Blaine was sitting at the counter in the kitchen when Will walked in.
"Take your morning pills?"
Blaine nodded noncommittally.
"You have a few minutes? There's a couple of things I wanted to talk to you about."
Blaine shrugged and nodded again, sipping his cup of coffee, wishing the pain meds would kick in already. Everywhere was throbbing this morning.
"All right. Well first off I wanted to talk to you about the lawyer we met with. I wanted to call him today and let him know if we would be interested in hiring him or not. The decisions up to you in the end, but just let me put my two cents in. I, personally, think we'd be fools not to hire him. He seems like he genuinely wants to help, and if you don't win any of the money from your father, then he won't even charge us, regardless of whether they lock your father and Jimmy and Bruce up or not."
Blaine frowned, thinking for a second before asking, "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why…everything? Why does he want to help, he doesn't fuckin' know me. But more than that, why would he do anything for free if I don't get a payout?"
Will studied the surly teen across from him, wondering why he was in such a bad mood this morning, and also feeling a stab of sympathy for a kid who couldn't understand why someone would want to help him for nothing in return. "I know you probably haven't run across too many people like this in your life, Blaine, but some people want to help others for no reason other than because they have a good heart. James sincerely just wants to see you get the justice you deserve."
"Who's James?"
"James Winters…the attorney?"
"Oh."
Will hesitated before continuing. "Blaine, are you okay? You seem a little, uh, grumpy this morning."
"M'fine. Just hurting this morning. My head, my jaw, my ribs, my arms, my hands, my legs; everything is fuckin' throbbing and I feel like shit."
Will looked carefully at Blaine before making a decision that he wasn't lying and getting up to walk over to the cupboard where the pills were. He pulled out a couple pills and set them on the counter in front of Blaine. "Dr. Weiss said for the next few weeks you'll have good days and bad days. He also told me on the bad days, it's okay to take an extra pill or two when needed. So take another Oxycontin and another muscle relaxer, and as soon as we're done talking I want you to go lay down in bed, okay?"
"I wasn't trying to-" Blaine started.
"No, Blaine, you've been doing fine with the pills, I know you weren't trying to get more."
Blaine nodded gratefully, and swallowed the pills together.
"So… James Winters. What should I tell him?"
Blaine rubbed at his eyes and then shrugged. "I'll trust your judgment. If you think it's a good idea, then hire him."
"Okay, I'll call him in a bit. The other thing I wanted to discuss with you was school."
"What about it?" Blaine asked warily.
"I'm not sure it's such a good idea to send you back to Dalton, especially while your father is still walking around free. And, honestly, I can't afford their tuition."
"I don't want to go back there, anyways, if we're being frank here. Too many questions, and eventually the story will get around, and I don't want to deal with all the stares and whispering and bullshit," Blaine replied.
"Okay, well…how would you feel about transferring to McKinley? Not right away, I still want to keep you home for a least another week or two, but if you want to transfer there, I could go on and set it up and then figure out your schedule and talk to your teachers and get you any work you might need to catch up in classes."
Blaine didn't look surprised, and Will had a sneaking suspicion he'd known all along he'd end up at McKinley now that he was living with Will. "That sounds fine. At least I'll know people there. One condition though. I get to join the New Directions."
Will laughed. "That would be a definite. All right, go. Lay down. Get some rest. You look like hell."
"Gee thanks," Blaine grinned wryly, struggling up. "Can you carry my coffee into the room?"
Will nodded, still a little put off by how agreeable Blaine was being. He wasn't used to it. But he also wasn't about to complain.
Puck stared at the unknown number showing up on his caller ID for a few seconds before his curiosity finally took a hold and he answered it. "Yeah?"
"Noah?"
"Who's this?" Puck grunted.
"Sebastian Smythe. Blaine's friend?"
Inwardly, Puck groaned. "What do you want? And how the hell do you have my number?"
"I jacked it out of Blaine's cell when I was there last night. Look, I'm no more excited to be speaking to you than you are to me. But I have a…situation. Blaine's father is here. At my house. Freaking out wanting to know where his son is. It's just me here, and honestly, I've no clue how to proceed."
"Shit," Puck swore. "Text me your address, I'm on my way." Puck hung up, muttering a string of curse words under his breath, and grabbed his keys off the counter; glad Blaine was still out cold in the bedroom. "Schue! I'm heading out for a bit!" He hollered as he ran out of the house with no explanation and no chance for Will to respond.
Puck made record time and was at Sebastian's in twenty minutes. He refrained from running his car into the back of Blaine's dad's fancy one, shut off the engine and jumped out, running up the steps to Sebastian's mansion. He pounded on the door and then let himself in, too worried and impatient to wait for Sebastian to answer the door.
What he found made his blood boil and caused his hate for Blaine's father to almost double. Sebastian was backed up against a wall, looking terrified and Blaine's dad had an arm pulled back two seconds from hitting another kid.
"Hey! Pick on someone your own size for once!" All of Puck's bottled up anger came pouring out in that one brief moment. All he could see was flashes of his own dad hitting him, flashes of the scared look that still crossed Blaine's face anytime someone raised a voice, flashes of Mr. Anderson's smug grin and complete lack of remorse or concern and love for his son as the cops hauled him out of the bedroom while Blaine lie on the floor, half dead. All he could hear was every insult his own father had hurled at him, and every insincere apology he had given afterward, the cold monotone Blain spoke with at the lawyer's office and the pain in Blaine's voice when they talked about Batman.
Puck hadn't even realized he'd moved from the doorway until his hands were grabbing fistfuls of Mr. Anderson's shirt and yanking him away from a very relieved looking Sebastian.
All of Puck's pent up aggression didn't hold a candle to Mr. Anderson's drunken rage though, and in the next moment Puck found himself lying on the floor with blood gushing out of his nose.
Mr. Anderson directed a kick to Puck's abdomen, and stated in a chillingly calm voice, punctuating each word with another kick, "I. Want. My. Son. Back."
Puck groaned in pain, clutching his stomach, and Sebastian made a feeble attempt to pull Mr. Anderson away from the other teen. He had called the police shortly after Puck, but had only had enough time to give a quick synopsis of the situation before Mr. Anderson had gotten inside and started threatening him. Sebastian had grown up around Mr. Anderson, and this was a side he'd never seen. The man had certainly known how to put on an act in front of company, that was for sure. The sad truth that this was the father Blaine had gone home to every night made Sebastian's guilt over never pushing the issue in all the years he'd known Blaine grow even more. This was something he couldn't even fathom ever forgiving himself for.
Mr. Anderson took advantage of Sebastian's preoccupation with his thoughts to sucker punch him, causing the teen to stumble backwards in surprise. With something between a groan, a whimper and a curse Puck managed to his feet, gathering himself enough to grab a hold of Mr. Anderson and turn him away from the weaker teen and back to him. "Pick on someone your own size for once," Puck snarled, ignoring the crimson red blood dripping off his face and onto the Smythe's undoubtedly expensive cream colored carpet. He was beginning to think it wasn't his most brilliant idea ever to not at least mention to Schue where he was going. And he didn't even have his phone on him; he'd left it in the car in his haste to get inside.
Puck drew his fist back; ignoring the pain it caused his ribs, and with a growl let his fly towards Mr. Anderson face, fueling it with all the anger, all the hate, all the pain and sorrow brought on by his own father. A sense of liberation flowed through Puck's very soul as knuckles met jaw, and with the gratifying crunch of broken bone resonating in the room, Puck dropped the older man to the floor with one hit.
Both teens winced slightly as Mr. Anderson's head smacked off the corner of the hall table on his way to the ground. Sebastian watched the blood seeping out of the gash near Mr. Anderson's temple and wondered briefly if his parent's were going to be pissed about the stain on the carpet before he realized that there were probably more important issues at hand right now.
Puck spared a brief glance at Mr. Anderson, completely unconcerned with his well being, and his lip curled up in a disturbing smirk. "Asshole," He spat at the unmoving body.
"Is he…?" Sebastian trailed off, a little sickened at how much blood was coming out of Mr. Anderson's head.
"No," Puck replied confidently, after a moment. "He's breathing, look," Puck gestured towards the even rise and fall of Mr. Anderson chest. He was about to ask Sebastian for a towel for his nose when he heard a siren growing steadily closer.
"Did you call the police?"
Sebastian nodded, grimacing at the soreness in his right eye where he'd caught the punch. "Right after you."
Puck nodded thoughtfully. "I can't get in trouble for this, right? I mean, it was self defense, you'll back me up, right?" He asked, dreading just the thought of returning to juvie.
"Right," Sebastian gave both questions a verbal response paired with an affirmative nod, just as two policemen appeared in the threshold of the open front door to the Smythe house.
Santana was hunting for her car keys, about to leave for Brittany's when her cell phone came to life, and the sound of George Thorogood's Bad to the Bone alerted her to an incoming call from Puck. It still annoyed her that he'd snuck into her phone and downloaded and set his own ringtone, just not enough for her to actually bother changing it.
She glanced at the screen, confirming what she already knew, and considered not answering it before giving in and pressing the green button. "Yeah?" She answered impatiently, not bothering with niceties.
"Well, good morning to you, too, sunshine," Puck's was aiming for sarcasm, but it fell flat and his voice just sounded drained.
Santana frowned at his tone, her senses on high alert. "Puck? What is it? What's wrong?" Her mind was already scanning the possibilities, taunting her with all sorts of unimaginable horrors.
"Er, well," Puck hemmed and hawed for a minute, which was unlike him.
"Puck," Barked Santana, wondering how worried she should be. "Spit it out."
Puck gave an overview of the events to Santana, and then rushed on before she could comment on anything. "I need you to go over to Schue's, tell him what's going on; preferably not within earshot of Blaine, and then if you can stay there with Blaine and send Schue to the Westerville Police Station?" He ended in a hopeful question, again sounding quite unlike himself to Santana.
"All right. I'll text you when he's on his way," Santana agreed. She couldn't really say no, now could she?
"Thanks," Puck breathed a deep sigh of relief, instantly regretting it when his ribs reminded him they were most likely bruised
Santana sent a quick text to Brittany, telling her she would call when she could, and hopped in her car, still unsure if she was more worried about what was going on or more annoyed about the change of plans.
Will's hands were gripping the steering wheel so tight that they were starting to hurt as he did his best to stick to the speed limit on his way to the police station. The last thing he needed right now was something else to worry about. But worrying was one of his specialties it seemed, as his mind churned through all the new complications and setbacks this incident could cause all around.
Santana had told him Puck wasn't badly injured, but that did little to ease his mind. Will couldn't help but feel a little bit of annoyance at Puck as well. Puck should have told him what was going on and let him handle it, not rushed off to try and save the day. Now you're just being petty, his brain chastised him. He knew that Puck's reasons for going over to Sebastian's after getting that call had to be deeper than that. Whether Puck admitted or not, Will had no doubt in his mind that Puck had a damn good reason for being so reckless. He doubted he'd ever find out exactly what it was, but the though alone was enough to make any remaining trace of irritation at Puck vanish from Will's mind.
A rare expletive burst from Will's lips as yet another stop light turned red before he could get through. He slammed a fist against his steering wheel in frustration and pleaded with the light to change back to green already. Since Santana had arrived looking flustered and speaking so fast Will could barely keep up, nothing had gone right. He'd shoved his feet in the wrong shoes, slammed his hip into the kitchen counter hard enough to form an immediate bruise, and finished that off with misplacing his car keys for the first time in his life, only to find them in his pocket after ten minutes of searching the house. Hell, the only thing that had gone even remotely close to right was Blaine still being out cold when Santana arrived and remaining that way when Will rushed out.
Now he just had to hope he stayed that way until they got back. Not that that would make things any easier. He'd still have to tell Blaine his dad had shown up at Sebastian's, drunk and threatening, and that he'd attacked both his friends. And that Puck had retaliated. Will had a sinking feeling that conversation was not going to be a fun one and that none of this would sit well with Blaine or his conscience.
"C'mon, c'mon," Will muttered to the traffic light, reacting so fast when it finally did change that he ended up squealing through the intersection and laying tread marks on the pavement behind him.
Between work, preparing the glee club for sectionals, worrying about Blaine, worrying about Puck, taking care of both teens, trying to afford groceries for two extra mouths and what he was sure would be a dramatic increase in all his utility bills that he could already hardly afford on a meager teacher's salary, and the terrifying thought of Mr. Anderson or Jim or Bruce showing up on his doorstep in the middle of the night, Will was starting to think of sleep, relaxation and free time as fond memories of the past that may never return.
And he also got the added fun of trying to decipher what was with Blaine and Puck and their mood swings and a sudden need for secrecy and locked doors and hushed tones behind said locked doors. If this was typical teenage behavior and how it felt to be a parent with the constant exhaustion and anxiousness and worry pecking away at his brain, then Will wasn't sure why he'd ever thought being a parent seemed like a good idea in the first place. So far all he had to show for it were newfound, and apparently permanent, dark circles under his eyes and a whole lot more grey hair than he remembered having a couple months ago.
Of course, if Will was being one hundred percent honest with himself, he wouldn't trade these problems for all the sleep and money and ease of mind in the world. The sense of pride he felt in the boys when they conquered a fear and the tenderness he felt in his heart for them whenever they looked scared or worried or upset was more important than sleep, money and a worry-free mind. And it hadn't even been a week since they'd come to stay with him, so he could only imagine how he'd feel in a few weeks, much less months.
It felt nice to be needed, and Will loved that he got to show both teens that not all men were like the fathers they grown so accustomed to. He wanted so badly to not only be a role model for the boys but also to be a friend, a confidant, and above all else, a father figure. Because that was one thing both boys those boys needed, one thing they'd never really had but most certainly deserved.
Will's mind had slowed down on all the fretting without him realizing it, so by the time he pulled into the police station parking lot he was a lot calmer and more rational; ready to go do what he could to help one of his boys.
You know how sometimes when you first awaken; before you even manage to open your eyes, you know that something is wrong? You don't know what's wrong and you don't know how you even know something's wrong but you know without a doubt that somewhere, something that directly affect you is just not right. Yeah, that was exactly the urgency and dread that Blaine got upon awakening. He hadn't pried his eyes open, had no way of even knowing what time it was, but he knew that getting out of bed would bring nothing good or worthwhile to his day. Just more bad news. More shit he'd have to deal with.
He briefly entertained the idea of burying his head under the pillow and doing his best impersonation of an ostrich, but sadly, running from problems never seemed to solve them. Usually it just made them that much worse when they finally caught up to you. And they always caught up to you.
Heaving a dramatized sigh for the benefit of no one but himself, Blaine forced his eyelids to part and fumbled for his phone to check the time. He glared accusingly at the screen on his iPhone, as if all the bullshit he was about to have to get up and deal with was entirely this inanimate object's fault. Three PM, you lazy fuck, the iPhone taunted him. "Fuck you," he responded out loud, hoping no one was within close enough range to the bedroom to overhear him talking to his iPhone. Or himself, as they'd most likely assume he was doing. He wasn't sure which would be worse.
He hadn't even put his feet on the floor yet and already he knew going back to sleep had been of the dumbest decisions he made this past week. "I don' know what's wrong, and I don't know why you can't leave me the hell alone, but I really hate you right now," Blaine continued talking out loud, only this time it was the universe as a whole he was speaking to. He'd realized a long time ago that there was no way any type of deity existed. There was too much bad shit in the world for that to be even a slight possibility.
Blaine made up his mind that it was pointless to put off the inevitable and he poured himself out of bed and into his crutches, exiting the bedroom and hoping that maybe, just maybe, he was wrong and everything was right. He knew he was wrong about being wrong and everything being right the second he hobbled into the living room and saw no sign of Will or Puck, and instead a bored and slightly aggravated Santana sitting on the couch, flipping listlessly through the guide on the cable box.
She either didn't hear him or was ignoring him, because she didn't budge when he entered. Blaine cleared his throat loudly, and Santana turned around. "Um, hi?" Blaine hinted at her, cocking one eyebrow and waiting for an explanation.
"Well good morning, sleepyhead," Santana replied a little too brightly. "How was your nap?" Since when was Santana all sunshine and smiles and manners? Had Blaine been transported into some awkward Stepford Wives dimension while he slept? As nice as that sounded, he highly doubted it. Someone was putting on just a little (okay a lot) too much of an act.
"It was so wonderful I wish I'd never woken up," Blaine muttered. The last part at least was completely true. He did wish he hadn't woken up, that was for sure. "Mind telling me why you're here and Mr. Schue and Puck seemingly, well, aren't?" Blaine cut to the chase, in no mood for pleasantries and pretending.
Santana bit her lips, looking almost nervous, her eyes darting from Blaine to the door as if she were trying to decide if she should just hightail it out of there and leave him with no answers.
"Santana."
Her signature scowl reappeared, immediately masking the cheerful person she'd been just moments ago. "Fine. But don't get pissed at me, and don't bother peppering me with questions, right now all I know is what I'm about to tell you," Santana huffed.
Blaine waited, making a 'hurry it up' gesture after a minute of silence, which Santana responded to with a very unladylike gesture of her own in return, before telling Blaine everything she knew.
Will thanked the he police officer, shook his hand and turned around to face Puck and Sebastian.
"Okay, guys. We're good to go. Sebastian, I spoke with your mom on the phone, she asked me to bring you home with me until her or your dad can get off work, all right?"
Sebastian nodded, relieved his mom hadn't insisted on leaving work immediately and coming to get him. Well, she had at first, actually, but Will had talked her out of it, explaining there was nothing she could do and that no one was seriously injured.
"Puck, do you think you need to see a doctor?" Will asked as the trio headed towards his beat up car.
Puck shook his head. "Just bruised ribs, they wouldn't be able to do anything, anyway."
"Okay. Let me know if you change your mind. Let's go relieve Santana."
Puck's phone was the only response to Will and it gave off a loud chime, indicating a new text message. Puck glanced at it, grumbling a "Fuckin' great," under his breath as he read it.
Will and Sebastian waited for him to elaborate.
Puck looked up at his two companions. "Blaine woke up. Santana gave him a rundown of what happened. She said now he's just sitting there and she can't tell if he's scared, mad or indifferent."
Will unlocked the car and they all climbed in. "Puck, I think we need to get home and check on Blaine, do you mind if I bring you back out later to pick up your car?"
Puck had completely forgotten his car was still at Sebastian's, they'd been brought over in a police car.
"That's fine," He agreed readily, wanting to get home to Blaine as fast as possible himself.