Cooper Anderson has never felt more useless. He's just there, standing there, watching his baby brother cry and shake. There's nothing he can do. It's not because he doesn't want to help, to grab him and hold him until he's okay, until he feels finally safe. Cooper can't touch anything anymore. All he can do is watch and cry silently, leaving the rest of the world oblivious to the fact that he's even there anymore.
He watches with wide, watery blue eyes as Blaine nurses a bloodied nose, wincing with each dab of the peroxide soaked rag against his cracked, bruising skin. Just another notch to add to his belt, a meaningless addition to a list of scars and stories that he can be nothing but ashamed of. "Blaine…" He whispers softly, reaching out and resting invisible fingers on the boy's shoulder. He can feel his younger brother trembling as he turns around, seeming staring right at Cooper. He sees nothing though, and sinks down against the vanity, entire body shaking with sobs.
"Come back," He wills quietly, and it's times like these that the older Anderson brother wonders if Blaine realizes that he's there, that he's never left. Sometimes it seems like they can carry a conversation, but he knows it's all a story in his head. His mind making things up so he can believe that he's a comfort to the struggling boy as he endures things no teenager ever should.
"You always protected me," Blaine whimpers, pulling his knees to his chest. Cooper feels a pang in his chest. All the times their father would lash out at Blaine, he had stepped in. He had taken the hits, the beatings, and all the disgusting insults that had been meant for the little boy, but applied to him, too. That made Cooper feel the guiltiest of all. Blaine had been so brave, to be open about who he was. He was only fourteen when he came out to the family, with the proudest smile that Cooper had ever seen on his face. Cooper never saw that smile again. His father swore up and down that he'd beat the gay out of him, that he'd cure him if it was the last thing he ever did.
Cooper remembered when he finally told Blaine why he endured it all for him. How Blaine had sat, fifteen years old and still small for his age, tucked up on the edge of Cooper's bed with his legs tucked underneath him, listening with open ears and wide eyes.
"I love you, Blaine." Cooper said, settling on the edge of the bed next to him, and pressing a hand to the younger boy's face.
"I know that, Big Brother," He answered innocently, canting his head to the side.
"No, Blaine. I'm in love with you. Only you, and it's always been you."
Blaine hadn't responded. He just sat, staring at his brother with puppy-dog hazel eyes before he leaned forward and pressed their mouths together, firmly. They'd spent hours kissing, touching, and whispering over-due 'I love you's' that neither had ever expected to express. Blaine asked if Cooper would ever come out. Cooper said he would, if it would make it easier for Blaine.
And it did. Suddenly the Anderson's perfect son was flawed, disgusting. Cooper wasn't as strong as Blaine. He'd never heard such awful things come out of anyone's mouth. And the beatings seemed to come more often, harsher and more torturous. The slang grew more offensive. Cooper crumbled.
Blaine found him in the unconscious in the bathtub one Monday morning, an empty bottle of pills tipped over on the vanity. He did everything he could to save him, but by the time the ambulance got there it was over. All they found was a note that no one ever dared open. Blaine's father had no interest, and Blaine? He was just too afraid to believe that his brother was gone. He hoped that maybe, if he didn't read the note, he wouldn't have to accept it. Cooper could come back and everything would be okay.
It wasn't that easy.
And now two years later, all Cooper did was watch Blaine, the love of his life, struggle. He stood on the sidelines, wondering if he'd ever be okay, if he'd ever get away from all this. He hoped he would. No one deserved to be treated like this, but especially not Blaine.
"Why didn't you take me with you?" Blaine sobbed, tears and snot and blood running down his face. "You could've saved me," Another stab in his chest, more salt in the wound. Cooper left the bathroom, unable to watch anymore. He was gone by the time Blaine emerged about twenty minutes later, stumbling sadly into his bedroom. On the corner of the bed, the envelope with Cooper's suicide note in it rested, opened with the page sticking out. Blaine's heart stopped momentarily as he crept forward, reaching for the note and unfolding it. In Cooper's beautifully sloppy handwriting it read;
How could I save you, if I couldn't save myself?