Chapter Four
in case of emergencies
It's dark when Blaine traipses up to his bedroom. Dinner that evening was both a rare and awkward affair, given that both his parents were actually present for it. They ate in silence, punctuating the warmth of the quiet with icy looks across the table and curt, unfeeling demands for the salt and pepper.
Blaine flicks on his bedside lamp, throwing the area around his bed into a dim half-light. Resting on the floor is a copy of Pride and Prejudice, an old, beaten-up thing that Blaine thinks he may have borrowed from his old school's library and simply forgotten to give back in.
As Blaine thumbs open the book, a tiny note falls out onto his lap. He vaguely remembers putting it there, thinking that it would be safe tucked between the pages of his favourite book.
Now, Blaine stares numbly at the written phone number on the scrap of paper in front of him. There's a note underneath it, scribbled in chicken-scratch handwriting, which reads, IN CASE OF EMERGENCIES.
It's an Anderson thing, Blaine supposes, to hurriedly write notes in messy block capitals. His father does it, his mother does it, he does it…
Cooper does it.
The sibling dynamic between Cooper and Blaine has always been complicated. There's really no other way to describe the tangle of different interactions and patterns that he and Cooper fall into – no other way to accurately illustrate the multiple layers of emotion that rush through Blaine just at the slightest mention of his brother's name.
Cooper Anderson: the son who ran away from home. Cooper Anderson: the boy whose parents told him every day of his life to stop this nonsense because he would never make it, and kept telling him, right up until he did. Cooper Anderson: the successful Hollywood actor. Cooper Anderson: the older brother who left Blaine behind.
Because, despite all of the resentment and the inadequacy Blaine feels when faced with Cooper's success, that's the one thing that sticks to him the most.
It's the one thing Blaine can never, ever forgive Cooper for.
He left Blaine behind.
Cooper knew. Cooper always knows. Cooper knew and he still left.
It stings of betrayal even after all that Cooper has done for Blaine. Even after Cooper stormed off a movie-set mid-shoot to rush to the side of Blaine's hospital bed. Even after Cooper stared down their father, venom in his eyes, and told him to back the fuck off. Even after Cooper handed Blaine a brochure for Dalton Academy – the only school in Ohio with a zero-tolerance policy that was strictly enforced – and told him that it was his new school starting next week. Even after Cooper told the press he was an only child, because Blaine asked him to.
Even after everything, Blaine can't make himself forgive the fact that Cooper left him behind in that house.
And Blaine can't forgive that even after that, he still can't let go of Cooper as his older brother.
Right now, Cooper's spending nine months in the Gambia doing some soul searching and charity work. Cooper probably has no idea what's going on back home – what's going on with Blaine – and Blaine doesn't have it in him to change the status quo.
Once more, Blaine looks down at the number on the piece of paper.
IN CASE OF EMERGENCIES.
It's the number for a satellite phone – what is currently Cooper's only way of contacting the Western world.
IN CASE OF EMERGENCIES.
Blaine hates how, even now, he still has this urge to run to Cooper. Because Cooper would get it. Cooper knows what it's like to feel trapped and like you have just stopped being able to push on through everything – to know that you can keep fighting, but at the same time, know that you really can't.
Cooper always knows.
IN CASE OF EMERGENCIES.
Blaine folds the piece of paper in half and tucks it within the pages of his battered copy of Pride and Prejudice, then turns out the light and drops into a restless sleep.
Blaine has come to a conclusion: Sebastian is the worst influence ever.
That's what he tells himself at least as he downs his third shot of the night. Blaine's pretty buzzed by now – his thought processes are slow and sluggish, his movements sloppy and inelegant – but he's having fun and that's something at least.
Blaine glances across the dance floor, to where Sebastian is shaking his everything in a manner that should definitely be illegal. Sebastian's eyes flicker up and his gaze catches on Blaine's, irises dark and intense in the lighting of the club.
Come hither, they say.
Blaine doesn't obey the silent command.
Sebastian Smythe is like adrenaline and he knows it. Fleeting, intense and potentially fatal in too high a dose. He loves 'em and leaves 'em, changing lovers more regularly than an average person changes socks.
Sebastian's made no secret of the fact that he would do Blaine – 'fuck him into the mattress and leave him begging for more' were his exact words, to be precise – but Blaine's determined to keep Sebastian at an arm's length, if only for nothing more than the preservation of their friendship. Blaine knows that if he crosses that line, then either he or Sebastian will doubtlessly fuck it up.
So, yeah, there may be attraction there on Sebastian's part, but Blaine's content ignoring it in its entirety.
"Hello handsome," a voice comes from Blaine's side.
Blaine spins his head around, coming face-to-face with a guy, who's sliding a drink across the bar-top to him. There's something familiar about this guy and Blaine knows he should recognise him, but—
Blaine glances across the bar to Sebastian, who – never one to be kept down by rejection – has already moved on to a criminally good-looking guy.
Blaine turns back to the guy hitting on him. He accepts the drink. "Thanks," he says.
"I'm Henry," Henry introduces himself smoothly.
"Blaine." Blaine takes a sip from the drink. It's good. A bit fruity, but good.
Henry leans in, close to Blaine's face, his breath brushing against Blaine's jawline. "Want to get out of here?" he practically rasps.
Another glance to Sebastian and his latest pick of the day, tongues in mouths, bodies grinding close, sweat clinging to shirts—
"Yeah."
Blaine gets offered a plea deal.
It's surprisingly generous, the DA's office tell him. Minimum Security for eight months is lenient. Blaine will be out in no time, and able to graduate high school afterwards. After that, the media scrutiny should die down with shocking rapidity, and then he can go off to college and put this entire chapter of his life behind him.
Blaine's sorely tempted to take it.
Throughout his life, Blaine's always had a pathological need to be validated by those around him. He always has something to prove – he's gay, Dad, so stop trying to pretend, or he's somehow worthy of Dalton, or he's not broken, so stop treating him like he is – always has someone to prove wrong.
Blaine's still like that. He's just…
Tired.
Tired of fighting a war he can't win. Tired of his family. Tired of his friends. Tired of himself.
Taking the plea deal would be the easy way out. A signature on a piece of paper, eight months of his life, and then the rest of it free.
Easy.
Penelope says that she'll agree with whatever he eventually decides. They can win this, she tells him, but if he doesn't want to fight anymore there's not much point. He should sleep on it.
He does one better. He calls Kurt.
"Okay, let me get this straight," Kurt says after Blaine's done explaining. "You've been offered a plea deal by the DA's office, which you're thinking about taking. It's pleading guilty to the crime, eight months in a minimum security prison and a permanent mark on your criminal record. Serve the time, move on with your life, right?"
"Right," Blaine agrees.
"Blaine, I mean this in the nicest way possible," Kurt's voice comes down the phone, slow and level, "but what the fuck are you even thinking?"
Blaine chokes on his own spit. "What?"
"It's not just putting it behind you and moving on with your life," Kurt tells him bluntly. "It's a criminal record – you'll be forever known in the American legal system as a sex offender, Blaine. You signing this deal is like admitting you were guilty all along. And you didn't do it, right?"
"Of course I didn't—"
"Then why the fuck are you letting yourself be pressured into pleading guilty for a crime you didn't commit?" Kurt demands. His voice is raising in volume, his tone getting more and more tinged with anger. "That's bullshit, Blaine, and you know it."
Blaine sighs. He throws himself back on his bed, throwing his eyes up to the ceiling. "It's not about that, Kurt," he protests softly.
"Then what is it about, Blaine?" Kurt asks sharply.
"It'd just be easier is all," Blaine explains. "This has already ruined my life. I guess I just want this whole thing to end."
There's a strangled sound of frustration on the other end of the phone call before Kurt grinds out, "I'm trying really, really hard not to be pissed off with you, Blaine, but you make it damn hard." Kurt pauses. "When you met me, I had a black eye, didn't I?"
Blaine nods to himself. "Yeah, I remember."
"Why do you think I had a black eye, Blaine?"
Blaine opens his mouth to say something and then snaps it shut.
"I had a black eye because someone at school – a beefy jock on the football team to be precise – took issue with the fact I was gay and decided to teach me a lesson," Kurt says. "There was this whole load of other crap too, and it sucked, but you know what? I held my head high and I pushed through it. Because the only thing more important to me than the fact that I'm not wrong or sick or twisted, is never, ever letting them win."
"It's not just about that, Kurt," Blaine objects, but it's feeble and they both know it.
"You once told me you regretted leaving your old school after getting hospitalised because it made you feel like you were running away," Kurt says. "So what do you think accepting this plea bargain is?"
Blaine doesn't answer.
"Just… Just think about it, Blaine. Call me back when you're thinking straight."
Kurt doesn't wait for Blaine to answer before he hangs up.
Blaine:
Wes, I need your help.
Wes:
I'll be around in a few.
Wes is far calmer than Kurt when it comes to the plea deal issue, but he's just as opinionated. It's all very Wes, how he reacts to the news: calm, analytical, and slightly judgemental.
When Blaine's done explaining the ins and outs of the situation, Wes runs a hand through his hair, frowning lightly.
"Personally," Wes says, putting a great deal of emphasis onto that word. "Personally, I wouldn't take the deal."
Blaine sighs. "What would you do, then, Wes?" he asks, tiredly.
Wes shrugs. "Let it go to court," he states. "Get myself a not-guilty verdict. Then, I'd sue everyone else into the ground for damages."
Blaine blinks. "What? Why?"
"Because, Blaine," Wes explains, voice slightly strained and tinged with frustration, "Henry Canterbury has ruined your life. And I'm not just talking in the melodramatic, teenage overreaction sense; I'm talking full-on, one-hundred per cent torn to pieces here. With this on your record, and your expulsion from your last school, you're not going to be getting into any of the top universities and you know it. There's not a person in the country who doesn't look at your face and see 'sexual predator', now, and that sort of recognition haunts you, Blaine."
Wes takes a deep breath, dropping his shoulders and shaking his head. "I don't really understand why you're even considering taking the deal, Blaine," he sighs. "We both know that it shouldn't even be seen as a viable option for you."
Wes' eyes bore into Blaine's face, and it's not long before Blaine breaks eye contact. "I just don't think I can do this anymore," he says.
Wes shakes his head again. "Blaine," he says. "I know you. You can."
Blaine swallows his words.
No, he thinks, I really can't.
It's not the first time in these past few months that Blaine's felt lost. He feels like he's stuck in his own freefall, constantly at terminal velocity, out of control and just waiting for the sickening crunch when he finally hits the ground.
Unbidden, his eyes stray to his copy of Pride and Prejudice, carefully placed on the nightstand.
Cooper would know what to do.
He can't, though. He can't call that number. He doesn't need Cooper.
He misses him, though.
It's a treacherous thought that cuts through his confusion. He misses his older brother.
IN CASE OF EMERGENCIES.
Cooper always knows.
Blaine digs through an old trunk of things he keeps under his bed until he finds an old football jersey that Cooper used to love. He slips it on over his pyjamas and cries himself to sleep.
"Hey Blaine. You're not picking up my calls and I guess that's okay. You need to think. I just really need to say this. It's… It's okay to be scared, Blaine. I think that I would be too. It's okay to think that you can't go on. It's okay to feel like you're on an edge, teetering dangerously close to oblivion. It's okay, Blaine, and so will you be.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is that you shouldn't feel trapped in your own emotions. I said I was there for you and though, at the time it was just me trying to be a good person, it's more selfish on my part now. You're… God, you're so much more than just a friend to me, Blaine. I don't ever want to not be there for you.
"I guess that was the real reason that I didn't want you to take the deal. Because it would kill me if I had to lose you like that.
"So, all my rambling aside, Blaine, call me back."
Kurt shouldn't feel like this.
Blaine's… Blaine's a friend. Kurt is Blaine's friend.
Both of them have enough baggage that this shouldn't be something Kurt's even considering for several months yet, but—
Kurt's not one for denial.
He's been there, done that to death, even has a fucking T-shirt. He's done with denying his feelings – done with trying to quash down who he is into some shell suitable for public consumption. He's Kurt Hummel, and he's kind of, sort of in love with Blaine Anderson, and screw it all if he cares what anyone else thinks.
Kurt's not going to lie. When he first met Blaine, all Kurt could think was that maybe, just maybe, this could be how he finally puts everything that happened previously behind him. How he pushed himself past the nightmare of Karofsky, how he put the horror of Azimio and Strando behind him.
Helping Blaine was supposed to be therapeutic.
It wasn't supposed to end up like this.
Because it took all of six seconds for Kurt to realise that Blaine deserves so much more than to be someone's pet project.
Because it took all of two weeks for Kurt to realise that Blaine was going to become so much more than just a friend for him.
Because it took all of two days for Kurt to realise that he was falling for Blaine Anderson after that, and another day for Kurt to realise that he didn't want to stop.
Because it took all of one phone call for Kurt to screw it all up.
Kurt stares down at the his phone screen, down at the one photo he has of Blaine. It's from one of the few times that they've been able to meet in person, when he and Blaine were dancing to Lady Gaga and singing along obnoxiously loudly in his room. Blaine's face is split by an ear-to-ear grin, and he looks relaxed, at ease, and his hazel eyes glint out from the screen into Kurt's own steady gaze.
He stares at Blaine's face and waits for Blaine to call him back.
Blaine stares down at his phone, and at the number staring back at him.
He can do this.
It's okay to feel like he can't, because he knows he can. He can do this.
He hits dial.
"Blaine?"
Blaine takes a deep breath. "Hey, Penelope," he says.
He hears her sigh on the other end of the line, before asking if he's made his decision. Blaine swallows his fear.
He's falling. Terminal velocity.
But he doesn't need to hit the ground with a sickening crunch.
And so Blaine thinks of his safety nets, of all of his parachutes – Cooper, Wes, Nick, Jeff, David, Kurt – and then tells Penelope Pilkington where exactly he thinks the DA's office can shove their deal.
He can practically hear Penelope's grin on the other end of the line.
