Blurb:

From the second he knew his father had died, Blaine's life had been turned upside down. Blaine watches as his life crumbles slowly. His sister practically tossing her father's death nonchalantly to the side, and his mother is depressed as ever. Blaine thinks his life is over, until he meets Kurt Hummel, the lead singer of their rival glee club, and a disapproving friendship blooms.


A/N: Okay, so this is the first collaborative piece of work the missus or I have ever tried. So, yeah, this is a collaboration between Hannah - the most awesome person, and wife I've met and had - and myself. I should explain that there is a six hour time lapse between the two of us, so we may struggle to update on a regular basis as it is sometimes hard for us to both be online at the same time and still get a decent amount of sleep and whatnot (especially when I have my GCSEs coming up, and Hannah will have homework and probably exams, I'm not overly sure about that as the American schooling system confuses me). However, we will try our hardest to update as frequently as possible.

Guys, like just about every other person in the fandom, we don't own Glee, just overactive imaginations and a lot of feels for our ships.

So, without further ado, we present to you Coming to Terms. We hope you enjoy it, and feel free to leave us feedback. Thanks, Jennah (that's our ship name ;3).


Prologue.

Standing there and watching his father being lowered in to the ground, in to the cold, lifeless dirt, was one of the hardest things Blaine had ever had to do. Not only was it the fact that, well, it was his father, it was also because the two of them had only recently become close. Due to his father's ignorance and fear, Blaine and Richard Anderson had exchanged very few words over the course of three years. When he came out as gay at thirteen, he had known there would be consequences, but had also hoped that his father would support him in his choices like the rest of his family had. Of course, that was not the case, and it had taken Blaine's father three years filled with only mumbled monosyllabic words when necessary, and disregarded half glances from his son before he realised that Blaine was still the same boy – well, man (his son had matured in those three years that he had treated him like a stranger, much more so than he had expected) – that he had known before.


Blaine still remembered the tears that had rimmed his father's hazel eyes, a mirrored reflection of his own eyes, as he had stood up, crossed his study and pulled him in to a hug, saying about how he was so sorry, and that he knew he didn't deserve it, but he hoped Blaine would forgive him. In a heartbeat, Blaine had agreed, tears filling his own eyes and streaking his cheeks as he cried on to his father's shoulder and accepted the loving words, numerous apologies, and hugs. He bit his lip hard as his eyes became like they had that day, only now he was not getting his father back – he was losing him. After only four months of having him back, he had lost his father again.

Richard Anderson had taken a quick trip to the grocery store when he was murdered. He had only gone out to get milk and eggs, but had also wound up getting his life taken from him in a matter of minutes. He had been leisurely walking out of the small grocery store when he was suddenly taken by the arm and dragged in to the darkness of the alley. Whomever had grabbed Richard had been strong, their hands covering every inch of Richard's mouth, making him unable to yell for help. He had been shoved in to the cold, ridged brick wall, and taken aback when he saw, not one, but three teenagers in McKinley letterman jackets. McKinley High School was the school his two children attended, and he had heard them go on about the 'dumb jocks' who 'ruled the school', but he never knew they were aggressive, he simply thought his children had a skill in exaggeration.

Whilst searching the alley for a sign of help, a glint of silver had struck his eyes. A wave of panic had come over Richard as his eyes widened and his breathing stopped. The one that had the knife in his meaty hands had had an evil smile growing across his lips while the other two were watching closely as the knife inched towards Richard's stomach. Richard's eyes were stinging with the thought of dying. He had so much more of his life left. He wanted to see Rachel and Blaine graduate high school, and fall in love with someone. He wanted to become a grandparent with his wife, and spoil them rotten. Seconds before the blade had struck his stomach, he thought about Blaine. He had treated Blaine like he wasn't even his son for those three long years. He had never regretted anything more in his life than not talking to him when his son needed him the most. He was ripped from his thoughts when the bulk figure in front of him said six little words that made Richard's heart drop in to his stomach.

"This is for your faggot son!"

Before he knew it, Richard had felt a sharp pain go through his stomach and his vision blurred. The meaty jock's hand fell from Richard's mouth, and he started running along with his two accomplices. Richard's gaze left the boys and went to his stomach. He had gasped softly when he saw his shirt covered in blood. His hands touched the wound softly, making sure it was real, and he winced at the touch. His knees gave out at the sight of his own blood on his hands, and he dropped from his knees to fall on his bleeding stomach. The side of his face crashed with the cold concrete, and the sound of a crack had filled his ears and the alleyway. He saw the husky teenagers running towards the end of the alley and towards his gleaming car. Richard's vision was faltering, but he could see one of the boys doing something to his car. They had started running away when they saw the manager of the grocery store coming out, puzzled at why three boys had suddenly run away. That's when he saw him. At the end of the atramentous alley lay a man holding his stomach for his dear life. The older man ran towards the injured one and saw that he had been stabbed, and called the ambulance immediately. When the ambulance arrived, it had been too late.


As his sister stood singing at the wake, people lingered around her, watching in awe. He frowned. She was smiling. She was actually smiling. Why was she smiling? This was their father's wake. Did the fact that they had just buried their father not phase her at all? He bit his lip to hold back the tears. He knew his sister was, well, to put it lightly, a bit of an attention whore who would snatch up the spotlight in a heartbeat, but this was unbelievable. It was like their father dying didn't affect her at all, like she had just gotten over it in the few days after the discovery of their father's dead body, as if seeing his limp, pale… corpse (it still hurt to admit that he was gone, and the term 'corpse' instantly screamed DEAD), laying on the metal bed in the mortuary, a white sheet covering what they were told was a fatal stab wound that had hit several vital organs. It still made his stomach turn just thinking about it. What the police had told their mother later that evening had just about broken him: "Yes, your husband's car was found in the parking lot of the grocery store. And, umm, there was some… damage done to it." Blaine shouldn't have listened, but he needed to know. And then he saw the picture that the officer had handed to his mother. Sprayed across the front windscreen of his father's car in neon pink paint were the words 'FUCKING FAGGOT'. Blaine had whimpered lightly in the back of his throat at this, and fallen back against the wall he had had his body pushed against as he eavesdropped in to the conversation between the police officer and his mother. He had had to bite his fist to stop himself from sobbing loudly and getting caught.

Tears slid down his cheeks as he recalled the conversation. Rachel sent him a slightly confused look before jerking her head towards where she was singing, asking him to join her. His jaw dropped slightly before he began to run, pushing his way through the crowds of people that knew his father, and wanted to show their respects (unlike his sister), and made his way up the stairs as fast as he could. When he was in his ensuite bathroom, he sobbed and stood with his hands braced on the sides of the basin, clutching it until his knuckles turned white. He was biting his lip hard, the coppery flavour of blood beginning to hit his taste buds. A white, tear-streaked face stared back at Blaine as he looked in the mirror. It was like he wasn't even seeing his own reflection. Usually, he would see tan skin and bright, glistening eyes when he sought out his reflection. A heavy sob wracked through his body as Blaine realised that the only thing about him that resembled his father no longer held the same appeal. His eyes were now dull and glassy, not welcoming at all; they now played host to tall, concrete walls that homed a scared little boy, keeping him out of view, out of sight of the world's inhabitants. The tears continued to fall, sliding down Blaine's cheeks and falling from his chin in to the sink.

Tears pooled in Blaine's eyes as the words flashed in his head constantly.

FUCKING FAGGOT!

The words never left him. Sure, he had had them thrown at him before, but he was a tolerant person and could handle shallow people and their slurs, but this one hurt the most. This one had left a constant ache in his heart because… it had hurt his dad. Why did it have to hurt his father? Why could it not hurt him physically? The physical pain he could handle, it was just the emotional pain that he couldn't. It was eating him up inside, but it was no less than what he deserved. He had to endure this pain, for his father; had to be strong, for his mother and sister.

The words would never leave him. They itched beneath his skin. He stared at the rivulets that ran down his arm through angry tears. No, they would never leave him, he had made sure of that.

FUCKING FAGGOT!