A/N: Ack, I'm so sorry for the delay here. My muse has ADHD and was a little too absorbed in a few of my other stories, as well as my coffee stash.


Rabbit Hole

Kurt and Finn got to school late the next morning (because someone was more interested in finishing a level of Call Of Duty and making everyone else wait than actually being responsible), so Kurt wasn't able to see Blaine until lunchtime, when he plopped down at the glee club's usual table with his tray. Blaine had study hall right before lunch, so he'd arrived early and was the only other person at the table (the rest of the student body was slowly making its way along the buffet lines).

"You look tired," Kurt said as he stabbed a lettuce leaf with his fork.

Blaine blinked, then shrugged. "Long night," he replied, rubbing at the slight circles under his eyes.

"Doing what?"

Blaine's eyebrows snapped together. "Why?" he asked, a little too sharply.

Kurt paused. "It was just a question, Blaine."

"Oh." Blaine sighed. "I'm sorry, Kurt, I've just been stretched kind of thin this past week. Haven't had much sleep." As if to prove his point, Blaine yawned widely.

Kurt chewed his salad thoughtfully for a few moments, studying his boyfriend. Blaine's eyes were blearier than usual, even just counting the past week, and he didn't seem to be that interested in his food (which really wasn't that appetizing, but still). As Blaine reached up and rubbed his eyes again, Kurt noticed that there were thick lines of dirt underneath his fingernails – gross, yes, but more of a cause for concern than anything else. When it came to hygiene, Blaine was just as fastidious as Kurt. Ignoring even the slightest detail was a clear sign that he had something worrying on his mind.

"Blaine, is everything okay?" Kurt inquired.

Blaine almost seemed like he didn't hear the question, and responded with an absentminded, "Yeah, sure."

"I mean… at home," Kurt clarified gently, remembering the look of panic on Blaine's face the day before. "With your dad."

His face contorting into a frown as he tried to evaluate what Kurt was getting at, Blaine hesitated before replying. "…Yes," he said slowly. "Why do you ask?"

Kurt put down his fork, keeping an eye on the other glee members currently in line at the buffet. He wanted to get this over with before anyone else sat down. "It's just that yesterday, you seemed, well… scared of him," he explained, trying to show Blaine that he was only concerned for his boyfriend's health.

Blaine watched him for a second. "Oh, that!" he said suddenly, his forehead abruptly smoothing out as if he'd slipped on a mask of placidity. "He asks me to help him with his projects and I don't like being in the basement is all. I'm a little claustrophobic."

"Oh," Kurt said. He could easily see that Blaine was lying, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why, or what secrets Blaine could be wanting to keep so badly. "Well, you should talk to him about that."

The conversation was pushed off the table as Finn and Rachel approached with their lunches and sat down, Rachel immediately pulling Blaine into a discussion of their performance numbers for the next competition.


After school, Kurt ran home to grab his Halloween costume before heading over to Blaine's, since their plan for the afternoon was to meet up at the Andersons' to help each other with their costume makeup (Blaine was apparently something of an expert at making something look decomposed, which was essential for Kurt's zombified Tim Gunn). Pulling his Navigator in to park at the top of the Andersons' steeply sloped driveway, Kurt hopped out with the bag containing his costume in hand and jogged up onto the front porch.

He was about to ring the doorbell, but noise from inside the house made him stop in his tracks, just outside the door. It was definitely shouting, but it was hard to tell at first who was doing the yelling. Kurt swallowed when he was able to make out the words and he realized that it was Blaine's voice.

"—Don't you get it, Dad? I don't want to do it any more!" Blaine yelled. There was the sound of something made of glass smashing into pieces against a wall or a floor, and Kurt's heart plummeted. He'd never known Blaine to be the violently angry type.

Mr. Anderson's voice cut in, not quite shouting but still loud enough for Kurt to hear. "I get that you've got your sights set on going to New York and singing and dancing for the rest of your life, but it's childish, Blaine! And you are not a little boy any more!"

"No, you don't get it!" Blaine shouted back. "This has got absolutely nothing to do with my wanting to become a performer!"

"Maybe we should take you out of school," Mr. Anderson continued, ignoring his son. "I need you around here more now that we know there's an entire den nearby—"

"NO!" Blaine bellowed. Kurt flinched. "For God's sake, Dad, this isn't normal!"

"What do you mean? Of course it's normal," Mr. Anderson argued. "Just because most people are none the wiser doesn't make it abnormal."

"That's the definition of abnormal!" Blaine cried, exasperated. "When I was eight I told you I was scared of the dark, and you gave me a shotgun! How the hell does that fit in with 'normal'? Huh? Where does that fall on the spectrum?"

"Blaine, there are more important things at stake here than—"

"No, there aren't! I want to spend my time going out with friends, doing my homework, going to school, and having a relationship with my boyfriend that isn't full of lies! I don't want to spend it cutting up corpses in the basement!"

At that moment, any other verbal blows that might have been further exchanged between Blaine and his father were nothing more than muffled buzzing sounds to Kurt's ears. His head was spinning and he wasn't entirely sure that the floor beneath his feet was still there. His body taking on a mind of its own, Kurt turned and strode quickly through a haze back to his car. He made sure not to turn on the engine until he had coasted back onto the road.

Ten minutes later, Kurt's phone rang on the seat beside him.

"Hey, Kurt, are you still coming over?"

All traces of stress had been wiped from Blaine's voice. How much had Blaine kept hidden? How much had Kurt ignored?

"Sorry," he said, feeling as though his mouth was speaking of its own accord. "Something came up."

"All right. See you tomorrow, then."

Click.

Kurt dropped the phone onto the passenger seat and turned his eyes back to the road in front of him, wondering if Blaine found it easier to lie.


"Well?" Robert Anderson prompted as Blaine ended the call. They were in the dining room, the tension from their fight still stretching the air between them.

Blaine sighed. "He's not coming."

"Good. Then you're free." Robert stood up from his seat at the dining table, pulling off his vest and draping it over the back of his chair, then unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves.

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

Blaine didn't meet his father's eye. "I have homework to do."

Robert planted his hands on his hips. "School can wait. I need the scalpels and hacksaws cleaned by five o'clock."