d turned, pulling Blaine to him, one hand planted firmly in the middle of his back and the other rubbing soothing circles into the nape of Blaine’s neck. They’d stayed like that until the early hours of the morning, Kurt occasionally singing into Blaine’s ear in an attempt to quiet the sobs coming from the other boy. Blaine had finally passed out from sheer exhaustion and Kurt had followed soon after.
Both grumble as the sunlight cuts through Kurt’s drapes and folds itself over their faces. They burrow into each other for a few moments, Blaine again succumbing to slumber, but Kurt opens his eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the sudden brightness drifting through his room. He takes in the tousled hair of his friend before lifting his head from where it's resting on Blaine’s shoulder. Standing carefully, he makes sure the other boy is still sleeping before running a comb through his hair and leaving his room.
He finds his dad in the kitchen. He’s standing in front of the stove alternately frowning at a griddle and sending confused glances at the box of Bisquick he held in his hands.
“Hey, Dad.”
Burt turns at his son’s voice, surprised to see him leaning against the doorjamb still in his pajamas.
“Hey, Kiddo. I didn’t expect you to be up this early.”
Kurt shrugs and pushes himself away from the doorway.
“I forgot to close the drapes last night, so the sun woke me up. Do you need any help?” he asked, gesturing the box in his dad’s hand.
“That’d be great. You know I stink at this kind of thing. Carole took Finn out for breakfast so we don’t have to make too much of that.” They busy themselves for awhile. Kurt mixing up the pancake batter and Burt making sure that the griddle is hot enough. Kurt takes some blueberries out of the freezer and then grabs a bag of chocolate chips before turning to face his dad.
“Do you think he’d like chocolate chips or blueberries more?”
“How about you make some of both, so he can choose?” Burt takes the blueberries from Kurt before pouring a bit of the batter onto the griddle and adding a handful of the fruit. “How is he, by the way?”
He hears Kurt sigh, and turns to see him leaning against the fridge rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“I don’t know. Still asleep right now. We didn’t get a lot of it last night, so I wanted to let him sleep in a bit. He was so upset,” Kurt says with a sigh. “Dad... I don’t know what to do.” Burt flips the pancakes, using the time to think about how to answer that before turning to Kurt. He grasps the boy’s shoulders, keeping him still and forcing him to listen.
“You just need to keep doing what you’re doing. Let him cry when he needs to. Listen when he wants to talk. Be there for him, but don’t push him. He needs a friend, someone to care about him...”
“I do,” Kurt interrupts, eyes misty but intense.
“Good. I do too, so does Carole, so does Finn. I’m sure he’s got more people at Dalton that care as well. He has the support system, it's up to him to use it.”
“I just want everything to be okay again.”
“It will be. But it's gonna take time. He’s vulnerable right now, and as much as I hate it, it's going to get worse before it gets better. We’re gonna have to talk to Mr. Anderson. God knows the man doesn’t deserve it, but Blaine is his son and he’s still a minor, it's Mr. Anderson’s decision what happens to him. I don’t want to send Blaine back into that house, but unless he goes to the police there’s little we can do.” It's obvious this isn’t the answer Kurt wants to hear, because he drops his head and Burt can feel his shoulders shaking a little under his hands.
“He can’t go back,” Kurt sobs into his chest and Burt pulls him in to rest against his own chest, dropping his cheek to rest against the top of Kurt’s head. He murmurs reassurances into his son’s hair until they hear timid footsteps overhead and they break apart, hoping to look semi-normal for Blaine’s sake. Burt turns back to the pancakes, and if they’re slightly darker than normal, that’s okay. Kurt, meanwhile, rubs at his swollen eyes ineffectively.
When Blaine finally appears in the doorway, he’s still dressed in his sweatpants and hoodie, hair tousled from sleep, and eyes bleary. Kurt’s putting plates on the table and he gives the other boy a smile, gesturing for him to sit. He does, immediately folding his arms on the table and dropping his head onto them. Kurt pats his back for a minute, quietly asking him if he’d like some orange juice and receiving a slow nod in reply. He sets the glass down gently in front of Blaine and pats his shoulder one more time before heading back to the kitchen to help Burt.
Blaine doesn’t raise his head until he hears the sound of plates laden with food set down on the table top. He takes in the stacks of pancakes, two plates of bacon, and bowl of scrambled eggs and grimaces a little.
“I don’t... I don’t think I can eat anything,” he says, voice soft.
Burt grabs a couple of blueberry pancakes, some eggs and bacon from the plate closest to him, bypassing the salt at Kurt’s hard look and eating them plain.
“You don’t have to if you can’t, but I’d like you to try. You might be surprised at how hungry you are.”
Blaine nods, cautiously taking some of the chocolate chip pancakes and adding some syrup to them before slowly cutting into them. He can see Kurt glancing at him from where he’s sitting and does his best to ignore the concern and just act normal. He chews slowly and is surprised at the growl his stomach gives. He finishes his pancakes quickly and scoops up some eggs before eyeing the two plates of bacon in confusion. Kurt, seeing his dilemma quickly explains.
“This one,” he says, gesturing to the plate closest to the two of them, “is regular bacon, and the one on the other end of the table is turkey bacon.” Blaine nods a bit, eyeing the turkey bacon warily before grabbing a few slices from each plate. He tries to turkey bacon first, grimacing a little at the taste and pushing it to the side, drawing a deep chuckle from Burt.
“Tastes a little like cardboard doesn’t it?” He doesn’t get a response, so he takes a sip of his orange juice and delves into the issues surrounding them. “Blaine.” The boy doesn’t look at him, instead focusing on the patterns the syrup makes as he drags his fork across his plate.
“Do we have to talk about it?”
“The bruise on your face says we do.”
“Dad,” Kurt says, a warning in his voice, and Burt can understand that. He had just told his kid not to push. Resigned, he decides to let that go.
“Blaine, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But there are some things we need to discuss. I called Dalton this morning, and while I was able to excuse Kurt, I’m not on your contact list, so you’re going to have to explain to them why you missed today. Also, do you boys want to go to practice today or not?” Kurt looks to Blaine, leaving the decision up to him, he stares back, eyes searching Kurt’s for a minute.
“We probably should,” he says. “Regionals are coming up, we really can’t afford to miss.”
“Okay,” Kurt says, nodding and standing from the table. “I’ll go call Wes and let him know we’ll still be there.” He walks back up the stairs to retrieve his cell phone and Blaine watches him go, gripping his fork so tightly that Burt’s sure it’ll break.
“Blaine,” he says, ignoring the slight flinch. “I need you to be honest with me, cause if you’re not then I won’t even give you a choice here. Do you want to stay here, or do you think you’re safe at home? Keep in mind that you are more than welcome to stay here, and that I won’t necessarily believe you if you say you’re good to go home, but you’re 17 and you can make your own decisions.”
Blaine stares at him for a minute, face blank. He thinks over yesterday. From coming downstairs to dinner to telling his dad he wanted to go somewhere other than Princeton to the shock and pain of his dad’s fist against his chin. He thought about being dragged from the dining room to the front door and literally thrown out of his house. Thought about the scrapes on his palms from catching himself on the front walkway. Thought about the rain and the four hour walk to Kurt’s house. He looked at Burt and thought about the warmth and kindness and complete acceptance.
“I’m scared,” he admits, shakily. “I mean... he’s never hit me before. Yelled a lot, sure, but it was never physical and you’d think that it would have scared him, or... or shocked him, right? But he just... kept going. I don’t...” he stops, breath stuttering in his chest and Burt rises from his chair and pulls Blaine out of his, engulfing him in a hug and rubbing his back. Blaine sags against him, face buried in Burt’s shoulder and body shuddering with repressed sobs.
“I don’t know what I did,” he chokes out. Burt stiffens before pushing Blaine back a bit and cupping the boy’s face, all but forcing him to make eye contact.
“You did nothing wrong. I’ve said this to Kurt before, and I want you to listen just as much as he did. Your job is to be yourself, and your father’s job is to love you no. matter. what. He’s the one at fault here, Blaine. Not you.” Blaine just stares back at him, eyes wide and wet.
“I’ll tell you something else, too. As soon as the word ‘scared’ came out of your mouth there was no way I was going to let you go back there. No one has the right to make you feel scared in your own home. You’ll stay here, okay?”
Blaine lunges forward, this time burying his face into Burt’s chest as he loses the battle with his emotions. He can’t believe that someone like Burt exists. They stand there for what feels like hours, Blaine sobbing into the worn material of Burt’s shirt and Burt holding him up, one arm around his shoulders and the other around his neck, fingers stroking the soft curls resting against Blaine’s skin. After awhile, Burt clears his throat and Blaine pulls back enough to wipe at his eyes.
“Why don’t you go back upstairs and get cleaned up, take a shower and get dressed, I had Finn leave out some clothes for you on his bed, and then we’ll run by your house and grab some of your things, okay? Your dad should be at work by now, right?”
“Yeah,” Blaine says, voice rough and scratchy. “He usually goes in at 6, and he never gets home until after 9.”
“Alright, so we’ll grab your things and then I’ll drive you boys to Dalton and hang out until practice is over. After that we can grab some dinner. Sound good?”
Blaine nods, shooting Burt a grateful glance before disentangling himself and heading toward the stairs. He’s about to step up onto the bottom step when he hears Burt say his name.
“I meant it, Blaine,” Burt says when the boy turns around. “None of this is your fault.” Blaine frowns a little, but nods nonetheless and he knows that Burt knows he doesn’t believe that.
“Thank you,” he whispers before darting up the stairs.
An hour later, the three of them are in Kurt’s Navigator, heading toward Waynesfield. Burt’s driving, wearing his usual plain shirt and baseball cap. Kurt managed to keep his outfit simple, wearing a form fitting black sweater over a white t-shirt and some grey skinny jeans. He’s sitting next to his dad in the front, leaving Blaine to stretch out in the back, away from the concerned glances. He looks down at his own outfit and has to chuckle at the way the legs of his jeans pool around his feet. Finn was insanely tall, and made Blaine’s 5’8” stature seem even shorter than normal. Finn had managed to find an old t-shirt from his Freshman year that fit Blaine better than any of his newer clothes would have. It didn’t matter much anyways, Blaine would just change once he was in his room. He’s interrupted from his musings by Burt’s voice.
“Waynesfield’s about a half hour drive, right?”
“Yeah. Usually. Depends on traffic sometimes.”
“So how long did it take you to walk it?”
“Umm,” Blaine says, looking down at his lap. “About... about four hours.”
He misses Kurt’s shocked glance and the tightening of Burt’s fingers around the steering wheel, but he doesn’t miss the harsh tone of Burt’s voice when he speaks again.
“You walked, four hours, in the rain, last night?” Blaine ducks down a little, hoping that if he makes himself smaller he can just slide down in between the seats and ignore this conversation.
“Ye.. Yes, sir,” he says, hesitant. “But it wasn’t that bad...” Burt either hears the timidness or notices Blaine’s attempt at disappearing because he’s quick to change the subject. In what feels like no time at all, they’re pulling up in front of Blaine’s modest two-story home, and as Blaine climbs from the car he can’t help but wonder if this would be the last time he’d ever come here. He makes his way to the front door, unsurprised to find it locked, but reaches under the porch swing to extract a key that had been taped to the underside of it. He opens the door and gestures for Kurt and his dad to enter before following them in and locking the door behind him. He sets the key on the small table to the right of the door and starts to lead the other two up the stairs when he’s stopped by Burt’s hand on his arm.
“Blaine,” he says, questioning. “Where are the pictures?” Blaine looks around, just now noticing the bare walls, outlines of picture frames clearly visible from where they’d been hanging the day before. He reaches out to touch one of the brightly colored squares, as if touching it will bring the photo back.
“I don’t know,” he says. “He must have taken them down.” He takes a moment to survey the room, noticing that not all of the pictures have been taken down. His parent’s wedding portrait still hangs above the fireplace and the picture of the two of them celebrating their fifth anniversary in Hawaii still adorns the wall leading into the kitchen. No, there were plenty of pictures of his parents still hanging in the living room. It was just... the pictures of him that were gone. It was strange, seeing your life disappear like his had seemed to, but he shakes his head and makes his way up the stairs anyways. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t live there anymore anyways.
He leads the way down the hallway and opens the last door on the left to what can only be described as total destruction.
The bedclothes had been ripped from the mattress and were scattered throughout the room. Broken CD’s and DVD’s littered the floor and his clothes had been torn from his closet. His desk had been overturned and he could see his laptop laying underneath one of the corners. Upon closer inspection of that he’d discover that the screen was cracked, but that the computer was still in working order. Posters had been ripped from the walls and ripped into such tiny pieces that it would be impossible to distinguish which piece came from which poster. His guitar lay in pieces, the neck snapped clean from the body and only held together by the strings.
And in the middle of it all sits a large pile of broken pictures frames, the pictures in them ripped and crumpled and each depicting the smiling face of Blaine Anderson.
Blaine chokes, bringing his hands up to cover his mouth and turning to run to the bathroom across the hall, only just managing to reach the toilet before his stomach rebells and he is forced to expel the little food he’s eaten. He feels a hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles into his heated skin and he sinks back into the touch gratefully, turning to see Kurt sitting beside him. He reaches up to flush the toilet before grabbing a washcloth and wiping his face and collapsing on the other boy.
Kurt just strokes his forehead, pushing his curls away from his face and letting him lean against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“For what?”
“That you have to deal with this. With me.”
“Shush, Blaine. You’re my closest friend, of course I’m going to be here for you. So apology not accepted. You don’t ever have to apologize for this.”
Burt chose this moment to appear in the doorway, a duffel bag in his hands. He takes in the scene and crouches next to the boys, concerned.
“I found some clothes that seemed to be alright,” he said, frowning at the flushed look on Blaine’s face. “Your laptop seems to be okay, but I couldn’t find a power cord for it. Is there anything else you want to grab?”
Blaine nods and stands to go back to his room. He finds his cell phone and keys in his bedside table, which had someone managed to escape the destruction and turns to rifle through the drawers of his desk, pulling out some pictures and a notebook before walking back over to Kurt and his dad, who’d come to stand in the doorway.
“Can we leave?” he asks, staring at his shoes.
“Of course we can,” Burt says, clapping Blaine on the shoulder and grabbing the duffel bag before turning to head back down the stairs. Kurt turns to follow, but stops when Blaine stays in the room. He looks back to see the other boy taking one more look around the space that he’d been able to call his own for so long before letting his shoulders drop and turning to go out the door. He closes the door behind him and catches up to Kurt quickly, who reaches out a hand for him to grasp. He does and Kurt squeezes gently, reassuringly, and smiles when Blaine squeezes back in silent thanks.
The ride to Dalton is silent, no one wanting to address the tense set of Blaine’s shoulders or the way Kurt keeps ahold of the other boy’s hand the entire trip. Upon reaching campus, Kurt checks his dad in with security and leads him to the parent lounge, where he settles in to watch some television while the boys are at practice.
They walk toward the senior commons slowly, both apprehensive about how they’ll explain the situation to the Warblers. They enter the ornately decorated room to find the council already there. A few of the other boys were seated around the room, most keeping to themselves, but Jeff calls out a greeting to the two, causing everyone else to look over at them. Kurt feels Blaine shrink into him a little, turning his face to hide the bruise on his cheek. Kurt steers him to an empty couch and catches Wes’ gaze as they pass the council members. He gestures with his head to a secluded corner in the room and once he gets Blaine settled, makes his way across the room to meet him.
Kurt leans against the wall, making sure to keep Blaine in sight, and glances at Wes. The older boy is frowning at him, and Kurt knows he needs to start explaining.
“You may have noticed that Blaine isn’t exactly acting like himself,” he says.
“I have. He acted that way when he first transferred, but I thought we’d gotten him past that.”
“Past that?”
“He likes to hide inside himself when he’s hurting. Doesn’t talk to anyone, pushes people away.”
Kurt nods, it wasn't exactly what Blaine was doing now, but it was close.
“He showed up at my house last night.”
Wes shoots him a look. “That’s nothing new, Kurt.”
“Yeah, well, the bruise and split lip were.”
“What?” Wes asks sharply.
“I probably shouldn’t have said that first,” Kurt sighs, smoothing a hand over his hair and watching Blaine look around him warily. “His dad kicked him out.”
Wes grabs for the wall to steady himself. “I... what? I knew his home life wasn’t amazing, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”
“I don’t think it was, but his dad always wanted Blaine to go to Princeton, to lie about who he was, and when Blaine said he didn’t want to do that his dad kind of... freaked out.”
“Freaked out and hit him?”
“Apparently. Anyways, he walked to my house last night...”
“Yeah,” Wes interrupts. “He mentioned that his car was having problems.”
“I think it was more the fact that he didn’t have his keys than that. I mean, from his house to mine is only a half hour drive. But he walked it. Four hours, Wes. In the rain. And,” he laughs, “that’s not even the worst of it.”
Wes gestures for him to continue, making eye contact with David and gesturing to Blaine with his head, silently asking his friend to check on the other Warbler.
“We went to his house today, to get some things for him. He’s staying with me, by the way. But we get there and...”
Kurt doesn’t get to finish, as the doors to the senior commons have just been thrown open with such force that they bounce off the walls and almost hit the person standing in the doorway. All eyes focus on the unknown figure and Kurt sees Blaine flinch back into David, who grabs his shoulders to steady him. It hits Kurt then, just who this man is.
He turns his head back to the open doorway and locks eyes with a very angry Mr. Anderson.
Part Three
Characters / Pairings: Vague Kurt/Blaine. Burt, Carole, Finn.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Vague spoilers for 2.15
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
Summary: Burt's worried and Kurt doesn't understand why. Then Blaine shows up on their doorstep.
A/N: I know. I know. I'm supposed to be writing the epic fic for the Nick-verse. Sorry! I am still working on it, but I'm already 7,000+ words in and still haven't gotten through Special Education. Trust me when I say that this fic is going to be insanely long. Anyways, to keep the creative juices flowing I decided to continue this fic that was originally a one-shot. So here!
Part One
The next day dawns bright and cheerful. Too bright and cheerful for the two teenagers nestled together in Kurt’s bed.
They’d laid in silence for a long while after Kurt’s dad had gone, but just as Kurt was drifting into unconsciousness, he’d felt slight tremors coursing through the arm pressed against his and he’d turned, pulling Blaine to him, one hand planted firmly in the middle of his back and the other rubbing soothing circles into the nape of Blaine’s neck. They’d stayed like that until the early hours of the morning, Kurt occasionally singing into Blaine’s ear in an attempt to quiet the sobs coming from the other boy. Blaine had finally passed out from sheer exhaustion and Kurt had followed soon after.
Both grumble as the sunlight cuts through Kurt’s drapes and folds itself over their faces. They burrow into each other for a few moments, Blaine again succumbing to slumber, but Kurt opens his eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the sudden brightness drifting through his room. He takes in the tousled hair of his friend before lifting his head from where it's resting on Blaine’s shoulder. Standing carefully, he makes sure the other boy is still sleeping before running a comb through his hair and leaving his room.
He finds his dad in the kitchen. He’s standing in front of the stove alternately frowning at a griddle and sending confused glances at the box of Bisquick he held in his hands.
“Hey, Dad.”
Burt turns at his son’s voice, surprised to see him leaning against the doorjamb still in his pajamas.
“Hey, Kiddo. I didn’t expect you to be up this early.”
Kurt shrugs and pushes himself away from the doorway.
“I forgot to close the drapes last night, so the sun woke me up. Do you need any help?” he asked, gesturing the box in his dad’s hand.
“That’d be great. You know I stink at this kind of thing. Carole took Finn out for breakfast so we don’t have to make too much of that.” They busy themselves for awhile. Kurt mixing up the pancake batter and Burt making sure that the griddle is hot enough. Kurt takes some blueberries out of the freezer and then grabs a bag of chocolate chips before turning to face his dad.
“Do you think he’d like chocolate chips or blueberries more?”
“How about you make some of both, so he can choose?” Burt takes the blueberries from Kurt before pouring a bit of the batter onto the griddle and adding a handful of the fruit. “How is he, by the way?”
He hears Kurt sigh, and turns to see him leaning against the fridge rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“I don’t know. Still asleep right now. We didn’t get a lot of it last night, so I wanted to let him sleep in a bit. He was so upset,” Kurt says with a sigh. “Dad... I don’t know what to do.” Burt flips the pancakes, using the time to think about how to answer that before turning to Kurt. He grasps the boy’s shoulders, keeping him still and forcing him to listen.
“You just need to keep doing what you’re doing. Let him cry when he needs to. Listen when he wants to talk. Be there for him, but don’t push him. He needs a friend, someone to care about him...”
“I do,” Kurt interrupts, eyes misty but intense.
“Good. I do too, so does Carole, so does Finn. I’m sure he’s got more people at Dalton that care as well. He has the support system, it's up to him to use it.”
“I just want everything to be okay again.”
“It will be. But it's gonna take time. He’s vulnerable right now, and as much as I hate it, it's going to get worse before it gets better. We’re gonna have to talk to Mr. Anderson. God knows the man doesn’t deserve it, but Blaine is his son and he’s still a minor, it's Mr. Anderson’s decision what happens to him. I don’t want to send Blaine back into that house, but unless he goes to the police there’s little we can do.” It's obvious this isn’t the answer Kurt wants to hear, because he drops his head and Burt can feel his shoulders shaking a little under his hands.
“He can’t go back,” Kurt sobs into his chest and Burt pulls him in to rest against his own chest, dropping his cheek to rest against the top of Kurt’s head. He murmurs reassurances into his son’s hair until they hear timid footsteps overhead and they break apart, hoping to look semi-normal for Blaine’s sake. Burt turns back to the pancakes, and if they’re slightly darker than normal, that’s okay. Kurt, meanwhile, rubs at his swollen eyes ineffectively.
When Blaine finally appears in the doorway, he’s still dressed in his sweatpants and hoodie, hair tousled from sleep, and eyes bleary. Kurt’s putting plates on the table and he gives the other boy a smile, gesturing for him to sit. He does, immediately folding his arms on the table and dropping his head onto them. Kurt pats his back for a minute, quietly asking him if he’d like some orange juice and receiving a slow nod in reply. He sets the glass down gently in front of Blaine and pats his shoulder one more time before heading back to the kitchen to help Burt.
Blaine doesn’t raise his head until he hears the sound of plates laden with food set down on the table top. He takes in the stacks of pancakes, two plates of bacon, and bowl of scrambled eggs and grimaces a little.
“I don’t... I don’t think I can eat anything,” he says, voice soft.
Burt grabs a couple of blueberry pancakes, some eggs and bacon from the plate closest to him, bypassing the salt at Kurt’s hard look and eating them plain.
“You don’t have to if you can’t, but I’d like you to try. You might be surprised at how hungry you are.”
Blaine nods, cautiously taking some of the chocolate chip pancakes and adding some syrup to them before slowly cutting into them. He can see Kurt glancing at him from where he’s sitting and does his best to ignore the concern and just act normal. He chews slowly and is surprised at the growl his stomach gives. He finishes his pancakes quickly and scoops up some eggs before eyeing the two plates of bacon in confusion. Kurt, seeing his dilemma quickly explains.
“This one,” he says, gesturing to the plate closest to the two of them, “is regular bacon, and the one on the other end of the table is turkey bacon.” Blaine nods a bit, eyeing the turkey bacon warily before grabbing a few slices from each plate. He tries to turkey bacon first, grimacing a little at the taste and pushing it to the side, drawing a deep chuckle from Burt.
“Tastes a little like cardboard doesn’t it?” He doesn’t get a response, so he takes a sip of his orange juice and delves into the issues surrounding them. “Blaine.” The boy doesn’t look at him, instead focusing on the patterns the syrup makes as he drags his fork across his plate.
“Do we have to talk about it?”
“The bruise on your face says we do.”
“Dad,” Kurt says, a warning in his voice, and Burt can understand that. He had just told his kid not to push. Resigned, he decides to let that go.
“Blaine, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But there are some things we need to discuss. I called Dalton this morning, and while I was able to excuse Kurt, I’m not on your contact list, so you’re going to have to explain to them why you missed today. Also, do you boys want to go to practice today or not?” Kurt looks to Blaine, leaving the decision up to him, he stares back, eyes searching Kurt’s for a minute.
“We probably should,” he says. “Regionals are coming up, we really can’t afford to miss.”
“Okay,” Kurt says, nodding and standing from the table. “I’ll go call Wes and let him know we’ll still be there.” He walks back up the stairs to retrieve his cell phone and Blaine watches him go, gripping his fork so tightly that Burt’s sure it’ll break.
“Blaine,” he says, ignoring the slight flinch. “I need you to be honest with me, cause if you’re not then I won’t even give you a choice here. Do you want to stay here, or do you think you’re safe at home? Keep in mind that you are more than welcome to stay here, and that I won’t necessarily believe you if you say you’re good to go home, but you’re 17 and you can make your own decisions.”
Blaine stares at him for a minute, face blank. He thinks over yesterday. From coming downstairs to dinner to telling his dad he wanted to go somewhere other than Princeton to the shock and pain of his dad’s fist against his chin. He thought about being dragged from the dining room to the front door and literally thrown out of his house. Thought about the scrapes on his palms from catching himself on the front walkway. Thought about the rain and the four hour walk to Kurt’s house. He looked at Burt and thought about the warmth and kindness and complete acceptance.
“I’m scared,” he admits, shakily. “I mean... he’s never hit me before. Yelled a lot, sure, but it was never physical and you’d think that it would have scared him, or... or shocked him, right? But he just... kept going. I don’t...” he stops, breath stuttering in his chest and Burt rises from his chair and pulls Blaine out of his, engulfing him in a hug and rubbing his back. Blaine sags against him, face buried in Burt’s shoulder and body shuddering with repressed sobs.
“I don’t know what I did,” he chokes out. Burt stiffens before pushing Blaine back a bit and cupping the boy’s face, all but forcing him to make eye contact.
“You did nothing wrong. I’ve said this to Kurt before, and I want you to listen just as much as he did. Your job is to be yourself, and your father’s job is to love you no. matter. what. He’s the one at fault here, Blaine. Not you.” Blaine just stares back at him, eyes wide and wet.
“I’ll tell you something else, too. As soon as the word ‘scared’ came out of your mouth there was no way I was going to let you go back there. No one has the right to make you feel scared in your own home. You’ll stay here, okay?”
Blaine lunges forward, this time burying his face into Burt’s chest as he loses the battle with his emotions. He can’t believe that someone like Burt exists. They stand there for what feels like hours, Blaine sobbing into the worn material of Burt’s shirt and Burt holding him up, one arm around his shoulders and the other around his neck, fingers stroking the soft curls resting against Blaine’s skin. After awhile, Burt clears his throat and Blaine pulls back enough to wipe at his eyes.
“Why don’t you go back upstairs and get cleaned up, take a shower and get dressed, I had Finn leave out some clothes for you on his bed, and then we’ll run by your house and grab some of your things, okay? Your dad should be at work by now, right?”
“Yeah,” Blaine says, voice rough and scratchy. “He usually goes in at 6, and he never gets home until after 9.”
“Alright, so we’ll grab your things and then I’ll drive you boys to Dalton and hang out until practice is over. After that we can grab some dinner. Sound good?”
Blaine nods, shooting Burt a grateful glance before disentangling himself and heading toward the stairs. He’s about to step up onto the bottom step when he hears Burt say his name.
“I meant it, Blaine,” Burt says when the boy turns around. “None of this is your fault.” Blaine frowns a little, but nods nonetheless and he knows that Burt knows he doesn’t believe that.
“Thank you,” he whispers before darting up the stairs.
An hour later, the three of them are in Kurt’s Navigator, heading toward Waynesfield. Burt’s driving, wearing his usual plain shirt and baseball cap. Kurt managed to keep his outfit simple, wearing a form fitting black sweater over a white t-shirt and some grey skinny jeans. He’s sitting next to his dad in the front, leaving Blaine to stretch out in the back, away from the concerned glances. He looks down at his own outfit and has to chuckle at the way the legs of his jeans pool around his feet. Finn was insanely tall, and made Blaine’s 5’8” stature seem even shorter than normal. Finn had managed to find an old t-shirt from his Freshman year that fit Blaine better than any of his newer clothes would have. It didn’t matter much anyways, Blaine would just change once he was in his room. He’s interrupted from his musings by Burt’s voice.
“Waynesfield’s about a half hour drive, right?”
“Yeah. Usually. Depends on traffic sometimes.”
“So how long did it take you to walk it?”
“Umm,” Blaine says, looking down at his lap. “About... about four hours.”
He misses Kurt’s shocked glance and the tightening of Burt’s fingers around the steering wheel, but he doesn’t miss the harsh tone of Burt’s voice when he speaks again.
“You walked, four hours, in the rain, last night?” Blaine ducks down a little, hoping that if he makes himself smaller he can just slide down in between the seats and ignore this conversation.
“Ye.. Yes, sir,” he says, hesitant. “But it wasn’t that bad...” Burt either hears the timidness or notices Blaine’s attempt at disappearing because he’s quick to change the subject. In what feels like no time at all, they’re pulling up in front of Blaine’s modest two-story home, and as Blaine climbs from the car he can’t help but wonder if this would be the last time he’d ever come here. He makes his way to the front door, unsurprised to find it locked, but reaches under the porch swing to extract a key that had been taped to the underside of it. He opens the door and gestures for Kurt and his dad to enter before following them in and locking the door behind him. He sets the key on the small table to the right of the door and starts to lead the other two up the stairs when he’s stopped by Burt’s hand on his arm.
“Blaine,” he says, questioning. “Where are the pictures?” Blaine looks around, just now noticing the bare walls, outlines of picture frames clearly visible from where they’d been hanging the day before. He reaches out to touch one of the brightly colored squares, as if touching it will bring the photo back.
“I don’t know,” he says. “He must have taken them down.” He takes a moment to survey the room, noticing that not all of the pictures have been taken down. His parent’s wedding portrait still hangs above the fireplace and the picture of the two of them celebrating their fifth anniversary in Hawaii still adorns the wall leading into the kitchen. No, there were plenty of pictures of his parents still hanging in the living room. It was just... the pictures of him that were gone. It was strange, seeing your life disappear like his had seemed to, but he shakes his head and makes his way up the stairs anyways. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t live there anymore anyways.
He leads the way down the hallway and opens the last door on the left to what can only be described as total destruction.
The bedclothes had been ripped from the mattress and were scattered throughout the room. Broken CD’s and DVD’s littered the floor and his clothes had been torn from his closet. His desk had been overturned and he could see his laptop laying underneath one of the corners. Upon closer inspection of that he’d discover that the screen was cracked, but that the computer was still in working order. Posters had been ripped from the walls and ripped into such tiny pieces that it would be impossible to distinguish which piece came from which poster. His guitar lay in pieces, the neck snapped clean from the body and only held together by the strings.
And in the middle of it all sits a large pile of broken pictures frames, the pictures in them ripped and crumpled and each depicting the smiling face of Blaine Anderson.
Blaine chokes, bringing his hands up to cover his mouth and turning to run to the bathroom across the hall, only just managing to reach the toilet before his stomach rebells and he is forced to expel the little food he’s eaten. He feels a hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles into his heated skin and he sinks back into the touch gratefully, turning to see Kurt sitting beside him. He reaches up to flush the toilet before grabbing a washcloth and wiping his face and collapsing on the other boy.
Kurt just strokes his forehead, pushing his curls away from his face and letting him lean against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“For what?”
“That you have to deal with this. With me.”
“Shush, Blaine. You’re my closest friend, of course I’m going to be here for you. So apology not accepted. You don’t ever have to apologize for this.”
Burt chose this moment to appear in the doorway, a duffel bag in his hands. He takes in the scene and crouches next to the boys, concerned.
“I found some clothes that seemed to be alright,” he said, frowning at the flushed look on Blaine’s face. “Your laptop seems to be okay, but I couldn’t find a power cord for it. Is there anything else you want to grab?”
Blaine nods and stands to go back to his room. He finds his cell phone and keys in his bedside table, which had someone managed to escape the destruction and turns to rifle through the drawers of his desk, pulling out some pictures and a notebook before walking back over to Kurt and his dad, who’d come to stand in the doorway.
“Can we leave?” he asks, staring at his shoes.
“Of course we can,” Burt says, clapping Blaine on the shoulder and grabbing the duffel bag before turning to head back down the stairs. Kurt turns to follow, but stops when Blaine stays in the room. He looks back to see the other boy taking one more look around the space that he’d been able to call his own for so long before letting his shoulders drop and turning to go out the door. He closes the door behind him and catches up to Kurt quickly, who reaches out a hand for him to grasp. He does and Kurt squeezes gently, reassuringly, and smiles when Blaine squeezes back in silent thanks.
The ride to Dalton is silent, no one wanting to address the tense set of Blaine’s shoulders or the way Kurt keeps ahold of the other boy’s hand the entire trip. Upon reaching campus, Kurt checks his dad in with security and leads him to the parent lounge, where he settles in to watch some television while the boys are at practice.
They walk toward the senior commons slowly, both apprehensive about how they’ll explain the situation to the Warblers. They enter the ornately decorated room to find the council already there. A few of the other boys were seated around the room, most keeping to themselves, but Jeff calls out a greeting to the two, causing everyone else to look over at them. Kurt feels Blaine shrink into him a little, turning his face to hide the bruise on his cheek. Kurt steers him to an empty couch and catches Wes’ gaze as they pass the council members. He gestures with his head to a secluded corner in the room and once he gets Blaine settled, makes his way across the room to meet him.
Kurt leans against the wall, making sure to keep Blaine in sight, and glances at Wes. The older boy is frowning at him, and Kurt knows he needs to start explaining.
“You may have noticed that Blaine isn’t exactly acting like himself,” he says.
“I have. He acted that way when he first transferred, but I thought we’d gotten him past that.”
“Past that?”
“He likes to hide inside himself when he’s hurting. Doesn’t talk to anyone, pushes people away.”
Kurt nods, it wasn't exactly what Blaine was doing now, but it was close.
“He showed up at my house last night.”
Wes shoots him a look. “That’s nothing new, Kurt.”
“Yeah, well, the bruise and split lip were.”
“What?” Wes asks sharply.
“I probably shouldn’t have said that first,” Kurt sighs, smoothing a hand over his hair and watching Blaine look around him warily. “His dad kicked him out.”
Wes grabs for the wall to steady himself. “I... what? I knew his home life wasn’t amazing, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”
“I don’t think it was, but his dad always wanted Blaine to go to Princeton, to lie about who he was, and when Blaine said he didn’t want to do that his dad kind of... freaked out.”
“Freaked out and hit him?”
“Apparently. Anyways, he walked to my house last night...”
“Yeah,” Wes interrupts. “He mentioned that his car was having problems.”
“I think it was more the fact that he didn’t have his keys than that. I mean, from his house to mine is only a half hour drive. But he walked it. Four hours, Wes. In the rain. And,” he laughs, “that’s not even the worst of it.”
Wes gestures for him to continue, making eye contact with David and gesturing to Blaine with his head, silently asking his friend to check on the other Warbler.
“We went to his house today, to get some things for him. He’s staying with me, by the way. But we get there and...”
Kurt doesn’t get to finish, as the doors to the senior commons have just been thrown open with such force that they bounce off the walls and almost hit the person standing in the doorway. All eyes focus on the unknown figure and Kurt sees Blaine flinch back into David, who grabs his shoulders to steady him. It hits Kurt then, just who this man is.
He turns his head back to the open doorway and locks eyes with a very angry Mr. Anderson.
Part Three