Chapter 12: Keep the Car Running

Previously on "Love Yourself":

They rounded the corner and Kurt's jaw dropped in surprise. Mr. Anderson was not alone. He had dragged someone in—seemingly against their will—by the scruff of their shirt collar.

"Blaine Devon Anderson. Do you know this person?"

Eyes wide as dinner plates, Blaine gulped and nodded.

Blaine is 15 years old

*knock knock*

The hospital door creaked open slowly. "Blaine?" a hesitant voice called out from behind the door.

"—Nick?" Please be okay, please be okay.

The door opened the rest of the way and Blaine let out a sigh of relief when he saw that it was, indeed, Nick. His lips were pressed together into a tight line of worry, his face was pale and bruised, but he looked to be in one piece.

His parents hadn't had any information about Nick's well-being yesterday when Blaine had asked. They had been, understandably, more focused on the state of their own son's health.

Hesitantly, Nick approached the bed. Blaine gestured to the chair, an invitation for his friend to sit down. He pushed the button to elevate the head of his hospital bed and winced when the movement disturbed his injured ribs.

"You look like shit, Blaine. No offense."

"Well I ffffeel like shit. How, uh, uh, are you? Did they—I mean—what even—what ha-happend after I blacked out? They didn't get you... t-too bad, did they?"

"Nah, the girls Volleyball team passed by close enough to notice something was going on. They shouted over and must've spooked them; they ran off pretty soon after you went down. I called for help and they called 9-1-1. I'm getting discharged in a few hours, I think. Nothing broken, thankfully. What's your damage?"

Blaine chuckled, thinking of 'Heathers,' and then winced as another sharp pain lit up his side.

"Br-br-br-broken ribs, lacerated ffface, plenty of bruises, and —probably a concussion."

Nick's eyes widened at the list of injuries and he reached out to take Blaine's hand, giving it a comforting squeeze and fumbled through his expression of appreciation.

"Shit, that's…wow, man. I…fuck…I got off so much easier. You…you really saved my ass out there. You defended me and…well, just…just thank you, man."

Blaine felt awkward and unsure what to say. He didn't feel like he had done anything praiseworthy. Of course he hadn't stood by and watched his friend get attacked. It was what anyone would have done.

"I'm, uh, uh, uh, I'm just glad…that you're…okay."

The door to the hospital room swung open again and Blaine's father strode in, looking purposeful.

"Oh, uh, hello there, Nicholas." He seemed surprised by Nick's presence but quickly covered with politeness. His father's eyes flicked down to their joined hands and Blaine reflexively pulled his hand away from Nick, blushing with discomfort.

He continued. "I suppose it's good you're here, actually. There's a detective outside asking to interview you boys about what happened. Nick, you'll need your parents permission to be interviewed but I hope you decide to speak with them. Just tell them everything you remember, no detail is too small to leave out. It sounds like the district attorney has already taken an interest in the case so there's a good chance he'll want to prosecute the culprits.

"Oh…I guess I should talk to my mom about it. But honestly, Mr. Anderson, I just want to go home. I don't want to talk to the police. I just want to forget this whole thing happened and move on."

"But it's your civic duty, Nicholas! Do you want blood on your hands if whoever did this strikes again? How will you feel knowing that you could have prevented it?" His father's dark eyes flashed intensely and he didn't seem to notice Nick's growing unease.

"Dad! E-e-enough."

"I should…go," Nick said softly. Then he shot out the door.

"Dad," Blaine groaned. "Way to scare him!"

"He should be scared. It was a very scary thing that happened. He needs to understand how serious it was."

"He was there. I...really think he d-d-does."

"Are you up for talking to the detective now or should I ask him to come back later?"

Blaine couldn't help but notice that he was not being presented with the option of not speaking to the police at all. Might as well get this over with

"Now's f-fine."

His father left the room and returned a few minutes later with a detective. He shook Blaine's hand and then went straight to business asking Blaine to describe in detail what had happened.

Blaine tried his best, but his memories felt wobbly and the more he concentrated on certain details the more they seemed to slip further into darkness. As he talked, he felt more and more nervous about whether he was describing things accurately and completely.

The detective looked disappointed when he explained that he didn't know who they were, that he couldn't even describe his attacker's face to a sketch artist. His fluency was in the toilet and Blaine felt like surely there must be something else he could tell them, some clue he didn't realize was important. That was always how it worked on TV. So he pushed himself to keep going, to answer every question they posed.

"Did you hear their voices? Could you tell if they were male or female? Old or young?"

"Oh, um…yyyyes I —did hear one. He…I-I-I-I-I-I think it was a he anyways, well he, uh, uh, yeah he sssaid some ru-ru-rude things. I think it was —probably another st-student but I g-guess I can't —be sure."

The detective frowned slightly and scratched a few more lines into his notepad.

"Now, Blaine, the district attorney is hoping that this case could be tried as a hate crime. So I need to ask you some questions specifically relevant to that."

Blaine nodded, his heart racing at this point.

"So, just for the record, you're gay, right?"

He nodded again.

"And the other boy?"

Nod.

"Can you be sure the perpetrators were aware of your sexuality?" he asked in a matter of fact tone.

Nod. "We, uh, uh, well, um, were, uh, you know…ki-ki-kissing. Ju-just before. So…yeah, they knew."

"Kissing?" his father yelped. This is really not how I was planning on dropping that particular bomb.

"Right, yes, that would seem to be pretty clear-cut. Was there anything else they did or said that would prove the attack was motivated by homophobic sentiments?"

Nod. "He, uh, uh, well, he ssaid I was dis-dis-disgusting." His father made a strange, strangled sound. "That's, uh, well, that's —it." Blaine shrugged, not sure if that was specific enough.

"Hmmm," was all the detective said, his frown deepening. Blaine was overcome with the feeling that he had failed.

"I'm s-s-s-sorry, sir. I, uh, I…I'm st-stilll recover-r-r-ring. Maybe…maybe I'll rememb-b-ber more later."

"Perhaps," he said, his tone making it clear that he thought that outcome was unlikely. "Let's hope the other boy remembers more."

The detective left and Blaine could not meet his father's eyes.

Blaine's heart pounded in his chest so loudly that surely Kurt and his parents could hear every frantic beat.

"Well?" his father demanded.

Shit, shit, shit.

"That's, um, um, that's—well, he's, uh, uh…"

"Spit it out, Blaine."

Anger flooded his stomach and for a moment he glared in silent fury at his father. How dare he say that to me? He glanced over at Kurt, who had let out a small gasp in response to his father's taboo words; Kurt somehow managed to look even paler than usual.

"As I was ssssaying….that is-is-is Rick. The, uh, the—well, the boy who-who-who-who-who beat me and Nick up llllast year."

Oh, god, he's going to be so mad.

"The boy who—are you telling me—Blaine you knew? You said you couldn't remember! What the hell is going on?" The situation was having the opposite effect on his father than it was on Kurt; while Kurt was ghost-white his father's face was beginning to resemble a boiled lobster.

Rick was a large, hulking teenage boy but even he was shrinking in the face of Mr. Anderson's fiery gaze.

"Can I…go?" he asked hesitantly.

His father rounded on Rick. "No you may not go you bottom-feeding miscreant. Not until you tell me why you have been stalking my house for weeks."

"What? No, that's not—I haven't been." Rick stumbled over his words as he denied his father's accusations.

Blaine was still speechless with shock. He glanced from Rick to his father to Kurt.

Kurt finally started to get his color back. He gaped and then pointed at Rick. "You…you were at my house! And at my school! You…you followed us around? I don't even know you, you psycho-stalker!"

"...just making sure…" was all Blaine could make out as Rick muttered under his breath, hands nervously rubbing his ill-fitting jeans.

"Just making sure of what?" his father demanded. "Making sure you'd beaten the gay out of him? Because guess what, you didn't." Blaine watched in horror as the pieces clicked into place in his father's head. "Oh! I see! Yes, of course, I see. You had to make sure he wasn't going to make trouble for you." His father paced back and forth, a glint in his eye of delight and perhaps a dash of mania; it was a look Blaine had seen on his face when he had a witness right where he wanted them on cross-examination.

Rick looked like a cornered alley-cat. "I was just k-keeping an eye on things, just—but whatever, I'll stop, okay? No more drive-bys, okay, you have my word...scout's honor? So, uh, I think that's settled so I'll just…"

His dad crossed his arms and laughed smugly. "Oh, you idiot. For some moronic reason I have yet to uncover, my son was going to let this all go without even telling me. But thanks to your paranoia, his criminal prosecutor of a father knows about you and there is no force in heaven or hell that will stop me from slapping you with anything that will stick. Now GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

Rick didn't need to be told twice.

What followed had to have been one of the most uncomfortable dinners ever to occur under that roof. After several tense minutes of silence, his father finally broke the silence.

"Why wouldn't you tell me something like this, Blaine? I just…I don't understand you at all right now."

Well, it wouldn't be the first time you didn't understand me Mister "Oh, we'll rebuild this car together, Blaine. It will be so fun, Blaine. This has nothing at all to do with butching you up, Blaine."

"Be-be-be-because I just—I just wanted to move on, Dad. And…I mean, —clearly you were never g-going to let me do that."

"Because it's absurd. How can you move on without justice, Blaine? Kurt, can't you talk some sense into him? Don't you want that awful boy to be punished?"

"All due respect, Mr. Anderson, but please don't drag me into the middle of this," Kurt pleaded. Learned his lesson from Finn and Rachel, I see.

If he hadn't been so angry, Blaine might have found it sweet how his father was looking to Kurt for backup.

Kurt began eating his chicken with renewed enthusiasm and Blaine began to wonder if Kurt was going to bolt as soon as his plate was clear. He couldn't really blame him. He would bolt too if it was an option. Maybe I can convince Kurt to take me with him.

"—Trials take f-f-forever, Dad. I would have to re-re-relive everything and-and t-t-testify…I mean, do I really have to spell this ou-ou-out for you?"

"I really think you do, Blaine."

"Fine! Talking is-is-is hard enough on a good day for me, Dad. —Picture what would ha-happen under interro-erro-errogation! I'd-I'd-I'd fall to-to pieces, Dad. It wwwould be awful! Be-be-besides, I don't remember him anyways. If you want to help Nick pr-pr-press charges, be my—be my guest but leave me out of it."

"Just because something is hard doesn't mean it isn't worth doing, son. I thought I taught you better than that."

Blaine felt a mixture of shame and rage. His fingernails bit into the palms of his hands, his teeth clenched tight.

"Hard? Try im-im-im-impossible, Dad! You d-d-don't know what it's like for me, Dad, so don't llllecture like you do." Wiping away a tear, Blaine pushed his chair back roughly.

His mother winced as the chair legs screeched against the floor, but she said nothing.

"Kurt and I are going up-up-upstairs right now," Blaine boldly declared, not bothering to phrase it as a question. Kurt wordlessly followed closely behind him.

"Am I b-b-b-being selfish?" he asked Kurt, breaking the silence.

"I think you're allowed to take care of yourself, Blaine. You're allowed to prioritize your own well-being. A trial would be long, you would have to engage with these painful memories for as long as it drags on instead of moving on, it would be a really challenging speaking situation, and in the end Rick might still walk free."

"That was a-a-a good summary. Why —can't my dad sssee things the way you do?"

"Do you want the thoughtful answer or the good-boyfriend-who-is-blindly-taking-your-side answer? I'm happy to provide either at this point."

That managed to get a chuckle from Blaine.

"I would have sssaid the-the-the thoughtful one, —but now I'm—now I'm—now I'm c-c-curious what the other one is."

"Oh, that's easy! Because he's an asshole who doesn't understand you. Next question?"

"And the, uh, uh, the-the-the thoughtful one?"

Kurt sighed. "I don't know exactly, of course, but my guess is it has something to do with the fact that as your parent he considers your safety to be one of his top priorities, especially after your stay in the hospital last year. He thinks this will keep you safe and he's unwilling to consider that the potential downsides could possibly outweigh the benefits of keeping you safe."

Blaine stared at him, impressed.

"I…I l-liked the-the-the first answer —better," Blaine admitted.

"Then we'll go with that one."

Blaine flopped back on to the bed. He looked exhausted. Suddenly shy, Blaine asked, "Will you, um, um, sssing to me?"

"Of, course."

Kurt plumped Blaine's pillow and encouraged him to get comfortable. Then he took one of Blaine's hands in his and rubbed firmly into the palm of his hand, while he sang.

There's nothing more I like to do
Than sit for hours next to you
Hold your hand, sing a song
Just be lovin'
All day long

These are the times we love
The wind on the water
The sun in my eyes
Like an old familiar friend
I watch the clouds roll by
Slip over my shoulder
I let go of my life
And come alive again

When I feel my life unravel
I'm scattered at loose ends
I just need to take a moment
To find myself again

General Author's Notes:

Strangely enough, that flashback scene was one of the very first scenes I wrote for this story (the sequel). I ended up starting the story in a different place but it finally found a home in this chapter.

Going back through some earlier drafts, I realized that a few of the white car references ended up getting cut so hopefully it was still in there enough to get you all wondering and guessing who was inside. Was anyone thinking it might be Rick? In case it wasn't obvious, this is the "ghosts from the past" I was referring to in the story summary.

This story is now officially completely written (and completely posted over on Ao3). It came out to 21 chapters + an epilogue.

Music Notes:
These are the Times - Red Grammar (fun fact, he is Andy Grammar's dad!)

Credits:
Thank you, as always, to my fabulous beta BlurglesmurfKlaine who left the following comment, and I quote, on the ending of the previous chapter "BITCH FUCK ME UP." It might be the funniest thing I've ever seen!

Coming up Next: Secrets are revealed and Blaine makes a decision about testifying.