A/N:

Hi!

THANK YOU first and foremost to the amazing people who make it possible for me to believe in this story by leaving comments and advice in reviews and PMs. It … YOU mean the world to me. Your thoughts are wonderful and amazing.

To Louise815: Your comment makes me smile so much every time I read it, you have no idea. Well now you do, I hope:)

To OnceUponATimeTheEnd: I hope this chapter begins to answer this question of yours and that you love my idea as stupidly much as I know I do.

To mynamjo: I dearly hope you consider this, what I came up with worth waiting for and of course worth your time reading.

To hma1010: Thank you so, so, much for letting me know that my story is captivating enough to have you read it all and that you want to read more even. It is just so amazing to know, because I always cannot help but worry that I fall of track at some point and my story grows into a fractured, unreadable mess. Thank you for allowing me to think otherwise.

To Rory46: So sorry I haven't gotten back to you further about the betaing. I promise I will one day. At the moment I am just so busy I try to spend my every free minute on writing itself. I hope you understand. Thank you for the lovely review. I hope every single chapter to come will slowly unravel the mysteries created and I hope you like my pacing. It would feel so unnatural for it to be all blurted out there all at once. But I promise I have a plan, and the answers and you will get them.

To pionaskateboard: Just … thank you once again. You know how much I love and appreciate your insights into my writing, and my brain, more often than not. How can you see things about those going-ons in there from the other side of the planet that I can't? :) I so haven't forgotten about our messaging, I am sadly just too busy. I promise I will get back to you though, eventually.

To GothicGold: Here you go, the next chapter. I hope it is what you hoped for. I loved writing it. And I cried too. But that is a good sign, usually.

To Becky: You are SOOOO sweet:) Thank you. I love your review so so much. It is immensely uplifting to hear that you care so much for this story. It allows me to hope that I haven't messed it up yet and hopefully won't in all the many more chapters to come, and that is such an important hope to have while writing, and sometimes impossible to hold on to all alone. I need to grow more confident, I think.

To butterflyrain23: :) Your username still makes me smile so much. It is so good to hear I am not alone with my doubts and fears, it is sometimes far too easy to feel nothing but utterly down about oneself. Thank you for making me smile.

To intensewhatever: I love it so much too, the moment when Carole tries so hard to be all she can and all Kurt needs. She is just amazing. I love her. She is so so wonderful. As are you.

To annkum: I think, yeah, Blaine needed to learn that trust can be a good thing, not just something that makes you vulnerable to a point that allows you to do nothing but bare the pain others aim to inflict. Blaine has always been feeling crushed under the weight of expectations, positive and negative. That's why closeness gets too much for him so easily, and he does not know how to deal. I am still curious about your question, why Blaine has not been forced into therapy by the Hummels. I had never seen it as a valid option writing, and I don't think it is in life. He needs to be allowed to make his own way in recovery. Also, in this story so far only about three weeks have passed ever since they found out anything. That is why I asked about the time frame in your own story earlier this week. It takes some time for your Blaine to go into therapy, doesn't it? And I know he is forced in your story, but the situations differ wildly anyway I think in both our writing. Hope to hear from you about this. I'd love to hear your opinion.

Getting Away

Chapter 21: Pain

Without another word Blaine pulls back the blanket, covering him and Kurt, and slides out of Kurt's arms and onto the floor. He comes to sit on his knees in front of the coffee table a moment later, places the book on it, with great care, and opens it to a seemingly random page.

Kurt cannot help but think that there is nothing random at all about this act, not to Blaine, who displays, if not confidence then, certainty in every single of these movements. In fact it is the most certain Kurt or his parents have seen Blaine in a quite long seeming while.

Blaine, as soon as the book lies opened on the table, begins to trace the outlines of the picture before him, bright in colors, with his fingertips.

Kurt watches on, for a moment, as Blaine's breathing evens out. It is almost like the rhythmic movements of his fingers are putting him into a trance.

Carole and Burt watch on, concerned, as Blaine just sits, eyes having drifted closed soon after his hand's movement had begun.

His hand in the minutes to come never stops moving on the paper, filled to the brim with a bright swirl of colors amidst a sea of blue.

Carole finds herself reminded of '… that painting of the night sky, Van Gogh did, … only with far less stars.' Carole has loved this very painting for decades now, ever since she had first seen it one day, at school, in art class. And as back then, that time she had to take a test, she now cannot for the life of her remember its name, ' … or whether it has one at all.' And briefly she wonders if that is what it has been like for Blaine all this time, only magnified a thousand times in intensity. 'That feeling, that pain of just … not quite remembering. But finding reminders EVERYWHERE.' And she knows she would have nightmares too, every night, if wherever she looked there was a reminder of ' … something dark … painful.'

You cannot fear what you don't know. But what we once had a glimpse of - no matter how brief, no matter conscious to what degree - we foolish humans, with minds too small and too big all at once, can hardly ever forget again.

The colors on the paper under Blaine's fingertips are soft but vibrant blues and muted yellows, mixed in with a little white and green, calming but '… cold too,' Burt thinks.

"I could never take many things with me when I … when …," Blaine's breathing, changes within seconds into a chopped, painful sounding mess, "… wheneheehhver … I hhad to … to … hihyhhide."

"Hide?" Kurt asks, voice much smaller than he wishes it to be - speaking clearly, all too clearly, of Kurt's own fear for Blaine's safety, health …happiness, present and past.

Blaine's movements of fingertips on paper, still tracing the swirls of color, begin to stutter as he rings for a deep breath and lets out the words in a tiny sound, "Kurt? I'm so cold."

It only takes two seconds for Kurt to grab the blanket. And scooting up behind Blaine, he carefully wraps himself around Blaine, inviting him to lean back into his warmth, and then the blanket around both of them.

As Blaine, after a while longer, allows himself to sink deeper into the loving touches of his boyfriend, Blaine takes the book with him off the coffee table. It comes to rest on Blaine's knees. The book still open, his hand is now splayed all over the picture covering both of the open pages completely. Not a single corner of the paper has been left blank, like Blaine at the time of drawing this had been trying to fill every possible emptiness.

Blaine's other hand having intertwined under the blanket with Kurt's hand, they are resting with light pressure over Blaine's chest's center.

Kurt is so glad Blaine has moved their hands there, enabling him to keep watch over Blaine's breathing more securely.

Blaine's eyes are fixed on the painting again when he feels the first tears coming, whispering, "I'm still so cold."

Kurt's pleading eyes find Burt's then Carole's, asking 'What can I do? I don't know what to do!'

Carole is the first to move, careful with every move she makes closer to them, trying hard not to startle Blaine … or Kurt.

As she kneels in front of them, hand coming to rest gently against Blaine's forehead, Blaine freezes for the moment of touch, then chokes out a heavy breath and "I think I'm going to be sick."

At Blaine's words Carole quickly motions for Burt to hand her the trashcan standing an arm's length away from him on one side of the coffee table.

The book glides to the floor.

Blaine takes a firm hold of the trashcan, clutches onto it tightly, as he empties the contents of his stomach into it.

Carole, briefly having left comes back with a warm moist washcloth, gently traces it over Blaine's mouth, who winces at the caring motion directed at him.

He is still not used at being touched with such care and fondness by anyone but Kurt. And it has his stomach churning again. But there is nothing left to throw up.

Whimpering he buries his shaking form, already clutching the book again tightly to his body, deep in Kurt's chest, who holds him securely.

"Kurt, Sweetheart, do you think you can get him to the bathroom so he can rinse out his mouth a little," Carole asks carefully, knowing the taste must feel horrible, 'He cannot fall asleep like this.'

Kurt helps out a lot, keeping Blaine on his feet, helping him so he does not have to leave the book behind, not that Blaine could let go of either Kurt or the object in his arms. It is only instinct, habit, forged over years, that has him reaching for the book first, not love like he feels for Kurt.

When, after the trip to the bathroom, they are back in the living room, back in the soft comfort of pillows and blankets on the couch, Blaine is already half asleep from exhaustion as he begins to more mumble than talk. "I hate hiding. I am a coward. I always run, I did always hide whenever I could get away. I would hear them for hours, downstairs, knocking around bottles, drinking. And then the sounds would stop and I never knew if they had passed out drinking, … or … or were coming for me. I never knew until I heard nothing more, or, … or … them stumbling up the stairs, laughing and joking about how pathetic I was. They didn't care, they never cared that I was scared, that I … I didn't want to be there. I didn't know what to do. I didn't … I didn't know."

Kurt wants to cry and scream … shout, 'WHO?'

But he gets nothing over his lips. And all he gets from Blaine before he falls into a deep sleep in Kurt's arms, right here on the couch, is, "I want to hate him, Why can't I hate him? … both of them."

A/N: The picture by Van Gogh that I mention in here is called 'Starry Night', in case you want to google it. If you PM me or let me know in a review if you would like to read the amazing interpretation of it I found online, I will gladly post it with the next chapter's author's note, or send it to you. I did not realize HOW well it really fits my story until I read about it. I simply love this painting, all of Van Gogh's work really, and it seemed so right from the first moment I thought of using it. I hope you felt that way too reading this chapter.