I'll Wait For Life
Kurt/Blaine
PG-13/T
Allusions to some adult themes.
Written for this prompt on glee_angst_meme:
"On they're six month anniversary, Blaine drives Kurt to a bridge on the outskirts of Lima. He proceeds to tell Kurt the story of his bullying and how he had almost jumped off the bridge two years ago."
He's looking down into the depths of the water below, fingers slipping from the railings. All he can see is the broken sunset and the harsh line of the bridge on which he stands; even leaning over as far as he dares, there's nothing of himself, because he is nothing.
His breaths clatter in his throat, his heart racing as if it's trying to exhaust a lifetime of beats in a matter of minutes.
Suddenly, he's acutely aware of every part of himself. There's the scar on his left knee from years ago, falling off his bike. The birthmark by the crease of his elbow. The little calluses on his fingers from guitar-playing. The black eye. The cuts on his face. The drag of grazes on his arm. The blush of bruises on his back.
How ironic that the time he feels most alive is right before he's going to lose this feeling altogether.
He hums a few tuneless notes to stead himself, staring into the watercolour glow of the sun, desperate to make something so beautiful his last sight.
It's burned onto the backs of his eyelids when he closes them.
He takes a deep breath.
Smiles.
Lets go.
Of course he doesn't jump.
Not this time.
Because where would the story be if he did?
Later on, he won't remember much of the whole thing.
All he'll know of is the sunset, a man in a chequered shirt, and the feeling of being completely and totally alive.
It's that year that he transfers, because, "Dalton Academy has a strict, zero-tolerance policy to deal with all kinds of bullying and harassment."
It's where he knows he can finally be safe.
He'll find that singing and that quicksilver flash of a thrill that passes through him whenever he gets up on stage, while not equalling that sensation of simply being, comes pretty close.
He'll find a boy on a staircase whose presence exudes the fragility of all that is beautiful.
And maybe, just maybe, at the same time, he falls in love.
It might take him a while to realise it, but yes, Blaine Anderson is in love.
It's just a shame that the unhealed nerve endings in his heart are just beginning to tear open again.
Fear.
Fright.
Tension.
Hatred.
Pain.
Love?
For Blaine Anderson, love is first and foremost associated with disappointment and hurt.
They're clutched in each other's arms to protect themselves from the cold of the night. The stars hang like crystal in the mobile of the sky, icy and indifferent. Blaine leans over to rest his head in Cameron's lap, feeling the warmth radiate from his body and smiling.
"What's the time?" he mumbles, hoping not to be kept waiting for much longer.
"Ten past ten," Cameron tells him, checking his watch. "He shouldn't be too long now."
They fall silent, just listening to the sound of each other's breathing for a few moments, the whispers of each exhale diffusing in the air.
It takes a few minutes for a car to pull up next to them, but both are relieved when it does.
But before they can unlock the door and climb in, someone's climbed out, and even though they can't see through the dark well, they do know that whoever it is is not Cameron's father.
"What're you doing? Touching the car?"
"Yeah, don't want it infected, do we?"
"The fact you've even had the nerve to show yourselves out here -,"
The voices, at least three, are surrounding them both now, and Blaine and Cameron have no idea what to say or what to do or what to think.
But what scares Blaine more is that he can't do anything. Always wanting to be in control of everything, but now his body is frozen and won't obey anything. No impulse, not anything to save himself.
Beside him, beneath the obscurities of the night, Cameron screams.
Blaine wakes up in the isolating, stark glow of a hospital light and the smell of disinfectant. Everything aches and it takes him a moment to remember what happened.
His first thought is for Cameron.
A nurse allows them to visit each other, taking Blaine in a wheelchair into Cameron's room next door, before leaving them alone, sitting in silence.
Cameron's got it worse. Much worse.
His face has been distorted almost beyond recognition, swellings and the bloom of bruises and a patchwork of tape and thread and wire. Then there's the broken arm, the dislocated shoulder and –
"They – they used one of those kits on me, Blaine."
"Did they -?"Blaine can't bring himself to finish the sentence.
"I can't remember. The doctors seem to think so. There are stitches."
Cameron's eyes have glazed over and Blaine's mouth hangs open a little because he'd never thought people would do that to someone who was exactly the kind of person they hated so much, let alone his fifteen year old boyfriend.
"Blaine, I don't think we can do this anymore. I'm sorry."
And Blaine doesn't understand, but he thinks he can see where Cameron's coming from.
He would bet anything that he would have done the same if he was in that situation, but it's not something he wants to imagine.
Blaine wheels himself out of the room without another word.
A black eye. Cuts. Grazes. Three broken ribs. Countless tiny stitches.
The sight of Cameron. The few sentences they exchange.
But what hurts the most is the look on his father's face when he visits for the first time and the first words he says are, "you didn't tell me Cameron was a boy, Blaine."
Yeah, it's no surprise that Blaine has come to associate love with fear.
"It's beautiful here, Blaine." Kurt reaches over to take his hand, their fingers clasped tight, and Blaine can't help but smile.
They're in an alcove, shaded by trees along a gentle slope which guides down onto a river bank and to the water's edge. The sunset is casting an ethereal glow around them and it's a truly special place, seemingly completely secluded but just a moment's walk away from the main road and civilisation.
A picnic rug is spread out over the grass, and littered with plates of food. Kurt didn't think much of Blaine's cookery skills, but he could stretch to decent sandwiches, and had a hidden talent for cakes.
"I used to come here all the time," Blaine comments. "I just liked it. Sitting here, by myself, watching the water."
"Well, thank you for sharing it with me," Kurt smiles at him, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek.
Blaine smiles, but only half-heartedly.
"What's wrong, Blaine?" He'd hoped Kurt hadn't noticed, but he seemingly had.
He takes a deep breath before starting to speak, clutching Kurt's hand tighter. "Kurt, I have to tell you something, but when you do you're not going to like it and you'll never want to see me again and I might as well just go now - ,"
"No, Blaine. Tell me." Kurt pulls him to sit back down again gently, looking directly into Blaine's eyes which have begun to reflect the sun in their tears.
"But, Kurt - ," Blaine pleads, because all of this, bringing him here tonight, now seems like such a stupid idea and he doesn't want to tell Kurt but there's no way out of it now except lying and anything he says would be totally transparent.
Kurt takes Blaine's other hand, feeling the tremor in his wrist, and holds it to him.
"Blaine, please tell me. If you don't, I'll just be worried for you."
And it's the thought of making Kurt feel bad which finally prompts him to speak, even if he does so with his eyes fixed firmly on a square of the rug.
"Kurt, you remember I told you about Sadie Hawkins, right?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, I went with my friend, Cameron. And I'd come out to my friends, but not my parents, yet. And, well, you know what happened that night. Cameron got it worse than me, much worse. And we were scared. We were fifteen. And we couldn't cope, so we decided to end it the day after, in the hospital. But then my dad came in a few hours later, and he'd spoken to the police beforehand. And do you know what the first words he said to me were?" Blaine's whole body is shaking now as he cries openly, the scars breaking open and bleeding somewhere deep, deep inside of him.
"What did he say to you, Blaine?"
"He said, "you never told me Cameron was a boy" and he was so disappointed, Kurt. He hated it. He hated me. So I came to the conclusion that all I would ever get is hate. All my life I would just be hated for who I was. And so a few days after I got out of hospital, I came here. To that bridge. And I was about to jump."
Kurt's grip on his fingers is too tight now, both desperate to keep the other from slipping away. He doesn't know what to think, what to say, what to do. When your boyfriend said that they once wanted to kill themselves because of something they can't control, how are you supposed to make it better? Because there's no pamphlet, no how to be a good boyfriend in all situations guide for this.
So the only thing Kurt can do is hold on, keeping holding on to Blaine because he's so, so scared of letting him fall again.
"But then there was a c-car, and a man got out, and he talked me out of it, m-managed to s-stop me. Then he t-took me back to his house for the night, s-said his son was at a sleepover and I could use his room before he took me home or to the h-hospital in the morning, wherever I wanted."
Blaine pauses, looks up into Kurt's eyes. There's a shadow of worry in them; what happened to Blaine after that?
But then Blaine smiles. "It was your dad, Kurt. I didn't know it at the time, but then I went to see him once, and I knew exactly who he was. I went round to your house, and knew where everything was and I could remember how it was decorated and everything."
It's Kurt's turn to cry now. He had no idea, no idea and now all he wants to do is go and hug his dad and hug Blaine and hold them both in his arms forever.
They both exchange weak smiles, before Blaine pulls Kurt into an embrace in which all he can hear is the beating of their hearts letting them know that yes, they are indeed alive and here and with each other and everything will get better.
"Here, Blaine, let me take you home."
But they don't go back to Blaine's house. They go back to Kurt's.
"Dad? Dad!"
"Yeah?" Burt's voice carries easily through the walls of the house.
"Come here. I need to talk to you about something."
Heavy footsteps on the stairs.
"What is it, Kurt? Hello, Blaine," he adds, bestowing a nod of greeting towards him.
"Dad, do you remember Blaine?"
"Of course I do. I saw him just last week, Kurt. What - ?"
"No, Dad. Do you remember Blaine from before I met him. Don't you recognise him?"
"Mr Hummel," Blaine begins, stepping forward, "I was the boy from the bridge. Two years ago? That was me."
Burt seems stunned for a moment, looking from Blaine to Kurt as if at a loss as to what to do now.
"Dad?" Kurt asks, tentatively moving towards his father, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"I thought I recognised you from somewhere, Blaine. But you've grown. Not bashed up any more, either."
"You saved my life that night, Mr Hummel."
"C'mere," Burt mumbles, reaching his arms out towards Blaine, who falls into the hug easily.
"Thank you," he whispers into the cotton, and all three smile.
And so we come to the end of another chapter in the story of Blaine Anderson. Just another verse in the anthology of life.
Of course, Blaine is glad he didn't jump that night.
It took a bit of waiting, but now he knows why he didn't.
And now a new story starts.
A love story.
And with a bit of luck, it will have a happy ending.