Chapter 21

Coming Back

(A/N) Happy 14th birthday to myself! (Well, yesterday, anyway.) The best present I could ever have is YOU guys. *Wipes eyes with handkerchief.* Oh God, I'm such a tearjerker, aren't I?

Blaine closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm his tangled nerves. He gripped the edge of the hard, wooden bench tightly, knuckles whitening. As if refraining himself from jumping to his feet, grabbing his crutches, and stumbling out of the building as fast as his blasted ankle would take him. But Kurt and the Hudson-Hummels would be so disappointed. They believed in him, after all.

Stay calm, he thought, breathing hard. Stay calm… please, God damn it…

A door inside the cubicle opposite Blaine started to open. His first reaction was a quickening heart rate, immediate sweating, and shakes all over. Screw this, he wasn't calm- he was scared as hell. Slowly, oh so slowly, as if torturing him, the door swung open to reveal… a pillar of darkness. Blaine's brows furrowed in confusion. But then a figure emerged. A figure walking with crookedness, a manic glint in his eyes, a bloody smile. A figure that haunted Blaine's nightmares every single night. It's not real, it's not real, it's not real… Blaine closed his eyes, praying with every shred of his dignity that the thing would just go away.

After what seemed forever, when his racing heart slowed down and he stopped quivering, Blaine fearfully opened his eyes. He breathed a sigh of relief- then caught it again when he remembered who he was just about to deal with. A man in orange overalls sat slumped in the bench inside the cubicle. His hair was a clumpy mess, lips turned down somberly, eyes bloodshot. This guy was weak, broken and tired- not at all like that monster in Blaine's nightmares. He also certainly wasn't the crisp, put-together businessman he was at work. But also not the alcoholic, abusive person he became at home either. This man looked weary and sad, as if he was exhausted from being too many different people at once.

As Blaine saw this, a million emotions hit him at once. First of all realization, which made him freeze on the spot. Then when that ebbed away and his brain started to function- he was angry. This guy forced his wife into puberty. He threw his child into foster care. He practically stole his other kid. And almost killed him. Blaine wanted to grab his crutches, smash through the wall of glass separating the cubicles and beat his father so hard with them, almost as hard as he hurt his own family. But no amount of pain would equal to that. Not at all.

With a hand trembling with a mix of fear and rage, Blaine ripped the telephone off its hook on the wall and clamped it to his ear. On the other side of the glass, Devon did the same in a slower manner. For a few moments father and son stared at each other, Blaine's bruised eyes filled with fury, Devon's miserable and fed-up.

Finally, one of them spoke. "Why are you here?" Devon asked in a barely audible voice.

Blaine took a deep breath and opened his mouth. "My therapist sent me here," he spat.

Devon tilted his head. "You have… a therapist?"

Blaine sneered. "Huh, I thought wouldn't be surprised from all the years you fucked me up."

His father sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Why did your- your therapist tell you to come here? The best thing to do is just forget about me…"

"Well apparently it isn't," Blaine snapped. "I've been getting weird-ass nightmares and hallucinations from the stuff you did to me, and she thinks that if I tie up any loose ends they'll go away. And then I'll be able to forget about you, son of a bitch." He breathed hard, his anger allowing him to tell his father things he wouldn't have dared say before.

Another long silence passed. Devon slumped in his seat, Blaine boiling up in his. He wanted to tell his dad so many things that sat at the tip of his tongue, ready to jump out and scarce the hearer with their bitterness and malice. But only one managed to come out.

"Why did you do it?" Blaine hissed. "Why?"

Devon's eyes couldn't manage to meet his son's. He balanced his head on one palm and stared absent-mindedly at the counter. "I don't know," he whispered eventually, seeming as if he was talking to himself. "Maybe I was just angry. Angry that my family was not good enough… but they are. I'm just a greedy man who wants everything."

"No kidding!" Blaine yelled. The policeman standing guard somewhere behind gave him a strange look that went unseen.

Devon came to the realization that his son was still there, and looked up at him with droopy eyes. "Right now all I want is to get out of jail… and have a second chance."

The nerve! Blaine's grip on the phone tightened. "You're never getting that second chance," he growled. "You never will."

"I know," Devon said sadly.

Ping!

Blaine yanked his phone out of his pocket. Yes, anything to take me away from this situation, please!

New message from: Kurt

I'm in Glee club right now but Mr. Schue's down with the flu. So guess who's substituting? MISS MCCAULEY. She made us sing Christmas carols. And it's February. So Santana claimed this was bullshit, ripped up the sheet music and now it's a confetti party. And oh, Puck is making a petition to stop teachers from sticking burnt toast in their armpits. Wanna sign it?

Blaine's anger ebbed away as he read the jovial text. A smile tugged at his lips. Kurt always knew how to cheer him up.

"Is that Hummel?" Devon nodded at Blaine's phone.

Blaine jumped. "Wha? Oh yeah… why?" he scowled again. "Do you want to try and squeeze his vocal chords or something? I'll never forgive you for your attempt, by the way."

Devon held his palms up. "I know, I know. And this won't help, but I'm sorry. And Blaine… just- just keep him close, okay? Plus he has got a good fashion sense. Though he probably won't appreciate my attire right now."

"You don't say," Blaine drawled, rolling his eyes. "And of course I'm keeping Kurt close. I live with him, smartass."

A spark of hopefulness glinted in Devon's blank eyes. "So… so you're not moving to Illinois?"

"No," Blaine shook his head slowly. "Lima's my home. I couldn't bear to leave the few that I love. And you're not one of them, so don't go looking at me like that."

The spark fizzled out, and Devon was left looking half-dead again. "I don't blame you, kid, I don't blame you."

Blaine nodded curtly, then he grabbed his crutches. "I'm leaving now, okay?"

"Wait!" Devon pressed a hand to the glass.

"What do you want?" Blaine barked.

"Can you… can you please visit me some other time? Please?"

Blaine pursed his lips, peering at the man who hurt him for so many years, now ashamed locked-up and helpless. Finally he sighed, "I'll… I'll see."

A small smile tugged on Devon's lips. "Now son, you should go home to your new family."

"I should." With that, Blaine hooked the phone back on the wall and hoisted himself up. He hobbled up to the exit with lighter feet than usual, as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders.

(A/N) There are a few more chapters left, but not over five I think, and then this fanfic is ending. But fear not, I'm planning my next one which is based on a famous classical book. Can anybody guess what it is? Hint: "Please, sir, I want some more." (That isn't too easy, is it?)