WARNINGS: homophobia, gay-bashing, depression; allusions to self-harm and suicide
Their family has always had one major problem, and while Blaine's always tried to convince himself that it's fine – other families have problems that are much worse, like abuse, neglect, addiction, etc. – it didn't stop the hurt that came with the issue. Since Blaine was young, back when Cooper reached high school and his father suffered that huge demotion, they've always had a problem with communication. On the outside, they're The Average American Family that graced every television set in the fifties, but underneath the surface they're boiling with dysfunction.
As time progresses, the issues have only increased. Cooper moving to L.A. and living his dream turned Blaine away from him. Blaine coming out put a rift between him and his father. Blaine's ever-growing problems with bullying and loneliness and the reactions they trigger have made his relationship with his mother fragile as she tries to help, and Blaine only pushes her away.
It's hard to learn, hard to battle their dynamic and begin to change, but they have to do it. There's only so long until Clara and Alan have an empty nest, and the moments they're all together will become less and less. Slowly, but surely, they promise to repair things.
And eventually, it becomes enough.
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July 4th, 2008 | Cooper
Cooper doesn't even know why he's here, in all honesty. He doesn't want to be. He just saw his family last month, and that was only his immediate family. A family reunion? That's a whole different story, and Cooper really wishes he could be taken out of it.
He could have made something up, could have said he had a really important audition, or a meeting with some big-wig producer – anything having to do with his career, honestly. The lowly Andersons of the Midwest would understand.
Beer in hand, Cooper collapses back into a lawn chair, surveying the scene around him. His father and his uncle are bent over the grill, talking and laughing. His mother is in a crowded group with the rest of Cooper's aunts. Blaine's sitting at a picnic table, reading. Most of the cousins are running about, holding onto glow sticks or sparklers. A few of the guys are moving carefully around one of the back picnic tables, and Cooper suspects firecrackers. He laughs to himself, remembering when he was the leader among them.
However, when a firecracker does go off about two minutes later, Cooper is no longer laughing. He's furious as Blaine howls with pain, a hand slapped to the back of his calf. He curls up on himself as their cousins laugh raucously, and Cooper knows that he's trying hard to keep from crying. The adults look around at the commotion, and Cooper spots his father looking highly embarrassed, his mother worried.
People are starting to move now, and Cooper springs out of his seat, making it to his brother before anyone else and pulling him aside. Tears have escaped Blaine's eyes, and Cooper pulls him into a hug. Their cousins are now being thoroughly scolded by their parents. Quickly, their own mother reaches them, holding her arms out for Blaine. Cooper passes him off, looking around to see that his father has subsided into the background, shaking his head and grimacing. Cooper glares at him, but he knows Alan can't see him.
With a feeling of resentment settling in his stomach, Cooper turns back to his mother and Blaine. It seems that Blaine is calming down a bit, but he's still relatively shaken up for such a stupid prank.
"No – no – I'm fine, Mom," he's saying, but his voice is trembling.
"Blaine, honey – "
"Mom," Cooper interrupts, feeling Blaine's distress. He walks up next to her, leaning in to whisper quietly. "Let me just talk to him, alright? Go back to Aunt Julie."
"You sure? I don't know about – "
"Mom," Cooper says, raising a lazy eyebrow. "Trust me."
She huffs and then turns to give Blaine one more pat on the knee before leaving. As soon as she's gone, Cooper joins his brother on the picnic bench, eyeing the red mark on his leg. It's not a bad burn, but Blaine should probably put some ice on it just in case it does decide to blister.
"Alright," Cooper says, slinging an arm around Blaine's shoulders. "What's going on? Usually you're tough enough to be the bigger man and not give anyone the satisfaction."
Blaine shakes his head, biting his lip.
"No, don't give me that," Cooper says, and he softens his voice a little. "Seriously, Blaine. Just tell me what's going on. Something's really bothering you, and it's not just that mediocre firecracker stunt."
Blaine sighs heavily, letting his head droop. "I'm just tired of Louis teasing me. I'm tired of all of his stupid jokes and his pranks and all the names like 'loser' and 'little girl' and 'fag.' It just – it gets old, you know?"
His eyes are welling with tears again, and Cooper leans forward, holding Blaine tightly to him.
"Don't' listen to a word he says, Blainey."
Blaine just sighs again, breath shaky. "But, Cooper – what – what if he's right?"
Cooper pulls back, looking at Blaine seriously. "What – that you're a loser? Well, Blaine, that's just his opinion. Who cares what he – "
"No," Blaine says forcefully, and he leans forward, lowering his voice. "Cooper – what – what if I am a fag?"
Cooper swallows hard, feeling his pulse quicken. He's always had his hunches, but he's not sure if he's ready for this moment just yet. Not in the middle of a family reunion, not where other people might hear them and Cooper can't protect him from harsh reactions.
"Cooper, I'm – I'm thirteen," Blaine says, voice going even quieter. "All of my friends have been on dates with girls. A few of them have real girlfriends, but I – what – what if I don't want that, Cooper? What does that mean?"
Cooper takes a deep breath, trying his best to look happy or supportive or something positive.
"What do you want, Blaine?" he asks slowly. "Be honest, what do you think? How do you feel?"
Blaine takes another shaky breath and presses his eyes closed against the freshest onslaught of tears.
"Cooper, I – I don't – I don't think I like girls," he says quietly, voice small.
"And what about boys?" Cooper asks tentatively.
Blaine lets out a strangled sob in response, and Cooper immediately reacts, pulling Blaine against his chest again. Blaine buries his face in Cooper's shirt, and Cooper reaches up to cup the back of Blaine's head in his palm.
"It's okay," he whispers. "Blaine, it's okay. Shh. You're okay."
It takes awhile for Blaine to calm down, but eventually he pulls away, sniffling and hiccupping.
"You're – you're okay with that?" he asks Cooper. "You're okay if I'm – if I'm – I'm gay?" He chokes out the last word as if it sears his throat.
Cooper takes a second to answer, smiling sincerely as he presses his hands on either side of Blaine's face. "Blaine," he says slowly. "You're my little brother, and I love you. I'll always love you. Of course it's okay with me, and screw anyone else."
Blaine can't even reply. Instead, he just shoves his face back into Cooper's shirt and holds onto his big brother tightly. Cooper's not looking forward to the mess ahead of them, but at least they'll have each other.
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January 22nd, 2010 | Clara
The hospital room is quiet. It's been quiet for the last week, filled only with the sound of hushed conversation and the beeping of the monitors that surround her son's bed. Clara's been desperate, trying so hard to get her son to talk, but he hasn't budged. He only speaks when he needs help getting to bathroom or when he can no longer ignore the hunger that ripples in his stomach. Otherwise, he's remained mute. He spoke to the police about the incident, but he won't speak to anyone else. He refuses.
Blaine's watching a movie now, Alan's laptop propped up on the food tray.
At least he's relaxing now, Clara thinks. The first few days were torture; no one could get Blaine to calm down. He had three panic attacks the first day, one the second, and two more the third day. They had to sedate him for the first two and the last, and Blaine had only grown so steadily wearier.
Blaine has three cracked ribs, a broken wrist, and a concussion, but Clara's far past worrying about them. Those injuries – they'll heal, but Clara knows the emotional and mental damage will last. Blaine's always been such an eccentric kid, so talkative and eager to engage the world. This last week, he's been the opposite, and Clara's scared she'll never see the other side of him.
She's been trying hard, she really has, but she has no idea how to help her son. She's tried talking to him, appealing to him with the promise of safety, given him several ideas for aide such as getting him a therapist, but nothing – nothing is working.
(And it really doesn't help that her husband is so distant).
Even Cooper, though he's been away for some time now, hasn't been able to get Blaine to respond.
Clara looks up as a nurse enters the room, a clipboard in her hands and a smile on her face. Blaine pulls the earbuds out of his ears and regards the nurse with a nervous expression.
"Good afternoon, Blaine," she says cheerfully, and Blaine forces a smile.
"Good – good afternoon."
"We've got your latest x-rays back," she tells him, "and it seems the healing process is going quite well. You should be checked out of here in the next couple of days. I'll just have to speak with your doctor and we can make a final decision."
She walks around now, checking up on Blaine's vitals. He lets the news sink in, and Clara watches as an uneasy expression crosses his face. Clara's heart clenches, and she waits anxiously in her seat until the nurse leaves them with an encouraging smile.
"Blaine, sweetheart?"
Clara stands up, approaches him carefully. His breathing is starting to grow heavier, and Clara knows if he doesn't calm down he's going to have another panic attack.
"Blaine? Blaine, honey – take a deep breath. Remember what Doctor Walton said? Close your eyes, count out a few deep breaths – "
Blaine lets out a frustrated noise before he listens to his mother. He lets his eyes flutter shut and begins breathing deep. Clara reaches a gentle hand out, and Blaine takes it, holding on tightly. He counts out ten breaths before he's calmed down. With a final sigh, he looks up at Clara again.
"You okay, honey?" she asks, a small waver in her voice.
"Better," Blaine replies, nodding.
Clara bites her lip before reaching out, laying a hand against Blaine's cheek. "Blainey, you know I'm going to have to ask – "
"Mom – "
"Seriously, Blaine. I want to know how to help you. I can't do that if you don't even tell me what's wrong."
Blaine sighs again, blinking hard. "It's not – it's just – it's hard to explain," he gets out at last. "I just – I don't think I'm ready to leave."
Clara blinks, confused. "The hospital?"
Blaine nods, and Clara lets her hand drop, wrapping her fingers around Blaine's.
"Why?"
Blaine shifts uncomfortably, avoiding his mother's worried gaze. "I'm afraid. I – I don't want to go back to school yet. I – I know those guys got expelled, but I'm – I'm afraid. There are other kids, other – other people who hate me, and I – "
He's getting worked up again, and Clara stops him, giving his hand a squeeze.
"Honey, do you really think your father and I are going to allow you to go back to that school?" Clara asks. Blaine looks back to her, eyes wide. "We're not. Never. You need to be safe, Blaine. And we're either going to find you somewhere safe, or – or I'll homeschool you if need be."
Blaine visibly relaxes, his shoulders releasing from their tensed-up position. He smiles weakly, muttering a, "thank you." Clara leans forward in response, pressing a soft kiss to her son's forehead.
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January 31st, 2010| Alan
It's strange, seeing half of Blaine's room boxed up. Alan didn't think this day would come for four more years. Of course, Alan knows Blaine won't be far. Dalton Academy's only three hours away, and Blaine can come home any time he wants.
It's been hard, these last few weeks. For Blaine, certainly, but also for Alan, his wife, and their other son, Cooper. For so long, Alan has been in denial. He thought that maybe, all of this was a phase. Tomorrow, Blaine would come home from school and announce that he had a date with a lovely girl from his class.
Now, Alan is starting to realize that won't ever happen. His son is gay, and he has to accept it. It's going to be difficult, but he'll try. In the meantime, Alan wants to know Blaine is safe, that those notorious football players and any others who think like them won't hurt his son again.
(Somewhere deep down, Alan knows that makes him a hypocrite, but knowing that he would never lay a hand on his son allows him to sleep at night. As long as he keeps Blaine safe and healthy, it's enough.)
"Hey, Dad – you need any help?"
Alan looks around to find Cooper waiting in the doorway. He looks tired and worn out; this attack has really taken its toll on him. Sometimes Alan wishes he could be more like his sons. As brave as Blaine, as tolerant as Cooper, and as loving as the two of them put together.
"Yeah, yeah – we just need to get about – " Alan breaks off to count briefly. "Five things down to the car. Those three boxes and Blaine's two suitcases."
"I'll get the suitcases," Cooper says, moving forward.
Alan follows after him with a quiet sigh, hauling the boxes into his arm. Downstairs, Blaine is sitting with his mother, his face bruised and his arm in a sling. Alan's heart clenches as he passes by. This really isn't going to be easy for Blaine. Not only is he going to be the new kid in the middle of the semester, but he's going to be the new kid with a story on the news and the evidence to back it up.
When everything is settled in the trunk, Alan turns to Cooper.
"Head on inside, Coop, and when you do, could you send your brother out here?"
Cooper gives a nod before turning away. Once he's gone, Alan heaves a huge sigh and leans against the side of the car. He knows it's only three in the afternoon, but God, he could really go for a beer or two right now.
The front door opens again, and Blaine moves carefully down the steps. He's tentative, nervous, and Alan has really grown to hate how scared his son seems to be of him. He always tells himself he'll do something to change that, but he never does.
"Son," Alan greets with nod.
Blaine nods back, but doesn't say anything. He stands awkwardly beside the car, not quite meeting his father's eyes.
"Blaine, relax," Alan says, and he curses himself internally for how frustrated he sounds.
Blaine tries, but he doesn't succeed.
"I just want to talk," Alan continues carefully. "I – I know things have been hard for you, and I just want to make sure you're doing okay."
Blaine nods again, biting his lip. "I'm – I'm not really, but thanks, Dad."
Alan presses his lips together, looking beyond Blaine, towards the house. "Is – is there anything I can do to make this transition easier?"
Blaine chuckles dryly, humorlessly. "Not really, no."
"Well, what's – what's worrying you, Blaine? Is it the location – being away from home? I know the coursework is a lot tougher, but you're a smart kid, Blaine. You were top of your class at your old school."
"It's not any of that," Blaine says quietly, looking down at his feet. He looks so small, so much younger than his fifteen years of age. It's almost like he's seven years old again, having just wiped out on his bike and while his sprained ankle is healing, he looks after Cooper wistfully as his brother rides away with the other neighborhood boys.
"Then what's the matter?"
"I just – I'm tired of being alone," Blaine says, voice a whisper. "I know Dalton has a zero-tolerance no-bullying policy, and that's why we picked it, but I just – I can't help but think the other guys will shun me anyway – the new gay kid who got beat up at his high school dance. He's probably unstable now, be careful." He laughs again, and it sounds terribly bitter.
"Blaine," Alan says, frowning. "Blaine, don't say that. I'm sure you'll find friends easily at Dalton."
"That's what everyone says," Blaine huffs. "What if I don't?"
"If you don't like Dalton, you don't have to go, Blaine," Alan says, and adds with a smirk. "I won't be too crushed not having to pay the tuition."
Blaine offers a weary smile in return. "And that – you're not – you're not worried about that if I do decide I like it there?"
Alan shakes his head. "No. Money is nothing in comparison to your safety, son. Your mom and I have told you that."
Blaine remains quiet, nodding to himself looking down again.
Carefully, Alan reaches out, resting a hand on his son's shoulder. "Just go for a week, a month, however long it takes you to decide you do or don't like this new school. If you don't like it, we'll find another one. If you do, you can stay, and don't worry one bit about the financial part of it, okay? Your mother and I wouldn't have offered to let you go if we thought it would bankrupt us."
Alan hesitates, but ultimately leans forward, wrapping his arms around his son's shoulders and pulling him into an awkward hug.
"You'll be okay, Blaine. I know you will."
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April 3rd, 2011 | Cooper
"Cooper?"
He blinks, surprised by how breathless Blaine sounds. It's eight at night, and it's also spring. Blaine's definitely not answering from soccer practice.
"Blaine, are you – did you just go for a run or something?"
"No," Blaine says, breath still uneven. "I just – I was – "
There's a voice in the background, and the line crackles before Cooper hears his brother's distant voice again, shushing someone. Another crackle.
"Hey – Coop, can I – can I call you back?"
"Wait – " but the line goes dead, and Cooper's left staring uncertainly at his cell phone screen.
A half-hour later, it flashes with the name, Blaine Anderson. Cooper hesitates before slowly unlocking his phone and holding it up to his ear.
"Hello?"
"Hey," Blaine says, and Cooper can hear the smile in his voice. "Sorry about that."
Cooper narrows his eyes, suspicion rising inside of him. "Yeah – what – what was that all about?"
Blaine, the bastard, laughs. No, no – he giggles. Like a fucking schoolgirl, and Cooper raises his eyebrows, waiting impatiently for his brother to explain himself. Blaine doesn't, apparently lost in whatever memories he's reminiscing.
"Blaine," Cooper urges.
"Cooper, I – I, uh, have something to tell you."
"Yes?" Cooper asks, slightly irritated when Blaine doesn't continue.
"Do – do you remember Kurt?"
"Yes," Cooper says. "He's like your new best friend, right?"
"Not anymore," Blaine says, but oddly enough, there's nothing sad about his tone.
Cooper's confused again. "Wait, what are you – "
"I – I may or may not have kissed him," Blaine says slowly. "And we may or may not be dating, currently."
It takes a second or two for all of that to sink in. Cooper blinks a few times before excitement bubbles up in his throat and he's jumping out of his seat, eyes wide, practically shouting, "Wait are you serious, Blaine?"
Blaine laughs again, happy and bright. "Yeah, I'm serious. Kurt – Kurt is my boyfriend."
"Oh my God," Cooper breathes, sitting back down again. "I'm so happy for you, squirt. Have you told anyone else?"
"Well – everyone at Dalton already knows, so – "
"What about Mom and Dad? What did they say?"
"Uh – nothing," Blaine says, voice going quieter. "I – I haven't told them, yet."
"Why not?" Cooper demands.
"Because," Blaine starts, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Mom's way too overbearing, and come on, Cooper – everyone knows Dad still thinks this is all a phase. Hell, he's still trying to set me up with his co-workers' daughters. He'd flip out if I told him I had a boyfriend."
Cooper's heart does a small nosedive. "Maybe – maybe Dad just thinks you're bi, or something? I mean – you did go out with that one girl in your glee club, right?"
Blaine sighs heavily. "Yeah, but – ugh, nevermind."
"No, what?" Cooper asks stubbornly.
"Even if I had never dated Rachel, Dad would still think the same thing," Blaine explains, exasperated. "He's been in denial for over a year, Cooper. He's not going to come around any time soon."
"Don't be so sure," Cooper says, but Blaine's right.
Their father's never been a fan of any of Blaine's flamboyant mannerisms, never been a fan of Blaine's sense of style, he only tolerated Blaine's love for theater and singing because of Cooper's ambitions to become an actor, and he's been denying Blaine's sexuality long before Blaine ever came out. Their mother knew when Blaine was five; Cooper knew when Blaine was ten, their father? He's known, but he's never accepted it, always hoped Blaine would change his mind – as if he had the choice.
"Yeah," Blaine mutters quietly. "Well, we'll see, Cooper. I'll have to tell them eventually, but right now I'd appreciate it if you don't say anything to them."
"I won't," Cooper promises.
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February 5th, 2012 | Clara
Just over two years ago. It's only been that long since Clara sat in the very same hospital, once again at her son's bedside. It hurt back then, and it still hurts now, but for very different reasons. The injuries are less, as are the reasons for this attack. And it's stupid, Clara thinks, that this all boils down to show choir rivalries. It's stupid, but at the same time, it's not. Because this time it wasn't a couple of drunken homophobes that hurt Blaine, it was his friends.
Friends that Blaine's had for years. Friends that were there for Blaine during some of the lowest moments of his life. Friends who took that broken and battered Blaine from Sadie Hawkins to the bright, smiling, confident performer he is today. Except now they've shattered him all over again, and though Blaine's good at hiding his pain, Clara knows this incident has affected him greatly. Sure, he has Kurt, and Kurt's doing wonders for him, but there's no replacing those friends Blaine held so dearly.
Kurt's just left, and Clara knocks on her son's door half-heartedly before stepping inside. Blaine is curled up on his bed, his one good eye closed.
"Blaine?"
The eye flutters open, and he pushes himself up weakly. Clara lowers herself beside him, running a hand along the back of her son's head.
"How you feeling, honey?"
"Nauseous," Blaine grumbles. "Is it safe for me to take more Ambien yet? I just want to sleep until the surgery."
"I'll get you some," Clara promises. She bites her lip momentarily, unsure how to approach the next subject. "First, I – I want to talk to you about something, Blaine."
His eye narrows.
"When I was bringing laundry upstairs, I couldn't – I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Kurt," Clara starts carefully.
"Wait – " Blaine's eye goes very wide, and his cheeks are suddenly dusted with red. "Which conversation?"
Clara blinks before continuing on, choosing to ignore her suspicious mother instinct. "The one about the Warblers, and how upset you really are about this whole ordeal."
Blaine looks momentarily relieved before an unsettled expression crosses his face. "Mom, we don't – we don't have to talk about this. I already talked about everything with Kurt."
"I – I know," Clara says, "but I just – I like to know this things, Blaine. I'm your mother, and if there's any way I can help – "
"There isn't," Blaine cuts in, and then looks immediately sheepish. "I mean – thanks for worrying, Mom, but – but there really isn't anything anyone can do. Friendships don't last, and – and well, when I transferred to McKinley, I really should have suspected something like this would happen."
"No, you shouldn't have," Clara argues. "I know you didn't get to see your friends as much as you would have liked, but choosing to go back to public school to face your demons and spend more time with someone you deeply care about is your own choice, and they should have respected that. It didn't mean you cared about them any less, and frankly I'm appalled by those boys' behavior. How many times did I allow them into this house, Blaine? How many times did I extend hospitality to them, and this is how they repay me? This is how they repay you? You've done so much for them, Blaine. Forgive me if I'm upset by all of this."
Blaine sighs, but a hint of a smile tugs at his lips. "Look, Mom. I'm not happy with what happened. It sucks to lose friends, but I promise you, I'm going to be okay. Honestly, I think you're more upset about this than I am." He laughs, and Clara feels some of her worry dissipate.
Blaine's always been so strong, such a little soldier. He continuously amazes her the way he handles things so well and trudges through the pain. She really couldn't be prouder to have him for a son.
"You're probably right," Clara agrees, defeated. "But still – if you want me to have a word with their mothers – "
"Mom," Blaine says sternly, holding up a hand. "Please don't bother."
Clara rolls her eyes, rubbing Blaine's leg before she stands up. "Fine. I won't do anything. Don't worry."
"You positive?" Blaine asks.
"Positive. Scout's honor."
She holds up three fingers, and Blaine laughs again. It's almost a relief to hear it, but on the flipside Clara has no doubt that Blaine will be fine.
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April 11th, 2012 | Cooper
Blaine shuts off the camera, closing the screen.
"Thank you for that," Cooper says, and he means it. He's starting to realize what a horrible brother he's been, the last few years especially. He doesn't deserve Blaine, honestly. He doesn't deserve all of that kindness and generosity, but he's thankful for it nevertheless.
"No problem," Blaine replies, smiling up at his brother.
Cooper feels a surge of guilt, remembering how only hours ago, Blaine's expression was much the opposite: exhausted, irritated, and hurt. Cooper had felt betrayed at the time, but really that should have been Blaine. Since Cooper's move to Los Angeles, he's only grown increasingly distant, increasingly arrogant, and he realizes that now. When he was younger it was easy to brush off, because back then, he made it clear that he loved his brother. He hasn't been there for Blaine in a long time, and he feels awful.
"Blaine," he starts cautiously, expression a mixture between curiosity and sadness.
Blaine's smile falters. "Yes?"
Cooper takes a deep breath. "I know – I know we kind of had a moment back there onstage, but I – I just want you to know how sorry I really am."
"Coop – " Blaine starts, waving a hand, but Cooper cuts him off.
"Don't. Blaine, be honest, seriously," Cooper says, voice stern. "I'm here, I'm listening, and I want you to tell me – these past few years, what have you thought of me? Don't sugarcoat."
Blaine just stares at him for a second, hesitating, and thoroughly confused.
"I'm not kidding," Cooper urges. "You've held a lot of things in, haven't you? You've made that clear, Blaine. Now, just be honest – what did you think when you heard I was coming back here?"
Blaine opens his mouth, still unsure. "I – I wasn't looking forward to it, to say the least," he says quietly.
"Good," Cooper says, and Blaine gives him a look. "Why?"
"Because life was tough enough without having you rag on me," Blaine says honestly, but the harshness immediately falls away. "Look, Cooper – we already talked about this. I – "
"No, keep going." Cooper flashes Blaine the most serious look he can muster.
Blaine hesitates again, but when Cooper's eyes go rabid, he continues without haste. "Well, it's just – it's that you get down on me a lot, like I said, and I mean – it really adds to all of my insecurities, you know."
Cooper nods, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in his throat. This is the exact opposite of what he's ever wanted in regards to his relationship with Blaine. Cooper knows he's a cocky person, and a control freak, but he loves his brother more than words can convey.
"And I'm – I'm already jealous of you, Cooper," Blaine says slowly. "You've always been the favorite son, and now you're in LA, living your dream, and I'm – I'm sitting back here in the Midwest in a hated show choir, and it's just – " Blaine sighs, looking down at the ground.
Cooper takes a step forward, laying both of his hands on Blaine's shoulder. "You remember what I told you earlier – on that stage?"
Blaine looks up, nodding.
"I meant it, Blaine." He heaves another sigh. "Look – you and I – we both know that a gig for credit card company's commercials isn't exactly 'living the dream.' I've been working hard to do more than that for so long, Blaine. Which is, by the way, why I'm so thankful for you helping me out with this audition tape." Cooper bites his lip, staring at his brother for a moment. "Blaine, you're going to get so far. Farther than me, I'm sure. And faster too. You know – the reason I'm so vocal and obnoxious about my job is because, well – like I said, it's not a lot, but it's all I have. You understand?"
Blaine smiles, leaning in for another hug.
"I understand, Cooper. And – thanks for the encouragement. Really. It means a lot coming from you."
"I wish it didn't," Cooper mutters. "You should be saying 'you're just saying that, Cooper. You're my brother.'"
"No," Blaine says. "I'm glad you're honest with me, Cooper. You're what's made me better."
Cooper feels his eyes prick, and that's it. The moment has to be over. He's not going to cry over this. Not Cooper Anderson. He only cries for the camera, not because his brother says something incredibly sappy.
Except he does.
He hugs Blaine tightly, and when he pulls back, he tries to wipe his eyes quickly, but Blaine sees and teases him about it until he finally leaves to return to Los Angeles.
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September 29th, 2012 | Clara
Clara turns the stove off and brings the last of the food to the dinner table. Her eyes graze over Blaine's seat and she sighs. For the last few weeks, she's seen him less and less. Most of the time he stows himself away in his room all night, even asking for dinner upstairs. Clara feels like she hasn't seen him since August.
With the table ready, and Blaine still nowhere in sight, Clara heads out of the kitchen. She glances up the stairs, debating just a moment before she heads up. She knocks on Blaine's door half-heartedly before peeking her head inside.
Blaine's lying down on his bed, curled up with a blanket draped over himself from the waist down. Moulin Rouge is playing on his television, and – Clara counts in her head – that makes it the third time so far this week that he's watched it. Clara knows the movie is a significant to his and Kurt's relationship, and her heart breaks for Blaine.
He looks around as she steps inside, pausing the movie.
"Hey, Blainey," she says delicately.
"Hey, Mom," he sighs, pushing himself up.
"Dinner's ready," she says, lowering herself onto the bed beside him. He doesn't say anything, and Clara reaches out, smoothing a hand across Blaine's forehead. "You feeling alright, honey?"
Blaine shrugs. "It's been a rough week. All my teachers decided to give tests at once."
Clara narrows her eyes slightly, looking closely at her son. "Are you sure that's it, Blainey? You've seemed really down lately, and not like yourself."
It's quiet for a moment as Blaine stares at the bed, fingers tracing the plaid pattern. "It's Kurt," he says at last, heaving a deep breath. "I just – I really miss him, and every time we talk it seems more and more like I don't matter to him. He's got this big, great life in New York, and I'm – I'm still this Lima loser."
Clara places a gentle hand on Blaine's upper arm. "Honey, don't say that – "
"But it's true," Blaine argues. "Kurt's out in the world now. He's in New York, he's working for Vogue, and I'm – I'm happy for him, I am. He deserves it more than anybody, but I just – I can't help but feel like I'm not enough anymore. I'm still in high school, still stuck in Ohio, and I feel like I'm just holding him back. He doesn't need me anymore, and I don't blame him but I – I – "
He trails off, sighing once more.
Clara frowns, rubbing her hand up and down Blaine's arm.
"Blaine, I'm – I'm sure you're just overreacting, sweetheart," she starts. He begins to protest, but she cuts him off. "It's not that I don't think you're worrying is unwarranted, but I think you're over-thinking things a bit. Honey, I'm sure Kurt still values and loves you just the same. You simply don't get to see each other every day, and maybe that makes it harder to read each other. Technology is a great tool, but it can't transfer everything."
Blaine bites his lip, and Clara watches as the cogs turn slowly in his mind. She knows how stubborn he is, and as much as he would like to listen to Clara, she can tell that he's set on believing whatever situation he's crafted in his mind. Nothing Clara says is going to help; only Kurt would be able to ease his pain.
Clara thinks about calling him, about saying hello and subtly hinting that Blaine is taking the separation extremely hard, that maybe it would do them good to start communicating a little more clearly, but Clara knows she can't intrude like that. Blaine wouldn't want her to, and there's a chance Clara could only make things worse for them.
Instead, she hands off that torch to Blaine.
"Just talk to him, Blaine," she says, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Blaine's forehead. "Tell him that you're unhappy, that you're worried about the state of your relationship. I'm sure you'll find that Kurt loves you just the same, if not more."
Blaine nods, but he still won't meet his mother's eyes.
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October 13th, 2012 | Cooper
Blaine sniffles again, and Cooper knows he's about to cry – and not just silent tears, but the kind of ripping sobs that will make Cooper's chest hurt and his stomach twist. He tightens his grip on his cell phone, biting his lip as silence rings between them.
"Blaine," Cooper prods carefully. "Squirt, you – you haven't told me yet – why – why did you guys break up?"
"I – I don't think I can tell you," Blaine says, voice trembling. "Cooper, it's – I just – I can't – " He sounds like he's going into panic mode, and Cooper takes a deep breath for him.
"Blaine – Blainey, listen to me. Blaine?"
A sob escapes his throat, and Cooper ignores the pain that shoots through his heart.
"Listen to me, bud. Just breathe, alright?"
Cooper hears him struggle, more sobs escaping as he tries desperately to get himself under control. He hiccups a few times before his breath is even, and Cooper waits a moment to make sure Blaine isn't about to lose it again.
"You okay?" It's a stupid question, Cooper knows.
"Relatively," Blaine replies, voice still unsteady.
"Alright," Cooper mutters. "Um – just – start slow, Blaine. Take it easy. You don't even have to get into details, okay? Just whatever you feel comfortable telling me, whatever you need to get out."
Blaine takes another deep breath, and it's noticeably shaky. "Well," he starts hesitantly, "the – the whole distance thing really hasn't been easy."
"Understandable," Cooper remarks, subtly encouraging his brother to continue.
"And – and Kurt – he's been so busy with his job at Vogue, and I – I hadn't really had time to talk to him that much, and when I did – it – it was like he didn't even care about me anymore, Cooper. I – I could feel him slipping away, and I – I – "
He breaks off, and his breathing starts to become more rapid.
"Hey," Cooper says softly. "Deep breaths, Blainey, deep breaths."
Blaine listens, steadying himself again.
"Cooper, I – I did something awful." His voice lowers to a whisper, drenched in pain. "I thought – I thought I was losing Kurt, and – and then this guy friended me on Facebook, and he – he invited me over to his house, Cooper – " He hiccups, choking back a sob. "Oh, God – Cooper, I – I went over there, and I – I let him touch me, and Cooper, I – I didn't even care. I didn't even think about Kurt, I just – I just took it. I – cheated, Cooper, I – "
He trails off again, dissolving into tears, and fuck, Cooper wishes he was back in Ohio. He wishes Blaine were telling him this in the privacy of his room, Cooper sitting on his bed right next to him. He wishes he could reach out and touch Blaine's arm, giving him some kind of comfort. He wishes he could wrap his arms around Blaine and hold him together as he cried into Cooper's shirt.
But Cooper has to sit back in Los Angeles, on the other side of the country, as his brother falls apart on the other end of the phone line.
"The look on Kurt's face," Blaine chokes out, "when I told him. Cooper, I felt like I was dying, and God, I wish I was. I – I hate myself so much it feels like I'm drowning in it. I've – I've hurt so many people, Cooper. So many. Kurt, his family, his friends – everyone looks at me so differently now, and I – I can't stand it. I can't stand this anymore, Cooper. I – I wish I was – "
Cooper feels like he's drowning too, suffocating with the inability to be there for his brother, the inability to make him see that this is just a mistake. People make them every day, and Blaine's no exception. It doesn't mean he's a terrible person and that he deserves the death penalty or anything like that, but – but Blaine's always been so prone to self-loathing. So quick to blame and hate himself over anything that goes wrong. Cooper couldn't change Blaine's mind if he tried.
But Cooper does try. He tries as hard as he can over the phone, hundreds of miles away.
"Blaine, do me a favor," he says slowly. "Can you listen to me, again?"
Blaine chokes again, trying his best to calm down. "I'm – I'm listening."
"Blaine, I know you feel awful," Cooper says. "I know it hurts, but trust me – that's a good thing. You've recognized your wrong, and you tried to fix it. Kurt will need time, I'm sure you know that. But in the meantime, you have to learn to forgive yourself, okay?"
Blaine sighs heavily. "Cooper, I – I don't know if I can do that."
"Will you at least try?" Cooper asks.
"Cooper – "
"For me? Come on, Blaine. I hate seeing you like this."
Blaine gives in, but Cooper can tell from the moment the words leave his lips that it's a lie. He just wants to satisfy Cooper, wants to have one less burden of foreign hatred resting on his shoulders.
"Fine. I'll – I'll try, Cooper."
"Good. And promise me, Blaine. Whenever you're feeling like this, especially if you – if you think you might hurt yourself, talk to me, okay? I know how you've reacted to things like this in the past, and just – promise me you'll call, okay?"
"Okay."
The word is empty, Cooper knows, and Blaine's fingers are probably crossed behind his back, but Cooper takes it for now. As long as he can sleep comfortably tonight.
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November 23rd, 2012 | Alan
Alan raises his fist up to the door, taking a deep breath before he knocks. A shuffling sound comes from inside the room before Blaine's voice calls out, tired and worn.
"Come in."
Alan does so cautiously, stepping inside with hesitance. He looks around, eyeing half-filled boxes, some spilling their contents onto Blaine's desk, his bed, the floor. He can't tell if they're being packed or unpacked.
"So – what's the verdict?"
Blaine follows his gaze, looking around. He lets out a sigh as he collapses onto his bed. "I think I'm staying," he says quietly.
"At McKinley?" Alan asks, and Blaine nods.
"I don't – I don't feel completely comfortable there, but Dalton feels even worse at this point. Singing with the Warblers again – it was nice, but they're – they're not my friends anymore, I have to remember that. Of course – I have about one and a half friends at McKinley, but – "
Alan doesn't reply initially. His eyes graze over his son's expression, noting how tired he looks, how much thinner he is, how dark his eyes have turned, and how lifeless all of this makes him appear. Alan has noticed this change taking place, and these revelations have kept him up many a night, having long, worrisome conversations with his wife on the health of their son.
They had one just last night, and Clara pushed him to speak with Blaine, knowing he would only push her away further. He might actually listen and compromise with his father.
"Blaine," Alan sighs. "I think – I think you and I need to have a serious talk."
Blaine meets his eyes, suddenly fearful. "Dad, I'm sorry about all of this. I'm not trying to be difficult – "
Alan holds up a hand, halting him.
"Son, you're not being difficult. Please don't think that. It's just – your mother and I, we're worried about you. You haven't seemed yourself lately, and we just want to know what exactly is going on, and if – if there's any way we can help."
Blaine looks down, twisting his fingers together. "I'm – I'm fine, Dad. I mean, yeah – things – things have been kind of hard recently, but I'm fine."
"Blaine, forgive me," Alan says, "but wishing to transfer schools doesn't seem like something you'd want if you're fine."
"The last time I transferred, I was," Blaine points out, but Alan has a retort ready.
"And the time before that was also when you were having a difficult time."
The two of them are quiet for a moment, neither quite sure how to gently argue their cases. Alan tries to mentally urge Blaine to look up, to meet his eyes so Alan can understand, but Blaine's dead-set on whatever lies he's tried to make himself believe.
"Blaine, you're not happy," Alan says, voice stern, but understanding. "You haven't been for awhile. And I know, son – I know things have been difficult since you broke up with Kurt, but it – it's been months. You're still shutting yourself off, still isolating yourself. You don't feel comfortable with your friends in glee club, you've been struggling to keep your grades up though you've always been top of your class. Something's wrong, and I want you to be honest with me."
Blaine is silent for a long moment. He continues to twist his fingers together, and Alan can almost see his brain working over-time, a war raging within himself as he battles between staying quiet or coming clean.
At last, a confession slips through his lips. "It's – it's not just Kurt."
"Then what is it?" Alan asks without missing a beat.
"I don't – I don't know," Blaine says, voice shaking. "I just – I feel bad. Really bad. And the last time I remember feeling like this was after the Sadie Hawkins incident. But this – it's worse, Dad. The thoughts that go through my mind – they're scaring me, and I – "
He stops himself, swallowing hard. He's still looking down, but Alan can see that tears have started running down his cheeks. Gently, he places a hand on Blaine's back, right between his shoulder blades.
"If you're comfortable," Alan starts carefully, "would you mind telling me what these thoughts are?"
Blaine shuts his eyes tightly, shaking his head. "I don't – I can't – " He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to continue, and Alan keeps his hand steady. "I just – I feel like – like I'm worthless," he breathes. "Like – like nobody even needs me and they'd be better off if I was gone."
A mixture of emotions rises in Alan following Blaine's confession. For the most part, he's overwhelmingly worried and concerned, but he can also feel bits and pieces of guilt, regret, and denial. He and Clara have thought over this possibility, discussing it every other day for the past two months. They have plans, and backup plans. They have the number to a suicide hotline written down on a Post-It note sticking to their bedside table, as well as various local therapists' information.
Alan rubs his hand in circles on Blaine's back. Blaine's fighting back tears, and quickly losing. In retaliation, Alan takes his other hand and presses it against Blaine's upper arm, holding him awkwardly. He's not used to being this affectionate with his son, but if it'll make a difference, Alan is willing to try anything.
"Blaine," he says softly, leaning closer to his son, "do you remember after Sadie Hawkins, when we sent you to that doctor in Cincinnati?"
Blaine nods, wiping at his nose. "It was awful," he recalls. "I didn't want to talk, but she wouldn't take no for an answer."
Alan presses his lips together for a moment. "Your mother and I have been thinking," he says, "and we'd – we'd like to send you back to therapist. Would you like to see someone, Blaine?"
Blaine hesitates only a second before he nods, more tears filling up his eyes. "I'm – I'm tired of feeling like this," he whispers. "I think – I think I really need help, and I'm – I'm willing to take it this time."
Alan pulls Blaine a little closer, turning and kissing the top of his son's head. "I'm glad," he says, and shit, he thinks his own voice is about to crack. "Blaine, I know you and I don't have the easiest relationship, but, son, I don't want you to feel like this either. I want you to be happy and enjoy your life, and your mom and I – we're willing to do anything. Therapy, time in a hospital, medication – whatever you need, Blaine , we'll give it to you."
Blaine lets out a choked sob, leaning into his father's side. "Thank you."
"It's not a problem," Alan replies quietly, and he simply holds his son tighter.
.
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December 7th, 2012 | Cooper
His parents had warned him. He was a correspondent in all of this, sharing the conversations he'd had with Blaine and offering his own advice, and still, he felt a sick swooping in his stomach when his parents told him that yes, Blaine had definitely been suffering from symptoms of depression and they'd signed him up for therapy right away.
Cooper's relieved, honestly. His conversations with Blaine had only been growing more and more worrying, and Cooper had been growing more and more weary, uncertain about what he should do and say. He's always been so good at reading his little brother and offering help, but depression, self-harm, suicide – those are things has no idea how to even begin to approach.
But he calls Blaine anyway. On the day of his first appointment, Cooper calls him to ask about how things went and offer his support. He knows Blaine will need it right now. Even though he and Kurt are talking again, things are still so rocky and uncertain between them.
Blaine answers after the third ring, sounding overwhelmingly tired. "Hi, Cooper."
"Hey, squirt. How you feeling?"
"Exhausted," Blaine replies immediately. "I didn't think talking could take up so much energy."
"So you talked this time, then?" Cooper asks, and Blaine replies with a breathy chuckle. It's not the ear-splitting belly laugh Cooper wishes to hear again, but it's enough.
"Yeah, I did," Blaine confirms, and Cooper can hear the grin in his voice. Blaine's proud of himself, even if he can't admit it, and so is Cooper. Blaine's gone through so much in the past few years, and Cooper's amazed at how often he's able to keep pushing on. "We talked a lot about Kurt, and about the whole . . . cheating thing. After that I just went on and on about why it's so easy for me to hate myself. Doctor Baker said it was normal, though. That . . . depression messes up my thinking. That's what we're going to work on I guess – changing the way my brain works."
"Well, that's good," Cooper comments. "Do you think it will be helpful?"
Blaine takes a moment to answer. "Yeah. I mean – I hope so. That, and the medication."
Cooper's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh – you got medication?"
"Yeah," Blaine says. "I went to the hospital after the appointment and Doctor Thredson put me on Zoloft. They said it'll take awhile for it to work – anywhere between two to six weeks, I think. So, we'll see."
"What about now?" Cooper asks. "Do you feel any better now? I mean, I know one therapy session isn't going to just magically cure you, but – do you feel any sense of relief? Are you glad you're in this recovery process?"
Again, Blaine takes a second to answer, taking time to think. "I am," he answers at last. "Cooper, these thoughts – thoughts of hating everything about me, thoughts of hurting myself, thoughts of giving up – it's been terrible. Even when I was relatively happy, when I was a part of the Warblers, and when I was with Kurt, they were still there. Cheating, breaking up with Kurt, nearly losing him altogether – all of that just sped everything up and brought it to light. I think I've needed help for a long time, and yeah, finally getting it is a huge relief."
"Good," Cooper says, and he feels a lump rise in his throat, a prickling feeling stabbing at his eyes. "Blaine," he sighs, "I'm so proud of you – I hope you know that. You have had so much shit happen to you in your life, and you're still here, battling it out. You know, sometimes I wish I had just an ounce of the amount of bravery you have."
A sharp intake of breath comes across the line, and Cooper waits.
"Cooper," Blaine breathes. "Cooper, I – "
"Don't try to be modest," Cooper interjects. "You've come a long way. Be proud."
"I still have a long way to go," Blaine mumbles.
"And you'll get there," Cooper says encouragingly. "I have faith in you, Blaine."
"Thank you," Blaine says quietly. "It – it means a lot, Cooper. And, you know, I couldn't have gotten through half the stuff I did without your support."
It's Cooper's turn to be modest, except – that isn't exactly who he is. "Yeah, I know. I'm a pretty awesome brother, right?"
Blaine laughs, and yeah – that's the one Cooper's missed. "You are," Blaine promises, and the statement is punctuated with a yawn.
Cooper takes that as a cue. "Well," he sighs. "I supposed I should let you go. It's getting late, and I know you said you were tired. Goodnight, Blaine."
"Goodnight, Cooper," Blaine replies. "And seriously, though. Thank you."
"Of course," Cooper says. "I'll be here, Blaine. Always. As long as you need me. I love you, squirt."
"Love you too, Coop."
The line crackles before going dead, and Cooper lowers the phone from his ear. He takes a moment to let the conversation sink in, to really understand what's happened. Still, after all these years, Blaine still has the uncanny ability to amaze Cooper with his strength. Yes, he's had his fallouts, and recently, he probably nearly fell completely, but he pulled through, and that's something Cooper will always, always admire.
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April 11th, 2013 | Cooper, Clara, and Alan
It's been a long night.
And it's obvious by the state of the Anderson house. Half-eaten dinner still sits on the table, a few dishes haphazardly thrown in the sink. The television is on, though the volume is turned low. On the couch in the living room, Blaine, Clara, and Alan are curled up, a blanket resting across each other's laps. The home phone sits on the coffee table in front of them, Cooper on speaker.
It's nearing two in the morning now, but none of them want to leave each other's sights/hearing ranges. Blaine's obviously tired, curled up against his mother with his head resting on her shoulder, but he fights sleep with everything he's got. This is the first time in a long time he's ever felt so at ease with his family, and definitely the first time in a long time he's ever felt so close and connected with all of them.
A lot has been said tonight. Confessions have spilled out of everyone's mouths – from Alan's admittance of exploration in college, to Blaine's confession of having a suicide plan this past November, to Cooper being honest about how much he hates his job with – everything imaginable, both hilarious and heartbreaking has been said.
It's never been easy, communicating with each other, but faced with the possibility of losing one of their own – it's shocked them into talking. Blaine was welcomed home to bone-crushing hugs that afternoon, and he didn't waste any time returning them. Both of his parents fussed over him, making sure that he was alright. His father asked for any physical injuries, and his mother went the opposite route, asking if she should schedule a sooner appointment with Dr. Baker. Blaine reassured both them that he was fine, that he just wanted to relax tonight, and so the three of them relocated to the couch.
They've been in the same spot since then, leaving only to prepare dinner and eat minimal amounts of it, still too shaken up and worry-ridden to properly eat.
Cooper had called around four, having just received his mother's anxious messages. The moment Alan answered, he started shouting and yelling, panicked as he waited to hear about his brother's condition. Blaine had cut him off, shouting "I'm fine!" into the receiver. It had taken a second for Cooper to process that information, and he'd sighed hugely in relief, gaining a chuckle in response. No one was quite sure why they were laughing, but it probably had to do with the immense amount of panic that was now suddenly lifted.
The confessions started just a half-hour into Cooper's call, when he admitted that his worst fear was that something would happen to Blaine while he was so far away, and he'd never get to say goodbye. That was what plagued his nightmares at night, what shook him awake with a cold sweat.
Alan had followed with a similar confession, replacing Blaine with all three other members of his family.
And on the four of them went, sharing their deepest fears and most embarrassing moments and things they've never told anyone else before. Blaine and Alan are the two that admit the most, being the ones who are so keen to bottle up everything inside, and after that realization is made, the two of them feel the relationship between them strengthening. For so long, Blaine's felt so detached from his father, but as it turns it out, he's more like his father than anyone first believed.
The night ends at around four-thirty in the morning when Blaine passes out with his head in his mother's lap. Alan's sitting at his feet, watching his son with a content and peaceful feeling settling in his heart. He's learned so much about Blaine tonight, and really, he's so proud to call Blaine his son, so grateful to be gifted with a child like him.
Clara watches him with a similar expression, and for her, tonight has been about learning to trust Blaine and teaching him how to trust her. She hasn't known how to help him lately with the depression and the isolation and everything in between. It's hard for her, forcing herself to back off and allow Blaine the space he needs, but she's learning. In return, it seems that Blaine has learned to accept her help and communicate what he needs.
Now Cooper, he's tried lately to be honest with Blaine, to show him how much he truly cares, but it's hard to understand that over the phone, while Cooper remains so far away. But tonight, Cooper's made it clear, both to Blaine and to his parents, and he's made a promise to come visit as soon as he can.
It's been a long night; it really has, but it wasn't a waste.
For the Andersons, this night was a chance to learn and to teach each other. So many things are out in the open now, and looking to the future, they're all sure that this kind of communication will be beneficial. Honesty is what they've been missing for so long. And trust, and reliance, and dependence on one another. They've been separated for far too long, shutting themselves away from each other.
After tonight, hopefully that won't be the case, and they can move on from these silent years of struggle, becoming the family they've all so longed to be.