I'm sorry this update took so long...between school things and writer's block and this being actually really difficult to write on a few levels, I couldn't write for long at a time. But here it is, and welp. I had a lot of help from my lovely Meghan (SMFAHForLife) for hashing out the plot and Shannon (UndapperPuppy) for beta-ing and accuracy, and both of them for being all around wonderful and putting up with me.
Warnings for this chapter: "mentions of suicide, physical abuse, intense feels and fluff," according to Shannon.
Also, I've made a few edits in the previous chapters to correct inconsistencies, if anyone had noticed them.
As usual, I don't own the characters; apparently I just like to torture them all.
It didn't take long for Blaine to realize that get some of your things meant going back to his house. Meant facing his parents and that spot where he'd fallen and all the places in the house where his father had been horrid and wretched and hit him and his mother had stood silently by. Meant being in the most terrifying place he'd come to know, the place he'd run from.
He couldn't breathe.
Blaine was shaking in Burt's arms, hands still tightly fisted in the back of the older man's shirt but arms heavy. Burt shot a look to Kurt, who stepped forward instantly and placed a soft hand at the small of Blaine's back.
Kurt took a breath, tried to steady his voice. "Blaine?"
The simple touch, the small voice brought Blaine crashing back down into himself, pulled him through the tidal waves of his thoughts and fears.
Kurt.
The frail boy dropped his arms and nearly fell in his haste to face Kurt. His eyes were wide, red, tears falling in earnest. Terrified. Hazy and trying to focus on Kurt. The purple mark on his cheek stood out more on his suddenly pale face, white as a sheet. His mouth was twitching, lips quivering and struggling to form the words he couldn't utter.
It broke Kurt's heart all over again. Without a thought he pulled Blaine towards him, cradling the back of his head and arm tight around his shoulders as Blaine's hands clutched at Kurt's shirt where they were trapped between their bodies. He sucked in a shaky, shuddering gasp, forehead pressed to Kurt's shoulder as he sobbed loudly.
Burt stepped back hesitantly, watching closely as he pulled a crying Carole into his arms. He didn't know what to do, what to say, where to go. He couldn't tear his eyes away. Watching Kurt's face as he tried to quiet Blaine his heart tore in two. Kurt's chin was tucked against Blaine's head, eyes screwed shut as he cried, murmuring soothing nonsense – maybe to calm himself as much as it was to calm his boyfriend.
None of them knew how long they stood there, just….crying in the hallway. Eventually Carole went to fetch tissue boxes and put on a pot of water for tea, and Burt gently guided the boys to the sofa. By then Blaine's sobs had subsided enough for him to stop shaking, but he sat tucked tightly against Kurt's side as he soothingly rubbed Blaine's arm and leg.
Kurt, though, was having his own trouble breathing. He tried to push his own pain and terror down; Blaine needed him. He took a breath.
"Bl-Blaine, baby, what was – are y– okay?"
"I….it – the house. I don't – I can't…they're – them - there," Blaine whispered brokenly, moving his gaze from his lap to meet Kurt's eyes, willing him to grasp his meaning through the tears.
Kurt understood all too well. The terror of returning to the people who tormented and caused so much pain, to the place of the incidents. The inability to articulate your fears. He nodded slowly, brow creased, and sniffed before scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his free hand.
"I-I know, sweetheart, I know. It…it'll b-be okay." Kurt's eyes shot over to his dad across the room in a frantic plea.
Burt cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, Blaine. Don't worry, we'll figure it out. You'll be fine. And…and we're always here for you. Promise." He watched Blaine give him a small smile full of the gratitude he didn't know how to express amidst the pain and fear. Burt just nodded and went to join Carole in the kitchen.
They sat together on the couch for a while, until Blaine's subtle tremors became slightly violent spasms. Immediately Kurt wrapped both arms tightly around his boyfriend and pulled him onto his lap, kissing his hair and murmuring in his ear.
"Shh, Blaine…do you want to go upstairs to lie down?" He rubbed Blaine's back soothingly.
Blaine made a low noise in his throat, something between a hum and a whimper, then spoke in a small, broken voice that Kurt rarely heard: "Only if y-you come, too."
"Of course, honey." Kurt kissed his hair again before gently guiding him off the couch and up to his room
They lay together on top of Kurt's plush comforter with their legs tangled and arms around each other. Occasionally Blaine would nuzzle Kurt's cheek with a shaky sigh, and Kurt would kiss Blaine's temple. Kurt knew Blaine needed to talk, to lessen some of the awful load he carried on his shoulders, but would take some time to be ready. Kurt would wait, would be there for him whenever he had something to say.
It turned out that Blaine had a lot to say that week.
Mostly they stayed in Kurt's room, but sometimes needed to stretch or eat or shower ("Please, Blaine, it is so hot out, just stand under the cold water for five minutes, it'll help") or just prove to Burt and Carole that they were still alive.
Blaine would sporadically tell Kurt something new, a story or explanation, always things he'd never told a soul before. At least one of them cried every time.
One story came that night, the first of the rest of their last summer before college. Kurt sat against the headboard with Blaine between his legs and wrapped in his arms. The television played a marathon of Big Bang Theory that they'd found while surfing, neither really paying much attention to it. The credits rolled between episodes.
"Hey, Blaine, do you want to borrow my laptop to –"
A small, noncommittal, unintelligible noise.
"What?"
"N-no. I don't want to."
Kurt lifted his head and craned his neck around enough to crook an eyebrow curiously within Blaine's sight. Blaine, though, fixed his gaze on the far wall and held his jaw tightly.
As Kurt leaned back again, not wanting to pressure his boyfriend, Blaine took a deep breath. Somehow his voice was steady, low and even, as if he'd been preparing himself for a bit of a speech for a while. Kurt suspected he had.
"I…I can't be online right now, and I turned my phone off for the same reason. I can't handle the texts from Wes, David and Mike innocently asking where I am because they're worried about why I haven't answered them in over two days when we usually have near constant conversations going on at all hours. I can't bring myself to talk to people after…after something happens."
Kurt whispered, "Something…with your dad?"
Blaine nodded once. "Any time my d-dad is particularly awful – screams until he's red in the face about my w-worth, or shoves me into the wall, or hits me – I just withdraw and disconnect for a while. Maybe for up to a week; just enough time to feel sort of…sort of human again."
There was nothing for Kurt to say. He just held Blaine a little tighter, pressed his cheek to the top of Blaine's head, and hoped Blaine could feel how important he was and how little he deserved everything that had been done to him.
"I…I just don't want to deal with other people right now because…because you and Burt and Carole are the only other people that know what happened – and know that it isn't even close to the first time – and no one even suspects anything anyway. I rather they didn't." Blaine's voice had begun to shake. "It will kill me to have to tell anyone else right now. And I – I wish I didn't have to tell you, but – but I need to. It's you. And I – I need you. More than anything. More than the embarrassment and worthlessness of other people knowing – especially people like you and Burt and Carole because I care so much about you all and you've been nothing but warm and welcoming and wonderful and I hate to burden you with the shit in my life."
Kurt rubbed Blaine's arm and spoke softly. "I'm not sure if – if this was okay, but I told the three of them that your sudden disappearances had something to do with your past. I didn't really know what to say because I didn't really know myself, but they were so worried that time in the fall…they just needed to know it wasn't them, and that you would come back when you were ready."
"It was never them. It was never anyone other than my dad. It's – it's fine that you said that; it's at least partly true. Wait, did –" Blaine swallowed and his voice rose in panic. "Did they think it was ever their fault?"
"No, sweetie," Kurt murmured and kissed Blaine's hair. "I – I talked to them about it last time. They said they knew about the dance and why you went to Dalton – that you'd told them about all that – and suspected that maybe your house wasn't the best place to live. They sort of suspect something's…not quite right, but don't have solid evidence to do anything, nor do they know what they really can do to help. Just know they've never been upset with you for it, Blaine. How can they be?"
Blaine's bitter laugh startled Kurt. "Oh, Mr. Anderson is always kind and polite in anyone's sight, but behind closed doors he – he's like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. How can they suspect him, though, if on the rare occasions they've ever met him or even know he's there he seems like a decent human being?" He rolled his eyes to the ceiling.
"They said there's always something tense in the air when he's around," Kurt supplied hesitantly.
"That's putting it mildly."
"They just want to be good friends to you."
Blaine swallowed again, eyes brimming in tears and voice thick. "They are. The three of them – and you, especially you – are most of the reason I've been able to find my way back every time."
"We're always there for you, honey."
"I – I know. You're all so supportive and helpful just by treating me like a – a normal person, not like the breakable, worthless little kid I feel like sometimes."
Kurt hummed and nuzzled his nose in Blaine's hair for a moment. He swallowed past the lump in his throat before whispering, "I'm so glad you found them. They're so good for you."
"I don't know where I'd be without them. Without you."
Taking a shaky breath, they both pushed the possibilities from their minds. Blaine squeezed Kurt's hands where they rested on his stomach and pressed into him.
They fell asleep like that, the television still softly playing.
Monday afternoon Kurt and Blaine sat for a late lunch in the kitchen. The house was silent and empty; Burt and Carole were at work, and Finn had jogged down to the park to shoot some hoops with Puck as the heat tapered off. Sunshine streamed through the windows at an angle, dappled light playing across the table and tile floor as they ate sandwiches.
It wasn't long before Blaine's small bites slowed and stopped altogether, leaving him picking at the leftover bread crust. Kurt tried not to watch him too closely – or at least tried to be subtle – eyeing his boyfriend's plate but saying nothing. He'd been gently encouraging Blaine to eat something small every few hours in place of larger meals that tended to take more effort and time than he could manage without shutting down or panicking, and didn't push him to eat with his family.
"I – I won't go running," Blaine suddenly said, face now turned to the window. A woman jogged down the sidewalk across the street, and he watched her pass.
Kurt swallowed the last bite of his sandwich and folded his hands on the table; he'd assumed Blaine had something on his mind. "Running?"
Blaine blinked and shook his head slightly, eyes fixed on the woman outside as she disappeared down the block. "N-no. Not for exercise."
"Ah, I remember your blunt refusal when I suggested a jog last year."
"But I never told you why."
Kurt hummed softly in confirmation, waiting for him to continue.
"I – it – I just…I can't." Blaine took a deep breath. "I haven't for years. I won't go on a treadmill or elliptical machine, or run track or cross country, or sprints for warm ups, or jogging around the block…no. I won't do it.
"At Dalton we always had another option. Gym class was always group sports or individual training. So sure, I've run during a soccer game or Frisbee or whatever with my friends, or occasionally to get to class on time. But never seriously running."
Kurt's brow furrowed as he watched Blaine turn to glare at his plate.
"I – it's – it feels like…like running away, just to come back with my tail between my legs. It feels cowardly because I've fled from my life enough. It feels like trying to get away from my dad and the bullies and my personal hellhole and everything." He inhaled shakily and whispered, "It makes me feel weak."
Kurt sagged in his chair, another fracture cracking his broken heart as his eyes watered. He reached for one of Blaine's hands and saw the other boy's tense shoulders relax slightly with the contact.
Finally Blaine looked up, met Kurt's shining eyes with tears in his own. "So I started boxing. It helped me let out the frustration and tension and fear and pain that I had no other way to deal with or escape from."
"Fight club?" Kurt's voice cracked.
The corner of Blaine's lips twitched into a small smile. "Yeah. And…sometimes I felt the best when I saw the cuts and bruises on my knuckles, arms, chest…they covered up what my dad did. Gave me a better reason to be battered."
His eyes lost focus as a memory hit him.
Less than a month had passed since Blaine transferred to Dalton. He was sitting in the living room reading his history homework assignment when his dad stormed through the front door a full two hours earlier than he usually came home for dinner – before Blaine could be sure to hole himself up in his room for the night. His dad stopped on the opposite side of the coffee table facing Blaine, face flushed and chest heaving. Blaine had enough time to look up curiously – and slightly afraid – before his dad started yelling.
For ten solid minutes he yelled at Blaine for performing with the Warblers instead of joining the baseball team. He'd talked to the coach – an old friend of his – and asked how Blaine had been playing and found out his son had never showed up again after a half-hearted tryout.
His dad just wouldn't stop. At some point Blaine rose from the couch as he tried to explain but his dad wouldn't listen. He gave up as his dad's face turned an even shade of burgundy and turned away to leave the room. His dad grabbed his wrist and spun him around, pulling and squeezing enough to bruise when Blaine tried to break his grip. He pulled Blaine forward and grabbed his upper arm with his free hand and literally tried to yank Blaine out to the yard to practice hitting – he said Blaine would just try out for the coach privately the next day.
It took almost ten more minutes but Blaine finally got loose and bolted up to his room. That night he filled out the form to apply for a dorm at Dalton.
The next day Wes and Blaine went to the library together during study hall, and Blaine took his jacket off to settle in for the hour. His sleeve rucked up and the giant purple mark peeked out. Wes almost fell out of his chair. He made Blaine roll up his sleeve; Blaine hadn't even really seen the bruise himself until just then – he couldn't look at it at first. The thick purple and blue band went around his wrist and stretched halfway to his elbow. He didn't show Wes the matching mark on his bicep.
He told Wes that it was just from boxing too intensely, tying the glove too tightly, someone getting a good shot in at Fight Club.
Wes wasn't convinced, but let it go and pulled out his notebook.
Every time Blaine had a suspicious bruise, Wes would eye it and catch Blaine's gaze with a question in his eyes. But Blaine couldn't tell him what his dad had done any of those times – it was easier to cover it up.
Or so he thought.
Blaine's tears spilled down his cheeks and he absently rubbed his wrist with his free hand, feeling the phantom grip there below Kurt's grasp.
Panicking at the sudden reaction Kurt tried to bring Blaine back to the story, to the kitchen, to him. "So it was s-something you could – sort of – control?"
Blaine blinked and nodded, scrubbing his eyes. "It was like…like I was fighting back, finally standing up to my dad and my mom and all those dickwads that pushed me down and made my life miserable. And it wasn't like I ever really would do anything to come back at my dad, because he made me feel so worthless without even a glance and could have done so much worse if I'd tried to fight."
Kurt clicked his tongue and rubbed a thumb across the back of Blaine's hand.
"But boxing…it makes me feel like I have a chance," Blaine confessed with conviction and locked eyes with Kurt. "Like maybe, someday, I will stand up to him. I'll defend myself and anyone else that needs it. Maybe I'll be strong enough to do something."
"You are, Blaine. You are so much stronger, so much better than him, than all of them."
Blaine lifted their entwined hands to kiss Kurt's knuckles. "Because I have you to fight for now."
A sudden thunderstorm broke through the silence Wednesday night, thunder shaking the windowpanes and lightning cracking through the sky. Kurt and Blaine sat against the headboard, legs entwined under the covers as soft music played from Kurt's nightstand.
An abandoned magazine lay open on Kurt's lap as he carded his fingers through Blaine's curls, the smaller boy curled up against his chest. Blaine's ear was pressed above Kurt's heartbeat, and he glanced out the window as the rain began to fall in sheets, body jolting with the first roll of thunder. Kurt kissed his temple and hushed him, tightening his arms around Blaine when he pressed himself impossibly closer.
A few moments later, Blaine murmured something unintelligible into Kurt's shirt.
"Sorry?"
"I, uh…driving in the rain scares me."
"I know, sweetie, it's okay."
"At night is the worst."
Kurt hummed his agreement.
"I…it – it makes me think of…"
Kurt whispered, "Of what, honey?"
"Well…well just," Blaine paused. "Just how easy it would be to get out. To – to finish it all," he finished in a rushed breath.
"To…to…end it?" Kurt's voice was low and somber, eyes wide at the confession.
"Yeah. It – god, just some days were so hard, and I never really considered it, but just – maybe it would be easier, you know? Just getting it over with?"
"Oh, Blaine, I –"
"No, just – just cut the wheel and it would flip and roll and, well, maybe that would hurt less. Would be quicker."
Kurt didn't know what to say. Tears spilled silently down his cheeks.
"I don't even mean to think it, not really," Blaine rushed to explain. "All of a sudden I'd see it all happen in my head and my hands would slide a bit on the wheel and I couldn't breathe. Sometimes I had to pull over to calm down. Just…driving down the highway through a storm like this, the road empty enough so it wasn't likely to hurt anyone else, and just – I couldn't handle life anymore, Kurt. Some days it seemed easier to try."
Kurt croaked, "But –"
"But I couldn't do it. It – it scared me way too much. Like…what if I survived, but barely? How would I be able to live with the knowledge that I'd tried and failed, and ruined the last shred of light in my shitty life in the process? What if I couldn't perform with the Warblers anymore or walk or even feed myself? I would have failed at something else in my dad's eyes. I would be treated like a breakable little kid. And my friends…god, it would have destroyed Wes and David and Jeff and Nick and all of those guys. I couldn't – wouldn't abandon them like that, not after they took me in and helped put me back together so many times. The thought terrified me, still does, but every time I drive through a storm it happens again and I just – what if I had just once tightened my grip and turned and –"
"Shh, no, please," Kurt whispered thickly.
"And if I'd done it, I wouldn't have met you. I wouldn't be here, not in any way. And I thank whoever's up there listening that I never did anything."
Kurt nuzzled Blaine's hair and whispered, "me too."
"You saved me, you know. You still do. Every minute. I – just – just thinking about you makes everything okay. Makes the shit worth it, makes the hell I went through worth it. Because I can come back to you. Because I have you."
"You saved me too."
Lightning shattered the sky and rain drummed on the roof.
Friday morning they got up at a somewhat acceptable hour – well, Kurt got up earlier so he could shower while he let Blaine sleep because Blaine just looked so peaceful and happy it made Kurt's stomach flutter – and went around each other as they got ready.
Kurt sat at his vanity as he applied one of his moisturizers (the skinny pale blue bottle, Blaine thought, the basic one, the first layer of treatment that really just made his skin so soft and left him smelling just faintly like fresh rain and cucumbers and any normal day he would add another two layers but that one was fine on its own for around the house on a warm day). Kurt was already dressed in black yoga pants and a white v-neck. How he could look flawless in anything, Blaine would never understand.
Blaine emerged from the bathroom in boxers and crossed the room, catching Kurt's smile as he reached for the clothes on the bed – a pair of Kurt's khaki shorts and a plain navy t-shirt because it was sure to be unbearably hot out again and the cooling system only worked so well, and it wasn't like they'd be going anywhere farther than the yard if that. Kurt stood and walked over to Blaine, holding a small bottle. Blaine held his hand out for Kurt to squeeze a small dollop of anti-frizz serum into the center of his palm before doing the same for himself and setting the bottle on the nightstand. They rubbed their hands together to spread the serum evenly, reached simultaneously for each other's hair and ran their fingers through, distributing and lightly styling for the day.
Kurt's hands lingered in Blaine's hair and trailed down to cup his cheeks, pressing their lips together gently. Blaine sighed and smiled into the kiss.
"I love you."
"I love you too," Blaine whispered, cupping his hands over Kurt's.
"I'm always here for you."
"I know."
"No matter what."
Blaine nodded with another smile. "Thank you."
"You're beautiful."
"I – what?"
"You're amazing. You're incredibly talented."
Blaine's eyes pricked with tears as he blushed and ducked his head. "Oh, wow, thank you, Kurt, but I don't –"
Kurt cut him off with a quick kiss to the lips. "You're kind, sweet, generous and friendly." He kissed Blaine again.
"You're funny and adorable and encouraging and supportive." Another kiss.
"You know what to say to calm me down when I get overly excited." And another kiss.
"You can sense my bitch fits and know how to diffuse them before I really attack." Kiss.
"You're the perfect size for your perfect hugs." Kiss.
"You're the best cuddler on the planet." A kiss.
"Your kisses still make me weak in the knees." A lingering kiss.
"We fit together in every way possible." A kiss, and foreheads pressed together.
"You are so strong, the strongest person I know. You give me courage and strength. You inspire me. You make me feel loved and wanted and needed. You make me feel whole."
A few tears spilled down Blaine's cheeks, and Kurt wiped them away with the pads of his thumbs. Blaine's mouth worked shakily, trying to form words he didn't know how to say.
He was completely and utterly overwhelmed by the waves of love washing over him.
"Thank you for opening up to me, Blaine. For sharing everything with me, for trusting me, for letting me into your past. For letting me be there for you."
"I – I love you," Blaine croaked, giving Kurt a small sappy smile with shining eyes.
Kurt grinned back. "I love you too."
Blaine leaned forward and pressed their lips together. Maybe he could be fine again, good, even fixed, with Kurt by his side. In the past week he opened up so much, exposed so many of his old wounds to Kurt, and Kurt stayed with him and comforted him. An enormous weight had been lifted from his chest.
He could heal. He would.
Kurt would help him heal.
A/N: I'm sorry.
