A/N: This might end up being a double update, and if so, I'm sorry, I'm not sure if I uploaded this with an AN yet or not. I'm so, so, so sorry I've taken so long to update, but I've had effing exams and a whole load of other stuff, and it took me ages to get back into the right mindset to write. Hope you enjoy, and please review! xx :)
"Today's the day!" Blaine's doctor swept in, a bright smile on his face. "You ready to go home?" Blaine shrugged a shoulder, still gazing at the ceiling, at the fan that whirled away all the time. He had barely moved for two days, ever since he had asked about Josh. When they had eventually told him that Josh was dead, even though he'd already figured it out, Blaine hadn't said anything as such. He had bitten his lip so hard that he drew blood, to stop himself from crying, and turned away from the people in the room so they couldn't see his face, ignoring the pain it caused his ribs.
"Come on, Blaine." His mother said enthusiastically. She had that typical plastered-on smile that she always wore when she was pretending to be happy. Blaine could read her like a book, he always had been able to. And he knew that she was hurting inside, because the smile didn't reach her eyes, and her hands were nervously fiddling. And every now and then, she would glance down and take a steadying breath, stopping herself from crying. It killed Blaine that he couldn't reach out and hug her, but he couldn't honestly bring himself to do much at all just then. He was just so tired.
Blaine didn't want to go home. It wasn't like he enjoyed being in the hospital, in fact he loathed it, but at least it was safe. At home meant being outside that safe zone, although it was better than being at school, say. Privately, Blaine knew he never planned on returning to that school, whether it meant barricading himself in his room or bargaining everything he had with his father to let his transfer somewhere, anywhere else, he didn't care. All he knew was that his time at North Westerville High School was done.
There was another problem with going home: his mother had insisted that everyone be there for his homecoming, even his sister, who was away at Harvard, studying to be a doctor. Blaine's family were…hard work. His mother was by far the best of them: she loved him, he knew that, and she jumped at any opportunity to make him happy. The problem was that she was weak: not strong enough to stand up for him when his dad yelled and ranted and raged at him, not strong enough to go to the school when she saw the bruises, the split lips, the constant frown he wore.
Blaine's sister, Elisa (the genius), was a different matter altogether. She was as stuck up as they came, always ready to make a snide comment and had an actual belief that anyone who wasn't beautiful and smart like her was barely even worth talking to. Which unfortunately included Blaine; he didn't think that she had spoken to him since he was about four years old and he'd asked her what she thought of a picture he drew of her. He vividly remembered that her exact words had been "piss off, Blaine, I don't care."
Blaine's father had been awful. He had always been distant, but the second Blaine came out, that was it. The glances when he said something were replaced by glares, the talk about Blaine's future at his father's law firm ended completely, and every time Blaine sang, played piano or his guitar, he saw his father get a little bit more disappointed in him. And it killed Blaine. He wanted to desperately to please his father, to gain his approval, but it was useless. At least now he was sort: you didn't just make the apology of a lifetime at someone's bedside, and then go back on it. At least, Blaine hoped not.
Finally, Blaine's brother, Cooper. A senior in high school, he was the one who hurt Blaine the most. Not because he was more neglectful than his sister or his father, but because they used to be close. Blaine had always idolised his brother, had always imitated everything he did when he was a little kid. It wasn't even when Blaine had come out that they had drifted apart, it was when Cooper went to high school, when he met his stupid, horrible, awful friends that ruined everything and made Blaine's life a misery once he came out. Every time they came over, they would shoot him looks, crude gestures, even the odd threatening one.
Moreover, they were the ones that did it. Blaine knew their names, their addresses, even some of their families. Later in the day after he woke up, two policemen came in. He willingly gave them the information, preferring not to say anything that wasn't 100% necessary. They were perfectly nice, but he could see the tension in their voices when he told them why he and Josh were attacked. Still, he was used to it, so he ignored the discomfort, gave them the information and put it out of his mind. His job now was to heal, and he was going to do that whether those boys were behind bars or not. Because they couldn't touch him.
"We're home!" His mother's oddly cheerful voice echoed through the too-large house, as she struggled to push Blaine's wheelchair into the living room off the hallway and close the door at the same time.
"Mom, this thing is totally unnecessary." Blaine grumbled, speaking in a monotone- although it still caught his mother's attention, as he had taken to talking less and less lately, resorting to communicating with paper and pen on occasion. "I don't need a wheelchair, that's what the crutches are for."
"Don't be silly, Blaine, you're not walking on that leg, and your shoulder can't take the pressure." His mother insisted, finally getting the door shut and pushing him into the living room, parking him- thankfully- with his back to the wall, facing the door and windows. Blaine didn't like having his back to people, or places where people could just out at him; it made him uneasy, to say the least.
"Whatever, Mom." Blaine muttered, snapping his head up when he heard someone moving in the hallway. Before he knew it, his sister had charged into the room, launching herself at him and burying her face in his shoulder, her shoulders heaving with sobs. Blaine flinched violently, cringing away from her. He hated it when people jumped out at him, more than anything. It wasn't recent either: ever since the bullying had started when he started high school a few months ago (the word that he was gay having got round over the summer, when all his friends mysteriously became too busy to see him) he had become jumpy and nervous.
"Get off me, please." He all but gasped, desperate to get some air. "Please, Elisa, you're hurting me." It was true: she was putting large amounts of pressure on the shoulder that had had the bottle driven into it. His leg was just as bad, but she wasn't touching that. He couldn't walk on it, though, not even a little without collapsing in pain. His mother gently but firmly pulled Elisa away, telling her to give him some space, but he was too busy taking deep, calming breaths to thank her. Yesterday, they had made Blaine see the hospital shrink, who told him that he needed to learn how to do two things: learn how to control his fear, and learn to trust people again. The latter was almost inconceivable (one of the two people in the whole world who he trusted was my mom; the other was dead), but the former he thought he could do, with practise. Just remember to breathe, he remembered the shrink telling me, just to focus on breathing and the rest would sort itself out.
And it did: a minute or so later, Blaine looked up again, his gaze meeting my sister's fleetingly before it dropped to his hands, which twisted in his lap. He didn't feel like talking, really, he'd done more since he got home than he had since the policemen's visit. Instead, he let her talk, and sat and listened silently.
"Blaine, I don't know what to say." She began, walking closer to him and crouching down in front of him. She searched his eyes for some sign that he cared what she was about to say, but he was blank. Gone were the sparks in the golden eyes she remembered being jealous of, that she remembered feeling bad for hurting. He was blank. "All I could think when Mom called me and said you were hurt was I'm sorry, I didn't mean to necglect you, please forgive me because I was so, so scared that I wouldn't get the chance to say it. But I have a chance, now, and I'm begging you to listen to me." The tears were still running down her face, but she ignored them and continued in a steady voice.
"I will do absolutely anything in the world to make up to you the time which I lost, too busy worrying about myself and not bothering to think that you needed me. I will leave school and come home to do your homework and bring you ice cream if you want; all I'm asking is that you forgive me. I love you, Blaine-y, and I'm not going to rest until you believe that."
When she was done Blaine nodded, reaching over to put a hand on her arm and meeting her gaze steadily before nodding, and wheeling himself over to the sofa. He wanted to lie down, and somehow his mother knew, so she helped him up as gently as she could, and laid him on his back on the sofa, him angling his head towards the TV and grabbing the remote off the coffee table. Talking was overrated, he decided. Besides, no one would probably want to listen if he did.
"Blaine!" Blaine was shocked awake by the loud voice, his whole body going rigid when his eyes snapped open and he saw a figure above him. It was blurry, someone had taken off his glasses, but he didn't care, he just pressed himself against the sofa cushions, ignoring the stabbing pain it sent from his broken ribs. The figure hastily stepped back, raising his hands to show he wasn't a threat. "It's ok, Blaine, it's just me. Your dad." Steve said, passing his son his glasses as the boy nodded shaking, cringing as he sat up slightly to put them on. "I got out of work as early as I could, so I could come home and see you."
Slightly shocked by the gesture, and still not used to his father's friendly tone of voice, Blaine nodded.
"How are you feeling?" His dad asked, seemingly at a loss as to what to say. Blaine went to shrug, but stopped just in time as he remembered that he couldn't move his shoulder because of the bandaging, and any movement would send shockwaves of pain through his chest from his ribs. Instead, he just nodded again, and almost physically forced himself to talk. "Fine."
Although he knew it was a blatant lie, Steve pretended to believe him for the sake of Blaine's pride, and asked "do you need anything?"
Again, Blaine didn't want to talk, but his dad was making an effort, so he should be too. "Water, please?"
"Of course, son." Steve looked immensely relieved that it was something he could do, and leant over to ruffle Blaine's hair before he left to the kitchen. Blaine raised his good arm up to feel where his dad had made the affectionate gesture, remembering how Josh had always done the same thing when he was trying to get superiority (i.e. get control of the remote) because of the two year age gap. Cursing the fact that he could barely do anything without it reminding him of Joshua, he aimlessly looked back at the TV, wishing he could sleep, but knowing that it wasn't an option: sleep meant nightmares. He had mentioned it to the shrink, and they'd given him some sleeping pills, but he wasn't going to take them. He didn't need drugs controlling his life, he could handle it. Even though he knew he couldn't, not really.
Later that evening, Blaine was in his room, having had the humiliating experience of being carried up the stairs by his father. He had spent a surprisingly nice evening with his sister, watching old Disney movies while she chattered away and he nodded at the right moments. He didn't utter a word to her all afternoon, but when the last movie finished and she announced she was going to bed, he grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze, to show that he appreciated the effort she was making, even if he couldn't say it. Talking was becoming harder and harder for him, and every word he spoke made him feel more and more scared. He'd decided to stop trying, just letting it go and trusting that he would talk again when he was ready. Oddly, he felt as if the power of speech was somehow linked to Josh: it was almost as if every time he spoke, he was letting a little bit of Josh go, like he was forgetting him by being distracted by other people. Maybe he'd be able to hang on to Josh just a little longer.