Another year passed that Blaine lived inside of the Hummel home, a peaceful safe house for him to retreat to when he didn't want to hear the screaming of his real parents, which had apparently become an often thing, based on how many times he looked out the window late at night and saw his dad's car speeding off into blackness, as if he couldn't get away from Blaine's mom quickly enough. It made Blaine smile all the more when Elizabeth came by for a visit, and he watched her hug her husband as if she couldn't be close enough to him. He'd once asked his brother about it, when Cooper had dropped by for a few days before he had to leave to shoot another commercial, and his brother had given him a look like Blaine had just dropped a bomb onto his lap when Blaine had asked if their parents were leaving each other. Cooper had wrapped him up in his arms and squeezed him tightly, and he'd whispered one sentence that made everything so clear to Blaine, despite how vague his brother was being. He'd said that Blaine shouldn't worry about it, but what he didn't know was that Blaine already wasn't worried about it. He'd made himself a home in another place, with another family, and was missing out on nothing that his parents couldn't have given him that this family did. This was when Blaine thought there was nothing left for him to fear, since his parents hadn't expressed any desire to have him, a nuisance, back in their lives, but what he didn't realize was that the scariest thing about people was the way that, even after years of being stuck in their ways, they could change so suddenly. Nothing was certain when it came to people.

The last thing Elizabeth had told him before she went back to Paris only months ago, after she had hugged him to her warm body and kissed both of his cheeks, was that every story needed to be read, and then read again, just to see if anything had changed about the characters. Blaine didn't believe that could be so, as the words, once put on a page, were not to be bothered, but he had wanted to see if she was right, which was why he'd dragged his favorite storybook outside, early in the morning, while Kurt was still sleeping upstairs. He plopped next to the patch of flowers they had planted a long while before, and while he skimmed over the words and tried to read what the French version of the Beast was saying, he twiddled the flowers between his fingers. Nothing seemed to be different about the way that the Beast loved his Belle, except that he sounded much more like the voice inside of his own head, instead of Kurt's high pitched squeaking. Blaine flipped to the last page of the book and set his finger on the first word of the last sentence, when everything came together after Belle and Beast admitted their love for each other, but before he could piece together what exactly was being said based on his memory of how Kurt read it, something very noisy slammed into something hard, from what sounded like just down the street. He raised his head from the book and squinted in the direction the raucous had come from, and he ruffled his brows at what appeared to be his dad, who was staggering off of the porch. His dark curls were a sweaty mess, piled on top of his red head, and beads of perspiration rolled from his wrinkled forehead. His mouth was hanging open, creased at the corners, with a deep line just below it that cut through his chin. He was undoubtedly drunk, Blaine realized, and blindly feeling his way over to wherever he wanted to go.

Closing his book, Blaine promptly pushed himself up to his feet, wanting to get away from him in case he was seen. There was a chance, though, that his dad might not even recognize him, considering how blusteringly drunk he was. He turned around to his house, seeing the TV flickering through the window, which meant that Burt had risen for the early football game. Clutching his book to his chest, Blaine stepped toward his safe house, but a violent roar caused him pause, when he should have just kept going, "Blaine!" His dad yelled, making Blaine's eyebrows brush his hairline. "Blaine! Stop!" He glanced over his shoulder, instantly recoiling when he realized that his dad was stomping over to him, and had about one house length left before he reached the yard that Blaine was sitting in. "Where are you going? I-I'm your old man!"

"Dad?" Blaine helplessly asked, as if he had forgotten that this was his dad. Stumbling back when his dad crossed the street, his body sagging as he kept walking forward, he looked at his home, wondering if he could be loud enough that Burt would hear him. "What are you doing?" Now that his dad was only two feet away, Blaine could make out the hard ridges to his face, the thickness of his unkempt eyebrows, the shagginess of untrimmed curls. Despite the fact that he was about seven years younger than Burt, he looked twenty years older than him, with a pair of world-wearied eyes and a sad mouth. "Stay away."

His dad swung his hand out for him, a clumsy movement that Blaine easily dodged, "Your m-mom's up and left me a-again! She called me a drunk! Me! A drunk! But your m-mom's a whore, Blaine! A fucking whore! Do you know why? She's been with other men! That bitch!" His dad made another grab for him, but his hands fell as he teetered forward, and Blaine took another step back. If his dad collapsed onto his face, that would give Blaine an easy chance to run away.

Suddenly, from behind him, another door banged, and he heard heavy footsteps pounding the concrete. "Hey!" Blaine's head whipped around to Burt, who must have been alerted by all of the shouting, and he launched himself over to him. Burt quickly snatched him up, pulling him to his legs and holding him tightly. Blaine had never felt so safe as he did in those strong, fatherly arms. "Get off my property, you drunk! You're not to approach him!" Burt patted his back a few times, his hard hand thudding the air out of Blaine's rapidly moving lungs. "Get inside, Blaine. Now." As Burt pushed Blaine over to the house, he shot a glare to the wobbling drunk, "If you ever grab for him like that again, I won't hesitate to call the police."

"I want my kid back!" Richard complained, and Blaine's eyes became huge when Burt wrapped him up so tightly that his bones creaked. "I'll tell them that you've been keeping my kid from me for the past year! Blaine's all I have left! My wife won't have anything to do with me, and my other kid's off making money. I want Blaine now!"

Burt, who was coming to understand that there was little he could do now that Richard was actually wanting Blaine back, and had the capability to bring up the fact that Blaine had been in another guardian's care without the consent of his parents for the past year, tenderly rubbed Blaine's back, knowing that, even as a seven year old, he still understood what exactly was being said. "Richard… can we be reasonable here? Is this really the life you want for your own boy? My wife and I are more than willing to give him a steady and happy home. There's so much that Blaine needs—"

"Give him to me!" Richard screamed, grabbing for Blaine with a pair of greedy hands. "We're going home, Blaine! Right now! I don't want a fag for a son, and that's what his boy is going to turn you into! Do you realize what people would say if I had a fairy for a kid? I would be a joke! No businesses would want to partner with me. Do you really want to do that to me, Blaine? After all I've done for you!"

"Richard, he's just a child—" Burt didn't release his firm grip on Blaine, but, to Blaine's shock, his arms instantly went flaccid the moment that Richard snatched the back of his shirt. "Richard, listen to me! You're making a mistake—!"

"Enough out of you!" Richard barked at the man who had been such a traitor to him when he'd let his kid into his home, without even thinking of bringing him back to his rightful place. "You can raise your fucking fairy, but I'm going to make a man out of mine! You'll see who's the better parent in the end! Mine will be successful, and yours will end up getting gang raped when a bunch of other fags flip up his skirts!" Laughing manically at his own joke, Richard reached down for Blaine and ripped him off of his feet, heaving him against his chest. He checked over Blaine as if he was looking for any skirts or bracelets, and he frowned at the book in his hands, unceremoniously knocking it to the ground. "No more of being a fag, Blaine! You're a boy, so be a boy!"

While his dad carried on about what it took to be a man, Blaine glanced over his large shoulder at Burt, who looked like he'd just had his heart torn out of his chest. Widening his eyes to the size of saucers, he held his arms out for Burt, wanting to go back to him, but Burt remained as stiff as a piece of wood that had been nailed to the ground. Burt stuffed his hands into his pockets, and then he turned his back on Blaine, shaking his head as he walked away and closed himself up inside of the safe house, leaving Blaine on the outside.

Later that day, after another earth shaking fight between his parents over who could scream the loudest, and after his dad's car had sped down the road, and his mom had shut herself into her bedroom so she could sob without onlookers, Blaine climbed out of his window and instantly came across Kurt, who was flopped onto his grassy yard and holding their storybook tightly to his chest. Tears streamed down his pale cheeks, making Blaine frown with regret as he hesitantly crept over to the weeping boy. "Kurt?" He murmured, making Kurt's head lift as he looked at Blaine with a pair of surprised eyes. Kurt immediately popped to his feet, jumping into Blaine's arms, which caught him and held him close. Feeling tears swell in his eyes as he realized that he wouldn't be able to do this anymore, he squeezed Kurt even closer and pressed kisses to anything his lips could touch, "We can't be together anymore. I have to go home."

"You are home." Kurt reasoned, his voice so bell-like that it sounded more like music than it did words. "Blaine, this is your home now. You can't just leave! What will I ever do without you?" Blaine didn't reply to that, which made Kurt cry even harder as he buried his face into his shirt. After a minute of breathing into Blaine's hot skin, he told him, "I won't say goodbye to you, Blaine. I promise. We'll see each other again. I love you too much to just let go."

"I love you, too." Blaine said through a muffled voice, and he turned his head and pressed his lips to Kurt's once more. That day was the last day for such a long time that Blaine ever held Kurt in his arms.


The longest months that had ever passed followed the day that Archer had been taken from them, each of them carried out by hours that spanned on for entire lifetimes, from dusk until dawn. Even the ten months that Blaine no longer had his husband weren't quite as exhausting as these, because, back then, he at least still had his children. Except for Keegan's constant presence, Blaine felt like he was completely alone. Six months had gone by since he'd lost his last child, and sometime within those, he'd also lost Kurt. They had only spoken to Archer once in those months, when he'd been on the phone with his brother, and they'd both stared blankly at the black piece of plastic that was crushed in Blaine's tight fist while Cooper asked why his son wasn't eating the watery oatmeal given to him, when it should have been obvious that Archer preferred big, goopy bites of creamy oatmeal. Suddenly, while his brother ranted on about what kind of oatmeal Archer liked, his high-pitched squeak had echoed through the phone, and he'd been heard grunting to his dad that he wanted to watch Snow White.

Blaine had helplessly barked his baby's name, needing to hear his soft, velvety voice cry that he wanted his daddy, but Cooper must have put the phone down while he spoke to him about how to put the movie in because Archer never replied. That was the last time he'd heard his son's voice. He wondered what Archer sounded like now, at three and a half years old, if he was more coherent in putting sentences together, if his voice was clearer, if he still had the lilting lisp that touched some of the larger words that he tried to get out. He wondered what his baby looked like now, if he was any taller, or any thinner, or if he'd stayed the same, since it seemed that he was meant to be smaller, like his uncle was. Blaine missed his baby with all of his heart, and while he knew that Archer was changing, somewhere halfway across the world, and while he wanted to see Archer all grown up one day, part of him still wanted to be there for those changes, the way he'd been there to see Archer stumble around on his two feet for the first time, and how he'd almost flung himself off the couch in order to see Archer's slobbery lips pushing from side to side as he worked his first, gravelly word out of his throat. Blaine remembered that it had been Daddy.

And while his son was changing without him there to guide him, other things were changing without him, too. It'd been months since either him or his husband had contacted their family in Ohio, mainly because Kurt was too tired to talk to anyone about what they had been through, and Blaine just didn't want to talk. He could only pick up on things left in voicemails, that Burt and Carole had retired from work and were going to use some of the money from their life savings to come to France, if only Blaine would tell them when a visit would be best. Puck and Finn were still doing well in their recent marriage, and had started a surrogate relationship with a woman who was pregnant with their child. The baby was due in less than three months. His own brother had finally gotten the hint that Blaine and Kurt wanted nothing to do with his wedding, even though, years ago, they had promised to be there, and even help them through it. Being there meant seeing Archer, and Blaine wasn't sure that he could without picking the baby up and carrying him all the way back to France. Cooper had married Alicia two months ago, with a small and white wedding that was adorned in simple flowers, but overdone with a tier cake that was as tall as Blaine. While everyone else seemed to be settling down and tying off loose ends to their lives, Blaine's was becoming unthreaded, slowly, and one string at a time.

The last six months of Blaine's life had been plagued with anything wrong that could have gone wrong with his husband. He wasn't sure when it became clear to him that his husband had fallen ill, but it was probably during the week when Kurt first started shoving away from his dinner plate with a look of distaste, and then throwing himself into the bathroom, where he could be heard crying and shuffling around, while Blaine helplessly stood outside and begged his husband to let him in, only to be rejected time and again. One night, Blaine had run after his husband, who had fled upstairs with handfuls of his dress twisted up in his fists, and he'd stared at the wooden door, horrified by the sounds of coughing and choking that were coming from behind it. He'd been so panicked that he hadn't asked to come in, and instead he'd kicked the door off its hinges and threw himself inside, a noisy swear ripping out of his throat at the sight of Kurt, who had collapsed to the floor and was holding his heaving stomach, which was churning up thick blood. He couldn't remember much about the rest of the night, except that he'd let out an awful scream for Keegan to call the hospital. After that, things became fuzzy.

He'd bundled his husband up in his arms after he wrapped him in a warm blanket, and then he'd carried him out to the car, feeling his wet face nuzzle into his shirt. Blaine had stayed at Kurt's bedside for the rest of the night, helplessly watching him recline into the stiff hospital bed as if it was the comfiest thing he'd ever slept on. Wearily, Kurt had dozed off as soon as the doctor had finished checking him over, but Blaine had remained sitting up, his back stiff and slightly bowed over Kurt, while his ashen face hovered just above his pale face, which had become noticeably thinner. Blaine remembered feeling numb when the doctor laid his hand on his shoulder, quietly telling him that Kurt wasn't eating properly, and when he did, he immediately tried to gag out whatever he'd consumed. He hadn't gotten the right nutrients in months, which had made him vulnerable to a fever. And, that night, when he'd tried to empty his stomach, his throat and stomach had been so raw from previous nights of doing the same thing that he'd started bleeding.

The doctor had sent them away two days later, after he finished injecting Kurt with liquids and pastes that Blaine didn't even understand, with a bottle of pills and a syringe, saying that all he could do for him now was encourage him to stay with Kurt for every meal, and that if his condition got any worse, that he should go to a clinic. Blaine had felt like he'd just been hit with a car, and then run over again. He'd taken Kurt home that evening and deposited him into his bed, where he'd snoozed for the entire night and half of the next day, only blearily opening his bruised eyes when Blaine had stirred him, pleading that he had to keep down some of the soup he was going to try to feed him. Kurt had fussed at him that he wasn't hungry, but he'd been too limp to fight back when Blaine had peeled his lips apart and spooned a few bites of the vegetable soup onto his tongue. Every time that Kurt swallowed with some amount of difficulty, Blaine flinched, his own stomach rolling as if he was the one who had become sick of food.

As the doctor predicted, Kurt succumbed to a violent fever that had taken away most of his senses, leaving him in a sweaty pile of shifting limbs on the bed, his hands grabbing for something that he couldn't keep a good grip on. For days, he'd mumbled and cried to Blaine about how hot his head felt, something that could only be cured with an ice pack that Blaine diligently applied to his pinks cheeks and forehead. He'd also told him about how much he missed Archer and Hunter. Blaine could do nothing for that except hold him and whisper to him about how much he loved him. After nights and days that left his bones aching because he carried Kurt from room to room, bathing him and dressing him, and carrying plate after plate up to their bedroom, and then laying with him for a few hours before the muttering started again, the fever had finally broken. When he had laid his hand over Kurt's forehead to see if his fever had gotten any higher, as it had seemed to be creeping up day by day, there had been a moment when Blaine had realized how close he had come to losing his husband, and how he knew at that very second that things might be okay. Then tears had rolled down his cheeks and onto Kurt's as he lavished him with kisses and gifted him with all of his love.

For the rest of the months that had gone by, Blaine had spent his attention on getting his husband's energy back up, which meant that he walked up and down the stairs, carrying food to him and then taking empty plates back down, and also turning himself into a crutch for Kurt, who he took walks with around the gardens. Kurt was still too weak to hold himself up, so he relied on Blaine's arm to be around his waist while they strolled together. To encourage Kurt into feeling up to himself again, Blaine's co-workers, the Warblers, made sure to Skype him at least once a day, blowing him kisses and telling him jokes. They had even sent flowers that he'd caught Kurt idly gaping at from their bed. Burt and Carole had come up with Finn and Puck, and the four of them had stayed for one of the best weeks that Blaine had ever had. While Carole had taken Blaine's job of nurturing Kurt, giving Blaine some much needed time to rest, Laurice had stopped by and spent some time with Carole. The girls had read to Kurt each day until he fell asleep, while Blaine stayed with the three men, showing them around Paris and telling them how much he loved each of them.

While his husband slept with his head on Blaine's lap that day, Blaine was doing nothing but looking out for him, except when he occasionally glanced up at Keegan, who was sitting in a chair across the room, when he turned a page of his book. It gave Blaine a sense of peace to gaze down at his husband's pink face, the color finally reappearing in those soft, white cheeks. The roundness of his childlike face was also coming back, giving him the look of an innocent boy who had just been battered and bruised. "I love you." He murmured to him, running the pad of his thumb over the light fuzz at his hairline. Kurt, who had been soundly sleeping since after breakfast, fluttered his eyes at the feeling of buzzing next to his head, which made Blaine quietly curse while he fished out his phone. As he expected, it was his brother, who usually called three or four times a day, flustered and frustrated that he couldn't figure out what Archer wanted when he pointed at his mouth because he was hungry or sucked his lips in because he didn't want his teeth brushed.

Hearing Keegan shift around on his chair, Blaine raised his head, giving him a silent look of pleading. Keegan nodded and instantly stood, sliding into Blaine's place when Blaine pushed himself off the bed, careful not to knock Kurt around too much. "I'll sit with him while you're on the phone." Keegan assured him, leaning back against the headboard as he took Kurt's supple body into his arms and draped him across his chest and lap.

He watched Keegan run his fingers through Kurt's hair, pushing a few locks off of his damp forehead, and then he muttered a quiet thanks before he took his leave. Once he was out in the hallway and had shut the door behind himself, he lifted the phone to his ear and clicked to answer it. "Coop?" He asked, and was startled when Cooper didn't instantly fling questions at him, as to why Archer was crying or why Archer was throwing pillows across the room. "What's going on?"

"Blaine?" His brother said, as if he hadn't realized that it would be Blaine who picked up. "Blaine, are you busy? I need to talk to you… soon. Now… actually." When Blaine didn't reply to him because he was distracted by thumping down the stairs so he didn't wake Kurt with his voice, Cooper continued with a shake to his voice, "It's kind of urgent."

Blaine's brows hit his hairline, "What is it? Cooper, just tell me. Is Archer okay?"

"Archer's fine." Cooper blurted suddenly, and then his voice withdrew into the low drone it had been before. "Blaine… can you be honest with me? As my brother… please… I'm asking you to be my brother again."

Walking into the silent living room, which hadn't been frequented since Kurt had been put on bed rest all those months ago, Blaine sat down on the arm of one of the couches. He idly brushed off a flake of gray dust, knocking it into the air, where it floated until it was caught by the fibers of the carpet. "Did I ever stop being your brother?" He asked with a flat tone, his eyes falling shut when Cooper took a minute to respond. He wasn't stupid. He realized that he hadn't been Cooper's brother in a long time.

"Yeah." That one word hit Blaine in the gut, nearly making him double over as he realized just how much he missed his brother. At one time, they had been close, and he didn't know until now how desperately he needed his brother. "You did. But I did, too. Blaine, it's not the same anymore. It hasn't been since Alicia gave birth to Archer. Please… tell me the truth about this. I feel like there's something you're not telling me… and I need to know. Are you… who Archer is referring to… when he cries for his daddy? I've just… I've tried so hard, Blaine. I hear him screaming at night for his daddy, but he doesn't want me. He wants nothing to do with me. He doesn't think you're his uncle, does he? He thinks that… you and Kurt… are his parents."

Blaine wasn't sure what hurt worse, hearing the pain in his brother's voice, or feeling his own pain that, even though he hadn't talked to Archer much after he was taken, now there would be no chance. Cooper would hate him. He would take him away from Archer. "I told him when you came to get him." Flinching at the inhale that Cooper breathed in, Blaine turned his face away from his phone, which had become uncomfortably damp on his skin as his tears leaked onto the cool plastic. "Yes… Cooper… for the past three years, he thought that I was his daddy. I never told him about you." A rough sob broke through the phone, a noise that Blaine imitated, his scratchy throat seizing up and pushing out a snort. Covering his mouth, Blaine lowered his eyes into his hand, as if he couldn't even look at the phone that his brother's voice was coming through. "Cooper… I'm so sorry. I let things go too far. I just… fell in love so suddenly… and the love that I felt for that baby was something I had never felt before. I would have given my life for him. He became this perfect thing to me… and I just wanted… wanted to be it for him. I wanted to be his daddy… this strong man in his life who he could come to for anything. I probably never would have done it had Kurt not felt the way I did for Archer… but Kurt loved him just as much. Kurt knows that we'll never have our own baby… I don't think he would want to… now that we've already lost two." Looking up at the ceiling, Blaine blinked away the tears that made his vision blurry, "Cooper… Kurt's sick now. He stopped eating… We had to go to the hospital. I think it's because of Archer. Please… I think he needs to see Archer. You don't have to let me near him… This is my fault. Don't blame this on Kurt. Let him see Archer." A broken noise tore out of his throat, and a fresh rush of tears followed it, "I don't want to lose my husband, Cooper—"

Cooper swallowed thickly, the only sound he let out for what felt like several minutes. Blaine heard something shuffling in the background, and that was when Cooper finally spoke up, "Blaine… listen to me. I love you so much… probably more than I've ever loved anything before. All I want is for you to be happy… you know that, don't you? I know that you're not happy… and neither is Archer. I can see it in the way he looks at me. He always looks like he's questioning everything… like something isn't sitting right with him. He hardly smiles… but you told me that he used to smile all the time when he was around you. You were right… I am gone too much. My producer is already asking me to fly out to Mexico to shoot another film. Alicia's never home because she has to work at the office every day. I love Archer, Blaine… with all of my heart. But what I feel for him… probably isn't a fragment of what you do. You know him better than anyone. And I know that it's my fault that I don't understand my son… No amount of phone calls would have fixed that, either. You did what was best for him. You kept me out of the picture… and made it seem like nothing was missing from his life, because nothing really was. You gave him everything he needed and more." Something like happiness threaded itself through Cooper's voice suddenly, "I know this is a lot to ask… Three years was a lot to ask. But… I got the adoption paperwork today… you know, if you want him forever."

Blaine's heart had only stopped a few times before, when he had first seen Kurt skipping up to him as a small child, and later on, when he'd realized that he was in love with him, and even further on, when he'd first held Archer's tiny body against his powerful chest. It halted for a long enough time that he should have died, but it suddenly started thudding again, fast enough that he felt like he'd just ran down every street of Paris. Rising from the couch, Blaine quickly sat back down when he lost his footing. "Really?" was all he could breathe, and he heard Cooper chuckle. "You want me to adopt him?"

Cooper laughed even louder, "You want to adopt him. I'm just giving you the means to do it. I can't fly there and do it… You'll have to come here to fill out the papers in an American court—"

"I'll be there tomorrow." Blaine said without pause, pushing himself off the couch once more. He started to head toward the stairs, but he hesitated at the bottom of them and pressed the phone closer to his ear. "Thank you, Cooper. I love you."

"Whatever it takes to make you happy." He murmured, the last thing he got out before Blaine ended the call, stuffing the phone into his pocket.

Blaine took the stairs three at a time, not able to get up to the top floor fast enough. "Kurt!" He shouted, shoving through their door and gaping with huge eyes at his husband, who was blinking like a little owl as he tried to figure out what all of the raucous was about. He stretched his thin arms above his head, finally focusing his dim eyes on Blaine's face. "Kurt… sweetheart…" Padding over to the bed, Blaine threw himself on the edge of it, wrapping Kurt's slim body in his arms. He gave Kurt a huge smile, watching Kurt furrow his brows with confusion. "Kurt, baby… I love you." He told his husband, who became even more bewildered as Blaine tenderly stroked his face with his large hands. "I love you so much." Before he told him the news, he leaned down and pressed kisses to his face, a few on his forehead and eyelids, one on the tip of his nose, and the last on his plump lips. "Kurt… look at me. We're getting Archer back. We're adopting him."

Kurt's narrowed eyes opened wide, and he gave Blaine an incredulous look that slowly turned into understanding as Blaine kept kissing him. Placing his hands on his husband's stubbly cheeks, Kurt pushed his husband back, giving himself room to move his lips. "We're adopting Archer?" Blaine vigorously nodded his head, a shock of thrill bursting through his entire body when Kurt let out a giggle, his arms flinging around his neck. It was the most enthusiastic Kurt had been about something in a long time. "When will we get him? When do we get to take him home?"

Blaine squeezed his husband tighter, "I'm flying out to California tomorrow. You still need to rest… Keegan will stay here with you. I'll go in to court to fill out the papers… and then I'm taking him home. We'll have him by tomorrow night, my precious beauty. We're going to be parents." Feeling Kurt's wet lashes brush his neck, Blaine rocked him back and forth, whispering in his ear, "It's all okay now, beautiful thing. It'll all be okay."

Kurt pressed closer to his husband, "I think that you're my beautiful thing, Blaine." His bell-like voice rang in his ear, making Blaine shiver before he bowed his head and pressed his lips to Kurt's. Suddenly, Blaine's life was stitched back together, except for a single thread, which was the baby he could never have back, no matter how much he wanted him.


It'd been days since Hunter had last eaten, and he could feel his stomach becoming more desperate for food with how much worse it seized up every time it did. He'd run out of the food that he'd kept hidden inside of his room, either because he'd licked up every last drop, or it had spoiled, not that he was above trying to pick off the pieces that felt less hairy than the others. Hunter knew that Karofsky was angrier than ever, so now it wasn't just about sneaking into the house and hoping he could avoid him, but outright staying away from him, which meant that he had to use his best guess of when he would leave the house. It was very hard to do when Karofsky's schedule always seemed to change, so Hunter had drawn out the span of time he could take without eating anything as long as he could, but now it was either that he try to get inside and raid the kitchen without being killed by Karofsky, or stay in here and waste away himself.

Thinking it best to at least give his body a chance, Hunter grabbed a small bag that he was hoping he could fill to the top, and then he carefully placed his gun inside of it. He headed over to the stairway and climbed up to the top, shoving the creaky wood away, and then closing it behind himself when he wormed his way out. He followed the trail he'd marked on the ground so long ago, leading himself out to the area where the trees had been cleared to make room for Karofsky's home. He knew that he'd be stupid to try to get in through the front door, because, if Karofsky was in there, he'd immediately know that Hunter was, too. He decided that the way that might keep him alive the longest would be to follow the exterior of the house, mapping out what he knew of the inside while he did so, and climb in through the kitchen window, which he knew wasn't that far off the ground. Once he walked around the right side of the house, he pinned himself to the wall he thought was on the outside of the kitchen, and he placed his hands on the cool brick. Sliding them along the rough surface, Hunter gasped when they suddenly dropped about three inches and landed on glass. He pulled them back and dusted them on his pants, and then he raised them once more and felt around for the latches.

He used all of his strength to make the window push up just enough for him to slip through the small crack at the bottom. Swinging his legs up onto the ledge, Hunter wriggled beneath the edge of it, feeling it scrape the curve of his butt. He dropped onto what felt like tile, which relieved him because that meant that he had the right room. Orienting himself on where he was in the kitchen, Hunter went over to the pantry and opened the door, forking out whatever packets and boxes he could get his hands on and letting them hit the bottom of his bag. Too hungry to resist the salty smells of stale chips, he crushed a handful of them in his fist and stuffed them into his cheeks. Chewing quickly as he kept fingering the items in the pantry, Hunter stopped on the last bite it would have taken for him to easily swallow the food, and he turned around at the sound of something clunking. He didn't have to see Karofsky to know that he was there, silently waiting for Hunter to make a move, which he didn't, because he knew that if he ran, Karofsky would catch him. He might even lose all of his food in the process, with how his bag would have been tossed around with his jolting movements.

"Are you hungry?" Karofsky's icy voice made Hunter shudder, and he pushed himself back into the pantry, his hand lowering toward his bag and feeling through the sticky chocolates and oily chips for the metal of his gun. "Put the food down, Hunter. I'll make you something—"

"I don't want anything from you." Hunter bit out at him, his hand finding the handle of the gun and closing around it. "I can take care of myself. Just let me do this." Placing his finger on the trigger, Hunter turned his back on Karofsky, busily swiping food into his bag. With every granola bar that landed inside of it, it became more of a weight on his thin shoulders. The ear that was still turned toward Karofsky picked up on the sound of him drawing closer, so Hunter suddenly recoiled and sank as far as he could into the pantry.

"Do you know what you look like?" Karofsky asked, making Hunter raise his brows. Hunter bitterly thought that maybe he would if Karofsky hadn't blinded him in the first place. "Disgusting. You're so skinny, Hunter. Your fingers are yellow." When he took one step closer, the gun raised only an inch, nearly appearing over the top of the bag. "Let me take care of you."

At those few words, Karofsky gave himself an invitation to slink closer to Hunter, who whipped the gun from his bag and held it up. "Don't come any closer or I'll shoot!" He screeched at Karofsky, who was stayed by that one phrase. He didn't seem surprised that Hunter had a gun because he said no other words. Hearing him take a retreating footstep, Hunter lifted the gun an inch higher, flinching when the tip of it brushed his forehead. "I'll kill myself before I let you do it." Karofsky withdrew a few more feet, and Hunter's shaking hand lost its firm grip on the gun that was cutting into his palm.

Karofsky's voice almost had a tone of amusement to it, "And why won't you kill me?"

Hunter closed his eyes, seeing the same blackness that was there when they were open. "Because then you wouldn't have me. You would be miserable… and alone. And I would be dead… and away from you." Just before Karofsky took another step back, he heard the faintest sound of Archer's laughter in his ears, making tears spring to his eyes. How had he ever let it come to this? "I don't care about my life anymore, Karofsky. I'll never see my real family again. I want you to know… that if you ever touch me again… I'll be dead the next time you see me."

He could hear Karofsky pushing on the door, which was the last noise he made out from him before he went away. Hunter's hand instantly opened, and the gun clattered to the floor, where it remained as he crumpled to the ground, crying to himself about where his once perfect life had gone. It had all just been proven, that, in order to stop Karofsky, one or the other of them would have to die, and it would probably be him, if only he didn't love his family, and his Archer, so much.