AN: Soooo, guess what…I passed, I'm a doctor. How weird is that?
This was supposed to be a comfort/fluffy part…you'll see how well that turned out. Angst just follows me everywhere I go.
For the second time in as many nights, Burt found himself watching over Blaine as he slept. He felt desperately tired and emotionally drained, his body stiff and aching from hours spent hunched in uncomfortable chairs, but nothing could have dragged him from his seat. He felt responsible for Blaine in a way he couldn't quite explain.
At Blaine's broken whisper, 'They hate me.', Burt had reached across and grasped his trembling hands firmly in his own.
'Well, they're wrong, Blaine, they're just wrong.' Blaine shook his head in denial and Burt felt such anger towards these people that had destroyed his sense of self worth, he thought it might explode through his chest. He grabbed Blaine's shoulders, probably harder than he should have, and turned him around so they were eye to eye.
'You listen to me, Blaine. There is nothing wrong with you.' Blaine screwed his eyes tightly shut. He couldn't accept it, couldn't trust these words that contradicted everything he had ever been told about himself, that he truly believed about himself.
'Look at me.' Another shake of the head. 'You can, Blaine, you can.' Blaine forced himself to look at the older man and was struck by the intensity he saw there.
'You are a good person, Blaine, a good man,' Burt insisted. 'You helped Kurt when I couldn't. You went out of your way to be there for him, and he's changed so much, grown so much just through knowing you.'
Burt saw the immediate flicker of emotion in Blaine's eyes at the mention of Kurt and wondered how it had taken this awful turn of events to make him see how important this boy was to his son. Had it only been yesterday that he was questioning Blaine's intentions, grateful that they would be forced to spend some time apart?
'I will never be able to thank you enough for what you've done for him.'
'Why? I just don't understand why.' Blaine whispered. 'Why me?'
'I don't know, kid, I really don't. Horrible people have done horrible things to you, but that doesn't say anything about you, doesn't change who you are. If anything, it just shows how strong and brave you are that you're still here despite it all.'
'I just…I tried so hard to be what they wanted.'
'James is a disgusting, awful man for what he did to you. And your parents…I'm sorry to be rude but your parents are fools. I would have been honoured to call you my son.'
Burt felt Blaine's shoulders start to shake beneath his hands, saw his jaw clench in an effort to keep his composure.
'You can let go, Blaine. I'm here.' And with that, all the tension seemed to leave Blaine's body in one go, and he collapsed against Burt and cried.
He soon fell into an exhausted sleep, his body overcome by lack of food and the effort of healing itself, but his mind could not switch off so easily. He let out soft gasps of fear and pain in his sleep, his face grimacing and hands clutching at the bed sheets. Many times throughout the night he jerked violently, eyes snapping open, tears formed during sleep spilling freely down his face.
But for the first time in his life, Blaine Anderson didn't wake to face the darkness alone. For the first time in his life he learnt that a strong hand could be gentle too, could be used to comfort and soothe instead of torment and destroy.
He would not remember these fleeting moments in the light of morning, would not remember Burt Hummel stroking his hair from his face, holding his hand and telling him he was safe, but he would remember the feeling. He would remember that he wasn't alone. And he would have a new voice in his head to stand against the others; 'I'm here.'.
When Blaine woke to find Burt asleep in a chair next to him, his hand still lightly holding his, he felt such a rush of warmth course through it made him light-headed. That this man, who he barely knew, would care enough to sit with him through the night floored him. He had never thought anyone would be there for him in that way. Until now he hadn't known how much he'd needed it. Over the years he had gotten used to looking after himself, getting by on his own, learning not to expect anything from anyone because it always ended in heartbreak and disappointment.
His phone showed it was only 6:35am, but his empty stomach was making its presence known and he realised that between hospital visits, emotional breakdowns and nightmares he hadn't showered in two days. He carefully pulled his hand away from Burt's, not wanting to wake him, climbed out of the bed.
He stood in the bathroom and unwrapped the bandage around his sprained wrist before undressing. It was the first time he had looked at his body since the assault and he felt physically sick at the sight of it.
He could see dark, angry hand-prints as if they were seared into his flesh and he felt the strong grip on his arms, fingers biting at his hips, hands spreading his thighs. His hand flew to his mouth as a cry tore from his lips at the memory. He had been feeling so good, so safe just minutes earlier, he felt like his own mind was betraying him. Why did it keep assaulting him with these memories when he just wanted to forget?
He stumbled into the shower and stood under the harsh spray. It stung his cuts, and even the gentle patter of water was agony on his bruised and broken ribs, but he had to admit it felt good to get clean again, to wash off the dirt and blood. If only the sickening fear and shame he felt coating him could be washed off so easily.
His fingers brushed over the bite mark on his neck and lingered there for a moment. He hated this more than any other mark that had been left on his body and it burned under his touch like a brand. And that was what it was to him; he had been taken, used and this mark would always be there as proof.
He hadn't realised how hard he was digging his fingers into the wound until a trail of fresh blood began to run down his chest. He startled at the site, and quickly finished his shower and hid himself beneath a new set of Finn's overlarge clothes.
He made his way downstairs and was surprised to find Carole already in the kitchen, surrounded by pots and pans and plates stacked with muffins and pancakes. She looked up as he walked in.
'Couldn't sleep,' she said with a shrug and a warm smile that pushed back the feeling of guilt Blaine immediately began to feel. 'Come sit down,' she gestured to the kitchen table. 'Let me wrap your wrist back up for you and then you can eat. Something tells me you're very hungry.'
Blaine's stomach gave a growl in the affirmative and he smiled shyly, a faint blush staining his cheeks.
He ate as fast as possible with one hand, and had finished three pancakes and two muffins before he paused to take a breath. He looked sheepishly at Carole.
'Sorry. I didn't mean to be rude.'
'Don't be silly, you needed to eat. And I live with Finn, remember, I'm used to much worse.'
They sat in silence for a few moments, before Blaine stood and started to clear away his dishes. Carole thought about stopping him, telling him that he really didn't need to, but she had a feeling that he wouldn't listen. He was just so unfailingly polite and well-mannered. She had once thought that he was a credit to his parents, but she knew now that all the praise lay with him.
She watched him quietly as he began to wash the pans she had left filling the sink. He was such a sweet, kind boy, and to see him like this, shoulders hunched, eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on things other than the thoughts running through his head, so different to his usual expressive self, was heartbreaking.
She walked over and began drying the dishes, so that they were standing side by side, shoulders almost touching.
'How are you feeling?' She knew the questions was vague, but that Blaine would know what she meant.
Blaine's hand stilled at the quiet question and his customary 'I'm fine.' began to trip off his tongue as it had so many times in the past, but he stopped himself. He looked at Carole, trying to decipher if she really meant, if she really wanted to know what was going on inside his head, or was just making conversation, and saw nothing but kindness and honesty there.
'I don't know.' He sighed. 'I'm not being evasive, I just…I really don't know.' He looked to Carole to see if she understood and received a nod of encouragement.
'I just feel like I have no control; over myself, over anything.' His fingers subconsciously moved to rub against the mark on his neck. 'One minute it's like I'm empty, everything's muted and I can barely feel anything at all, and the next it just hurts so much I can barely breathe. I just want to be normal again. I want everything to be like it was before.'
Carole reached up to still the hand scratching at the scab.
'From what you've said, it doesn't sound like things were perfect before either.'
Blaine looked down.
'I love my parents. I know they're not perfect, but I do love them. They're all I know.'
'That doesn't mean that's all there is, Blaine. Things can be better. You deserve better.'
He didn't answer, just went back to washing the pans in front of him, but Carole knew he was considering her words. When everything was washed and dried she held her hand out to Blaine.
'Come on. Let's go raid Kurt's Disney collection.'
He only hesitated a moment before clasping it tightly in his own and smiling back at her.
'I'd like that.'
When Burt descended the stairs to find Blaine and Carole curled up on the couch watching The Little Mermaid, Blaine tucked tightly into Carole's side, her arm stroking softly up and down his arm, he fell in love with his wife all over again. She was such a loving person, a natural mother, and Blaine had clearly gravitated towards her just as he had. For the first time he felt hope that he might come out the other side intact.
The morning passed quietly and uneventfully, Blaine and Carole watching films while Burt read the paper. Occasionally Blaine would tense or his eyes would glaze over as he became lost in his thoughts, but a soft word and gentle touch from Carole and he would come back to the present and relax back against her with a shaky nod that he was okay.
Both Carole and Blaine were laughing gently as they watched Finding Nemo, when Burt came to stand by the television, phone clutched tightly in his hand, jaw clenched. Carole paused the movie and put a comforting hand on Blaine's back as he looked hesitantly at Burt.
'Officer Brady just rang.' Blaine froze. He hadn't expected the police to call this soon. 'They took James in for questioning. He admitted what happened…' Blaine eyes opened wide in surprise. '…but…' Burt trailed off.
'What? But what?' Blaine sprang to his feet and ran over to Burt, who stood rubbing the back of his neck, unsure how to phrase what he had to say.
'He said it was consensual. He said you initiated it.'
Blaine took a step back, hands coming up to cover his face, shaking his head violently.
'It wasn't, it wasn't, I didn't want that.' His whispered into his hands.
'We know, Blaine, we know.' Burt moved forward, gently removing Blaine's hands from his face so he could look him in the eyes. 'No-one believes him, Blaine, and no-one will.'
He pulled Blaine into a tight hug, arms encircling him, one hand splayed firmly across his back, the other tangling gently in the messy curls. Blaine pressed himself to Burt's chest, his hands caught awkwardly between them, trying to surround himself with every good feeling that this man encompassed.
'I didn't want it, I didn't, I didn't.' He whispered into Burt's shirt, over and over.
'We know, Blaine, we know, we know.'
Both men were so immersed in this moment, that neither heard the sound of a key turning in the lock, neither heard the door open, the 'thud' of bags dropped to the ground or the approaching footsteps.
'Blaine? Dad?'
AN: Does that count as a cliffhanger? I hope so...I always try to do cliffhangers, but they never seem to actually...hang?
Hope this was ok - I was trying to convey Blaine's emotional lability, which is why he kept swapping between happy(ish) and broken. Hope it came across ok.
As always, would love to hear everyone's thoughts.