Author Notes: So, I've come to the conclusion that being in an insanely pointless happy mood (not that I'm complaining…) for the past few weeks is not conducive to epic-angst-writing. But now I'm coming down off a general fandom high, and felt it really was time I got myself into gear. I was probably also subconsciously putting off writing this chapter, because this particular one worried/scared me as to whether I was good enough to do it justice.

Finally, thank you to all who reviewed last chapter – I'm really happy my song choice was met with such approval (and yes, I too really want them to sing it on the show… :D )

Chapter Seven

"Hey. Your aunt said I could come up." Kurt's murmured voice broke the steady quiet that had been surrounding Blaine the entire morning.

"Hey." His voice was rough, barely audible. He sat on the makeshift bed, elbows on his knees, hunched over, hands clasped. He wasn't entirely sure if he had the strength to sit up, let alone stand.

Kurt moved gracefully and without further invite, sitting down next to his boyfriend, "You ready?"

"No." Blaine surprised himself, by both his reply, and the catch in his voice. He hadn't meant to be so honest.

Kurt bit his lip, willing himself to maintain a level of collectedness. Gently, he reached over and laced his fingers into Blaine's, drawing one of his boyfriend's hands into his own lap, "You can do this. And I'll be with you every minute of today, as long as you want me there."

Blaine looked up for the first time at those words, and Kurt's stomach lurched to see the sheer silent pain in those eyes; the fear and the helplessness. And then Blaine's hands moved, his body twisted, and his lips captured Kurt's desperately, as if he was trying to melt his entire being into the other boy's, trying to escape. He pulled back slightly, and both boys were left sitting with stammering breaths, "I'll always want you with me. I don't think I could do this if it wasn't for you." Blaine's words were said with such anxious conviction that Kurt's heart settled in his throat, and he had to try really hard to bite back tears. Because if Blaine wasn't crying, then what right did he have?

Softly, Kurt leaned forwards and returned the kiss, much more chaste and gentle than the last. Purposefully, he squeezed Blaine's hand, "Okay then. Let's go."

They stood as one, and for a moment Kurt broke the contact of their joined hands to straighten out both real and imaginary creases in Blaine's suit, smoothing a loose curl back into position, straightening his tie. The sheer familiarity and closeness of the gestures didn't fail to register with either boy, and Blaine found himself leaning into the touch.

When Kurt was satisfied, he recaptured Blaine's hand and made to draw him towards the door, but he met resistance as Blaine remained unmoving. He turned, questioningly, and was shocked to see an all too familiar expression on Blaine's face. The same expression he had worn that first time they had sat down to coffee; the Dalton Warbler and the spy. "Are you okay? About today, I mean. Your mom-"

Kurt cut him off right there. However horrible it had been to wake up that morning, to walk past his dad, unable not to think about That Day, his pain was a comfortable dull echo. It would hurt today, yes, of course it would. How could he not think about his mom's funeral, today of all days? But he had worked through his grief a long time ago, and now it was just an accepted part of him. Today wasn't about him. Equally, though, he wasn't going to belittle his relationship with Blaine by replying with a hollow placating dismissal, "I'll always be reminded of my mom. But I've said goodbye. Today is something different. So, just hold my hand?"

Blaine nodded softly, his gaze dropped to their clasped hands as they hung suspended between them, outstretched, "I am."

Kurt pulled ever so softly, and this time Blaine obeyed the touch, stepping into the doorway as well, "Then don't let go. Whatever you feel today, whatever you think people might say if they see us. Don't worry about any of that, okay? Today isn't about them – it's about you and your dad and saying goodbye. And he accepted everything about you, including me. So, only let go if it's what you want, promise?"

And Blaine hadn't even realised it, until Kurt said those things. He hadn't realised that he probably would have instinctively let go of Kurt's hand as soon as they got outside, as soon as they were at the funeral, surrounded by all those strangers, brought together by one thing – his dad. Because the funeral was already too much to handle, let alone being brave about himself as well.

And he was never so thankful for having such an incredible boy in his life, "Promise."

That Saturday brought sunshine to the funeral, and a full room of people. But they were just a sea of faces to Blaine. A monochrome blur that just blended into the background, a background that dropped behind bursts of painful colour. The casket, a sheer, jarring brushstroke across the otherwise perfect backdrop; Aunt Sarah, a muted wash at Blaine's shoulder; Wes and David – here with their smudged out parents – as warming, blended spots against the grey; and Kurt, a vibrant splash of life, despite his black fashion-driven clothes, anchored to Blaine's own detached greyness by his hand.

The funeral faded in and out like a bad radio, and then the pressure in Blaine's hand increased, and there was a feather-light touch on his shoulder as Aunt Sarah attempted to pull him out of his daze.

Oh.

He was supposed to say something.

His aunt had offered to read today instead of Blaine when they had been arranging everything, worried that it would be too much for his teenage emotions to handle.

He had coldly shot her down.

And now he just felt overwhelmed. It was too much, too real.

The blank hollowness that had festered within him, since the moment his aunt had called with the news, now flinched against the reality as he somehow managed to stand. He felt Kurt's fingers slacken slightly as he remained sitting, but then Blaine had a streak of – what? Fear? Horror? Panic? Grief? – and it punched through his hollowness. He tightened his grip on Kurt's hand to the extent where it was almost painful, and effectively pulled Kurt up with him.

The room was still a blur of grey, and the casket was still a bloody fissure in the canvas at the corner of his sight, but Kurt's arm was now wrapped tightly around him, Kurt's fingers were laced firmly in his own, and Kurt's breath was soft by his ear. He was there.

Warm eyes connected with Blaine's own, and the gentle spots of colour on the grey became the only things he could, would see. And so he just looked at Wes. He just looked at David. Four rows back, but it was as if his best friends were the only people in the room. The same sad, understanding smiles as when they had happily befriended that shy boy on his first day at Dalton. The same judgement-free eyes which had watched and encouraged Blaine as he auditioned for the first time. The same encouraging expressions that sat so naturally on the faces of two of the closest people in Blaine's life.

And so he spoke. He told his best friends things they already knew. He told them about his dad, about how their relationship hadn't always been the best, but how he would always be Blaine's Dad. He told them about how the world was just grey without him, about how he would miss him, about how he would never forget him, about how he would make his dad proud.

Through it all, the warm eyes held steady with his own, and the light shining next to him leant on his shoulder and made it damp with silent tears at his words. But his voice kept rhythm, it kept eloquence and calm, and Kurt's tears remained juxtaposed against his steady words and dry eyes.

They were isolated, and Wes was glad. The wake was taking place at his own house, his parents having been quite close to Blaine's dad, introduced through Dalton events and general networking, much the same as David's parents, and many other of the funeral attendees. The house was large enough to accommodate the people who had showed up, without having the figurative emptiness that Blaine's house would likely have had, or the cramped atmosphere that Mrs Fielding's house would have offered.

So, thanks to the people, the size, and the sombre aura that seemed to hang on people, Wes, David and Kurt had finally managed to extricate Blaine from increasingly painful-to-watch conversations with people he didn't now, but who felt they had to accost the dead man's son at every turn to pay their respects.

It was a nice idea, but Wes didn't think he could stand one more gentle, placating smile on his friend's face. David had solved the problem quite succinctly, simply by grabbing Kurt's arm and saying that they wanted some help in the kitchen, smiling his parent-pleasing smile easily at whoever it was who was talking to Blaine now.

And by grabbing Kurt, Blaine's death grip on his boyfriend had successfully meant that they got the two for one deal, and Blaine didn't even have to think about it.

It might have sounded condescending against someone like Blaine, but to be frank, Blaine was simply too polite for his own good sometimes, and as soon as David pulled Kurt, and thus by proxy Blaine, out into the quiet cool hall away from the press of people, Wes regretted nothing. Blaine's whole body seemed to slump, and his death grip on Kurt's hand seemed to loosen to a more comfortable, relaxed hold. Kurt smiled gratefully at both Dalton boys, not needing to express his gratitude for their ability just to know how to act in situations like this. He personally hadn't been able to get over the hurdle of the concept of networking at a damn wake, let alone deal with this level of people. Kurt leant and kissed Blaine's temple gently, before looking at the other two boys expectantly.

Wes shrugged, "You looked like you could use a breather – you want to escape up to my room for a bit? Get away from it?"

Blaine smiled gratefully, "That'd be nice."

David led the way, and Kurt realised just how big Wes' house really was. Blaine's old house was sizable, but not especially noteworthy – at least, compared to this. From what Kurt could glean from the people downstairs, Blaine's dad had sort of been on the cusp of Dalton-esque society. He hadn't been poor, but had lacked the social clout and connections to really have made an impact. Kurt knew that a lot of people downstairs were there not because Blaine's aunt had invited them to mourn her brother, but because they felt they should show their faces to other people.

And the knowledge of that was enough to show in Blaine, who was clearly even less oblivious than Kurt about these things.

They settled in a random pattern around Wes' room. David kicked his shoes off immediately, clearly at home, loosened his tie, and promptly sat down on the floor with his back to Wes' chest of drawers. Wes gestured vaguely at his bed, while at the same time sitting on his desk chair, leaning against the back of the chair with his side, hooking a folded arm over the top. Kurt and Blaine took up the unspoken invitation and sat on Wes' bed, also toeing off shoes and with Blaine shucking off his suit jacket. For one of the very few moments that day, Blaine felt comfortable enough to release Kurt's hand, happy just with their position as they sat, cross-legged, Blaine's left knee touching Kurt's right, facing their friends.

David was the first one to break the silence with the most obvious comment, though perhaps not one that either Kurt or Wes would have chosen, "I wonder if they all know how creepy they all are. It's like Stepford down there."

But David had succeeded, because Blaine actually quirked a little smile. "Dad would've found it funny."

Kurt's breath caught, because he hadn't expected Blaine to be so casually blunt, today of all days. Wes, however, seemed to take it in his stride, "I think my parents are torn between laughing and being mortified. I actually saw the Greysons earlier."

"I think Aunt Sarah's a little overwhelmed." Blaine said quietly.

David shrugged, "She's okay, I think. I saw her with my mom earlier in the kitchen. She got out early, and is less recognisable. You, on the other hand, looked more than a little trapped."

Blaine sighed, and they could all hear how exhausted he sounded, "Today's just been really…crap."

"Horrible." Wes agreed.

"Really shitty." Kurt murmured, recapturing Blaine's hand as his boyfriend let his head fall onto the taller boy's shoulder.

"Abominable." David nodded.

Kurt quirked an eyebrow, Wes shook his head, and Blaine actually let out a tiny giggle, which seemed to have accidentally bubbled out with his maelstrom of emotions, "Abominable, David, really?"

David shrugged without remorse, clearly inordinately pleased with himself to have garnered such a reaction, "It's a good word."

And Kurt had to wonder why he had ever thought to be jealous of these two and what they had with Blaine, because anyone who had the ability to make Blaine smile, today of all days, was an amazing person in Kurt's book.

It was late in the evening, and Blaine had finally decided to venture out of his room. He had been on the phone to Kurt since dinner, and now felt slightly guilty and selfish – his aunt had been alone as soon as they had left the wake, but Blaine just hadn't had the energy to help her with her own grief on top of his. His uncle had been unable to cut his business trip short to attend the funeral; his company wasn't particularly lenient, and it was only his brother in law, not actual brother who had died.

Privately, Blaine had to wonder if he had even tried that hard to get home, even though he knew he was just being childish. He had only heard of his dad's relationship with his uncle through hearsay, and had never really noticed anything amiss at those few family events they had actually attended together. But it still stung. And it was nice to have someone to blame for once. His aunt had been understanding, but also upset. Not at his uncle, Blaine didn't think, more at his uncle's boss. It was hard for her, Blaine knew, and even as he thought it, he felt all the more guilty. She really hadn't had anyone with her today. Blaine's grandparents on his dad's side were long dead, and there wasn't really anyone else in their family. At least, no one close enough to be there today. His dad had cut a lot of ties when he had divorced Blaine's mother.

So now Blaine found himself standing awkwardly in the kitchen doorway, shifting from one foot to the other, waiting for his aunt to realise that he was standing there. She was just sitting at the small kitchen table, playing with her phone as she turned it over in her hands, clearly having just gotten off her own call – probably with her husband. And then she looked up tiredly and leant back in her chair, one hand scraping her hair out of her face from where it had fallen out of its styling. "Blaine."

She said his name warmly, and Blaine ghosted a smile at her before taking the unspoken invite to sit down with her, "Sorry I wasn't much company today." Might as well just jump right in there and apologise.

Sarah grimaced, and reached across to place her hand over his where it rested on the tabletop, "I didn't expect you to be. If anything, I was very impressed with you today. Your father raised an incredible man."

Blaine ducked his head, unsure of how to respond. He had nothing against his aunt, and he was generally good with people, but could this entire situation be any more awkward for the pair of them? On top of the shock, and the grief, and the hurt…they still had to deal with whatever strange relationship they found themselves in.

And then, as the silence stretched, his aunt leant forward to place her elbows on the table, her hand staying where it was as she tilted her head slightly in an attempt to gain eye contact. She looked uncertain, nervous. It was an odd combination of an expression that Blaine had never seen her wear before, "Blaine… I'd like to ask you something. And I want you to be entirely honest with me."

Blaine did not like that tone; he really didn't like that question, and neither did his inbuilt flight response, because he suddenly found himself wishing he had never set foot in the kitchen. But this was apparently his home now, and she was his guardian, and he didn't really have a choice, so he somehow met her eyes, "Sure, Aunt Sarah."

"Today, at the funeral, and at the wake, I didn't see Kurt leave your side," Oh no… No, please, don't do this, please, say that you already knew, that Dad told you before he…that this isn't what you're about to ask… "Blaine, you never let go of his hand, the entire day. I suppose that I just assumed that he was your friend, from the moment that rather rude boy called me on your phone. So that might be my fault. But Blaine…I need to know…are you, I mean, is he-"

Blaine couldn't stand her fumbling for words, and he refused to meet her eyes, "Kurt's my boyfriend. I'm gay."

Sarah took a sharp intake of breath, and in a horrible, stomach-plummeting moment, Blaine felt her hand drift a little back from his, so that now only their fingertips connected. There was a pause that Blaine was too cowardly to break into. After what seemed like an age, his aunt asked quietly, "Did Derek know?"

Blaine nodded, still not trusting himself to look up at her, "Yeah. He even met Kurt a few times. It took him a while to get his head round it, but I think he was okay, in the end."

Blaine was fully prepared for a screaming match. Or for Aunt Sarah to completely jerk her hand away as if he repulsed her. But then her fingertips reached forward again, and this time properly took his hand, "I'm glad he knew. And I like Kurt, he's a very polite, kind boy."

Blaine did look up then, his eyes completely disbelieving – she was taking it better than his dad had, "You…you're not…?" He couldn't really think of the appropriate word. Angry was probably what he was really searching for, but he didn't want to offend her.

"Shocked?" Sarah filled in for him, "I'm not sure. I think I might be. Is that why you were bullied? Why Derek moved you to Dalton?"

Blaine shrugged, mumbling, "I thought he'd told you. I didn't mean to hide; it just didn't…come up, you know? I've not really had to think about hiding my sexuality for a while."

It was then that something fleeting cast a shadow across his aunt's face, and she sighed, "Derek didn't talk to me as much as he used to when we were kids. I knew you had problems at school, I knew about Dalton, and that you were in show choir, and that you got good grades. Christmas card and reunion stuff. I'm sorry, Blaine. I wish we had been closer…before all this. It would have been impossible, I know, but it also would have been easier."

Blaine shrugged, "I know. But thanks, anyway. For not freaking out."

Sarah bit her lip, not entirely sure she wasn't freaking out, but then sighed again, sounding exhausted, "Blaine, I love my brother. And I love you – we're the last family each other has. And I won't lose that. I want to give you a safe home for your senior year. And it's because of this I have to ask you to do something for me, something that I really wish I didn't have to ask."

Blaine looked into his aunt's face, her eyes pleading, sad and apologetic all at once, "What?" He asked tentatively.

"I need you not to tell Peter that you're gay. I need you not to have Kurt round as your boyfriend while he's home."

Blaine was confused, and if he was honest, slightly scared, "W-what?"

His aunt kept a comforting hold on his hand, "Blaine, I love my husband, but I also know him really well – enough to see his flaws. And I can't promise you that he will be okay with this part of you. I wish I could, but there's too much doubt for me not ask this of you. For all I know, he might be entirely okay with a gay nephew, but he also might not. You're only here for a year, Blaine, and I don't want that year to be any more painful, uncomfortable or conflicted than it likely already is. I'm not asking you to lie about who you are-"

"You kinda are…" Blaine interjected jerkily, his voice disbelieving. Hadn't today been stressful enough?

His aunt dropped her head and pinched the bridge of her nose, before conceding, "Yes, I suppose I am. But I still have to ask it. While I cannot say that I am entirely comfortable with you being gay, I know that I can work through it, especially if my brother did. You're family, like I said. And that is why I'm asking you to do this. All I can offer in return is that you never have to hide or lie about anything to me at least, however uncomfortable you might think it would make me feel. I owe you that much. Please, Blaine?"

And Blaine didn't want to agree, because he felt like it was betraying everything that he had worked to be, everything that he had told Kurt, everything that he had fought his dad tooth and nail for.

But he was just so, so tired. Too much had happened, and he just couldn't deal with another source of hurt.

So he promised.

He still had another week before his uncle was home anyway, he reasoned, and before that he would have to deal with McKinley on Monday.

He would be okay.

But as he closed his eyes to try and sleep that night, the bright fissure of the casket against the grey canvas of the funeral was still seared into his subconscious. And one week's worth of shock, trauma and upheaval had reached a point.

It was his first sleep after the funeral, after the day that made it all real, when the nightmares began to haunt his dreams.

To be Continued…

Author Notes: Wow, this chapter was really hard. Especially the last part… Hope you liked it, and hopefully it won't be as long until you next see me!