My first ever Klaine fic. Please tell me what you think.
Blaine drained the last dregs of his coffee then stretched. "Well, I guess I had better go. I have a huge science essay due in for tomorrow," he declared.
"I'll walk with you," Kurt suggested, beginning to button up his Paddington bear style duffel coat.
"Oh - you don't have to. You live on the other side of town," Blaine said with a little laugh, as if the whole idea was ludicrous.
"I don't mind. I want to walk with you," Kurt reasoned. Blaine looked hesitant, but then he smiled. He gathered up the polystyrene cups and torn sachets of sugar that were scattered across the table, tossing them in to the bin on the way out.
They stepped on to the chilly street outside and Kurt linked their arms together. Blaine smiled. Both of them were past the days of caring what other people thought. As they walked Blaine felt his heart growing heavier with every step he took. He wanted to appreciate the moment for what it was, he wanted to remember later what it felt like to be safe and happy by Kurt's side. He needed the memory to help him get through the night he was sure to endure at home. When they reached the corner near his house, Blaine span around and caught Kurt in a kiss.
"Thanks for walking me," he said.
"What, you don't want me to walk you to the door?" Kurt asked.
His brow was furrowed in the concerned way that Blaine had come to know so well. Kurt glanced over at Blaine's house, noticing at once the battered red car in the drive way. Blaine watched as Kurt's eyes lit up.
"Your dads home?" Kurt said. Blaine's mother had left him when he was four, and as an only child he shared his home only with his father, who was always away on business. Blaine never spoke about his father much, and Kurt was desperate to meet him.
"Can I come and say hello?" Kurt pleaded.
"Er, maybe not today. He's just got back - he'll be really tired," Blaine explained. He fumbled with the buttons of Kurt's coat as if trying to distract him.
Kurt pouted. "Fine. But I'm going to have to meet him someday," he reasoned, kissing Blaine on the nose with a flourish and waggling his fingers as he turned the corner. Blaine sighed heavily, watching until Kurt was a tiny spec in the distance, and turned to walk through his gate.
As soon as passed through it, Blaine instantly felt as though a dark cloud had descended above him. His whole body felt heavy, his feet aching as he sluggishly walked up the short steps that lead to his porch. He paused outside the door for a moment to reassure himself that maybe, maybe, this time would be different. Blaine opened the door.
"Dad?" he called.
No answer. Then, as soon as he crossed the threshold, Blaine smelt it. Whiskey. It wasn't a smell most people could catch from far away, but Blaine's nostrils burnt with the scent of it. It made him stomach turn. Even more slowly than before, Blaine walked down the hall and in to the kitchen. As expected, he found his father slumped across the kitchen table, a half empty bottle of whiskey in front of him, another empty bottle poking out the top of the trash can.
"Hi dad," Blaine croaked.
Hank Anderson's head rose. He looked a lot like his son, though older and considerably more rugged. His nose glowed the red of an alcoholic, like some cruel caricature of Rudolph. His bloodshot eyes were dark like Blaine's, though no where near as warm. Instead the dull, charcoal black irises were set like rocks in a sea of murky pink sclera. Hank hadn't seen his son in over a month, but he looked less than pleased.
"Where you been, boy?" he grunted.
"Out. With a friend," Blaine explained. His heart was already doing somersaults. Blaine was sure any minute it would leap up in to his throat. Why did he allow himself to get so worked up?
"A friend," Hank sneered scathingly, "You've been with your fag, haven't you?"
"Don't call him that," Blaine hissed through his teeth, his hands balling in to fists at his side.
"You don't even deny it!" Hank shouted, "I should have made your slut of a mother take you away with her, because I tell you one thing boy, you sure ain't no son of mine!"
"Good!" Blaine yelled, surprising both his father and himself, "Because I'd hate to be like anyone who could be considered a son of yours!"
Blaine saw the vein twitch in his father's temple, and knew he was for it. He ditched his satchel immediately and made a dash of the door. He heard his father roar, then the scrape of a chair. "You get back here, boy!" Hank roared.
Blaine flew up the stairs and in to his room. His eyes darted around madly as he searched for something to defend himself with. Then his father appeared, and he knew it was too late. Hank made a run for his son, and it was then that Blaine noticed the empty whiskey bottle clutched like a dagger in his fathers hand. Blaine cried out as Hank shoved him hard against the wall, and had no time to make an escape as the whiskey bottle crashed down on to his skull with a hard thud. The glass shattered and sprayed in sharp shards like snow all around the room and in his hair. Then a fist connected with his face, and as Blaine felt the blood pour in to his mouth he knew this was it.
He was going to die.
Kurt kept on smiling all the way down Blaine's road and back near the coffee shop, where he could catch a bus home. The only thing that bothered him was that with Blaine gone, he was freezing. Kurt kept his hands buried deep in his pockets as he walked. He arrived at the bus stop with a few minutes to spare. Then just as Kurt saw the bus turning in at the top of the road, he felt an uncomfortable jerk in his stomach. Something was wrong with Blaine. Kurt couldn't explain how or why he knew this, but a strong intuition told him that he wasn't wrong.
The bus wheezed to a stop beside him, but Kurt shook his head at the driver and turn back around, breaking in to a jog as he made his way back to Blaine's house. A small thought lurking in the back of his mind told Kurt that he was being silly, overly paranoid. But Kurt didn't want to risk it. He assured himself with the thought that if nothing was wrong, he would simply explain the story to Blaine and they'd laugh about it. Then hug. Or kiss. Or something.
Kurt hoped he was wrong.
When he arrived outside Blaine's, Kurt discovered that the car was no longer present in the driveway. Had Blaine gone out with his father? Kurt gingerly opened up the gate and made his way down the path. He knocked feebly on the door, suddenly feeling hugely idiotic. There was no answer. Was no one in, or had Blaine simply not heard him?
Kurt took in a deep breath as he quickly pushed down on the handle. To his surprise the door flung open. Feeling more nervous by the second, Kurt let himself in to Blaine's house. He called again. No answer. Kurt made his way up the stairs to Blaine's room. It was then, on the landing, that Kurt heard the whimpers. His heart froze up like a lump of ice.
"Blaine?" Kurt cried. He rushed in to his boyfriends bedroom.
The whole place was trashed. Glass glittered all over the carpet like fairy dust, the chest of drawers was upturned, the cork board hanging off the wall. And in the corner, in the midst of all the debris, was Blaine. He was curled up in a ball, quietly sobbing. A trail of blood ran down from his head, even more dripped down his chin. Kurt rushed over.
"Blaine!" he yelled.
Blaine squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh God, Kurt. I didn't want you to see me like this. I didn't want you to be scared, and now you are - Oh God, just go, go before he comes back! Do you have enough money for the bus? My head - Oh God, my head!" he moaned.
"Blaine, ssh. You're rambling!" Kurt whispered. He gently wrapped an arm around Blaine, steadily lifting him up and lying him down on the bed. Blaine continued to groan.
"Honestly, I'm going to be fine," he insisted.
"Did your father do this to you?" Kurt demanded to know, deaf to Blaine's pleas.
"Y-yes," Blaine replied shakily.
Kurt sat down beside Blaine on the bed, cuddling his boyfriend to him. "It's going to okay," he muttered, though his voice nearly cracked with the effort of trying not to cry, "Has he always been this way with you?"
Blaine nodded with a wince. "Ever since I was about t-twelve. Ouch, my stomach hurts," he mumbled.
"Let me see," Kurt said softly, "Come on - I won't hurt you."
At a snails pace, Blaine lifted his shirt. Kurt swore delicately under his breath. Purple and yellow bruises blossomed all over Blaine's stomach, two long scratches curled like strands of red ribbon around his rib cage. Kurt couldn't hold it in any longer. He began to cry.
"Ssh, baby. Don't," Blaine begged. Kurt sobbed even harder.
"We have to get you to the hospital," he declared, "We have to show them what he's doing to you. We can't let him get away with it!"
"No," Blaine said, his voice suddenly sharp, "No one can know. They'll take me away, God knows where. I can't let them do that, Kurt. I can't let them take me away from here - from you."
Kurt gazed at him sadly. "So you're just going to stay around and put up with this? He could kill you, Blaine!" he reasoned tearfully.
"It's a risk I'm going to have to take," Blaine sighed bravely, "As soon as I graduate I can move away. I'll never have to see him again."
"Come and live with me!" Kurt begged, "I'd have to explain to my dad, but he'd never tell. You'd safe with me - please Blaine, I can't leave you here. I need you to be safe."
Blaine shook his head sadly. "I wouldn't want to be a burden," he replied, "I can handle myself, it was just this time... this time he was really mad. But if I keep my head down, my mouth shut, don't antagonise him... everything will be fine. He'll be gone again soon." He spoke with hard determination.
Kurt slowly brought himself to nod. He knew there was no getting through to Blaine, no way of persuading him. He cuddled Blaine against him again, and they both grew silent as Kurt's fingers danced through Blaine's hair, brushing away the powdered glass. Eventually Kurt heard soft snores, and when he looked down he saw that Blaine had fallen asleep in his arms. Kurt smiled. Blaine looked so contented, so peaceful, so safe.
They stayed that way for a while. Kurt soon felt the first pricks of pins and needles in his arms and feet, but he wouldn't shift position for the world. He was going to stay that way until Blaine woke up. Kurt hummed softly to himself.
He kissed Blaine's smooth forehead, singing the last line of his song outloud.
"And I will try, to fix you."