An AU in which Blaine (in his early thirties) has nightmares and Kurt is not there
Trigger warning: angst
One Day at a Time
The nightmares were...long.
He awoke with a jolt, panting, sitting straight up in bed. It was the third time this week. His fists were curling and uncurling around the blankets on either side of his legs, clawing so desperately into the fabric that he was sure his fingers would leave holes; but he had to find some semblance of comfort to help him will away the last few images ghosting through his mind.
The dream always fled his memory quickly, all but the end. The end clung to him a few minutes longer. Long enough to follow him as he stumbled through the hallway to the bathroom to splash water over his face, where he avoided the glint of silver in the mirror when the light caught his ring. Long enough to make him wish—so hard-that someone was there to grip his shaking shoulders and wrap him up and make it better, make it go away.
Long enough to make him wish that HE was there.
The thought only made him quake more. He wiped furiously at his eyes, ignoring the tension building behind them.
He could do this.
He'd been alone before. He could do it again.
But that was the thing, he thought. Before him...he hadn't known that he could feel any of this. The bad or the good. And it's hard to miss something that you've never had.
Once you've had it, it's impossible to go back to the way you were.
He threw himself onto the bed, exhausted, so exhausted. Night after night, he thought. Month after month for seven months.
He didn't want to make it to year after year. Didn't even know how he'd made it a single month. Didn't know how much longer he could keep going.
No. No! He'd promised, he'd promised Kurt.
Don't give 't give up, Blaine.
He couldn't give up.
But he could let go. One more night of letting go.
Slowly, he came undone. Thread by thread, Blaine let himself fall apart. He inhaled shakily, let the next breath out as a raw cry. He buried his face in the pillows and sobbed openly. He'd pick up the pieces tomorrow.
A couple of hours later he was still awake but completely spent. His body throbbed; he was everywhere, unfocused, all the broken thought draining from his brain, scattered somewhere in the air around him. He couldn't move or feel. His swollen eyes drifted closed, and on the edge of sleep, he felt a breath at his ear.
"Blaine."
Ah.
"Courage, Blaine."
This was how he'd made it.
"Don't give up, please." A warmth covered his shoulder, heat in the shape of a hand.
"But don't you miss me, Kurt?" he murmured behind him; he wanted to reach up and clasp the hand on his shoulder, to fiddle with the band on the left ring finger like he couldn't stop doing right after the wedding, how excited he was then, they'd sat on this bed and grinned at each other and—no no no-but-he didn't think he could bear the disappointment if the hand was not there. "Don't you want me to be with you?"
Silence. Blaine tensed, but the hand didn't slide away.
"Yes." The whisper broke at the middle, fell apart in a way that made Blaine's heart plummet. God he wanted to reach up and touch his cheek and make that voice whole, so-"So much. But-"
And the warmth moved to his middle, a long, familiar arm stretched out across his waist. Blaine automatically curled into the shape with a sigh.
"I am with you. We're here right now."
The comfort dissipated. Blaine bit back another empty sob, finally relenting and grasping desperately for the hand that should be at his stomach.
"But you won't be here when I wake up," he choked.
"Shh, baby. Don't think about that. Just concentrate on right now."
Blaine nodded but his hand still flailed near his waist, seeking Kurt's, needing Kurt's hand to be there.
And then-it was.
He did not have tears left, he felt achingly empty, but he was still so full and it kept pouring out of him, ceaseless emotion,
But he was feeling Kurt's fingers twined with his. Feeling a comforting hand on his shoulder, thumb idly tracing circles over his skin, and hearing Kurt's voice say "shh-it's okay, Blaine, go back to sleep," the way he did after every nightmare.
The way he'd always done before, after another night drenched in sweat dreaming of four boys with bad intentions, angry fists and a baseball bat, only to wake up shock-white and whimpering with Kurt's arm around him.
Those nightmares were nothing compared to the ones he'd had lately.
But the light touch on his arm that was, no, please, had to be real, and that soft breath at his ear, were gently pushing the nightmares away. Slowly, the shivers stopped; Blaine relaxed. He curled his fingers around the feeling of Kurt's hand, staying awake just enough to make sure that he wouldn't lose his grip.
"I love you," he mumbled before he fell asleep.
He dreamed of red and yellow roses and silver bands and the color of the feel of soft brown hair and a pair of ridiculously expensive shoes and a loving gaze. This time, they did not give way to blood on asphalt a scream "KURT" broken lights sterile halls full to bursting a green line god monotone on a screen and a promise he should not have to keep.
The sun breaking through the cracks in the blinds woke him. Blaine opened his eyes but didn't move, giving his mind a second to catch up with his body.
He turned over and stared vacantly at the empty space on the bed next to him. Finally, he pushed himself up, disentangled the sheets from his ankles, and trudged to the bathroom. He frowned at his lone toothbrush in the dual holder by the sink.
"Okay, Kurt," he said softly, ready for his mantra. He rubbed his swollen eyes and looked in the mirror. "One more day. For you."