A/N: Seriously, apologies for the delay in updating. I'm super buried at work, and stressed, and yeah…life is getting in the way. But I do have ideas for upcoming chapters sketched out, so I will try my best to update on a slightly more regular schedule. And a huge huge THANK YOU to all of you who have followed or favorite my story! I don't know you, but I'd like to – so leave me a little review to tell me what you like or don't. This is my very first multi-chapter fic, so any feedback is super welcome and appreciated. :)
D/C: Yes, we know – the stuff you know from the show is only borrowed.
If there was one thing that Blaine learned about the Berrys, it was that they liked to talk. A lot. For his own part, the boy's guarded, distrustful eyes flicked back and forth between the two men that tried with wide, almost nervous smiles to engage him in conversation. They weren't really succeeding, their polite questions about whether he'd slept well, if he'd lived in Columbus his whole life, and if he liked school had earned them nothing more than a muttered, "fine," an affirmative grunt, and a shoulder shrug. Still, the men persisted, their voices carefully calm, their sympathy palpable as they tried – perhaps too hard – to make Blaine feel like everything was going to be okay.
Hiram had slid the lasagna in the oven and joined his husband and son at the table. A small wistful smile spread across Hiram's features for the slightest moment as he observed Blaine, an expression that perhaps set the boy even that much more on guard when he noticed the shift. Blaine leaned back in his chair almost instinctively. LeRoy, not noticing the change, continued explaining their plans, "…so we thought it would be best if you didn't worry about going to school this week. Hiram and I will take care of the paperwork and you can start a week from Monday." Blaine's eyes suddenly snapped up to look at LeRoy and widened. A new school. He hadn't thought about that. In all of this, it hadn't even occurred to him that he would need to transfer, that his friends – his friend – who'd been trying frantically to reach him might never see him again.
LeRoy misinterpreted the expression and quickly raised his hands to show surrender, "But if you aren't feeling ready, it's okay, Blaine." Hiram, clearly concerned as well, chimed in to add, "Right – of course you can take all the time you need…" Blaine's brows knitted tightly together and he dropped his gaze to the table. He watched his right hand tug at the fingers of his left as he tried to force the racing thoughts in his brain to slow. He didn't want to start a new school or make new friends. He didn't want to live in Lima with these people he didn't know. He wanted to see his friends – 'friend', Blaine, seriously get with the program – in Columbus, but would these people even let him? Would they drive him down there or give him money for bus fare? And suddenly the thought of money took him to thinking about his job, and Blaine bowed his head, squeezed his eyes shut into his palms and grimaced. He'd just been hired three months ago, and now he'd have to start the process again and shit.
Blaine felt the pressure of a hand on his arm and he startled violently in his chair, instinctively sliding it back and away from Hiram, who looked at him with eyes wide as saucers, his hand frozen in shock. Great, now they think I'm a freak. Because honestly, who wouldn't? And LeRoy shared Hiram's same shocked expression. Neither man had any opportunity to say anything, let alone apologize, before they heard a door bang and a high voice call out tiredly, "Dads, I'm home." All three men turned their attention towards the door that led to the hall but it was Hiram that spoke up. "We're in the kitchen, Sweetheart," and with a glance at the boy across from him added, "and Blaine's here with us." Blaine looked over at him with questioning eyes, but said nothing. Instead, he listened carefully for some reaction from the girl he'd not yet seen – the girl that was this other man's "Sweetheart." He waited, but after a long beat of pregnant silence, he heard the low thunder of footsteps jogging up the stairs. Figures.
For a few minutes the three men sat in an awkward silence, Hiram and LeRoy exchanging glances that probably could have constituted a conversation themselves, but Blaine avoided both their eyes. He'd never felt more out of place. Okay, so maybe that wasn't completely true. He'd definitely felt far less comfortable in his grandfather's house, but that was always a different situation entirely. Blaine had nearly lost himself in his memories when another bout of rolling thunder signaled Rachel Berry's descent.
Rachel hadn't known what to expect upon arriving, but hearing her father call out so nonchalantly that her "imposter-brother" as Rachel had taken to calling him in her head, since neither "step-" nor "half-" quite seemed to fit the circumstance, was in the kitchen with them left her frozen. And though she'd taken a full ten minutes to go through her breathing exercise and school her features outside the Berrys' front door, Rachel still couldn't help but panic. She ran upstairs to her bathroom and splashed cold water on her face to try and snap herself out of her nerves. She took a long shaky breath, her dark eyes meeting the eyes in her reflection. "You can do this," she told herself, injecting far more confidence into her voice than she felt. "This is nothing but stagefright – Rachel Barbra Berry does not do stagefright." And with all the determination she could muster, Rachel straightened up and after patting her face dry, used her fingers to flatten out stray strands of hair. The girl gave her reflection one last nod, and with a practiced air of confidence – the very same that walked her through the hallways of McKinley – Rachel descended the stairs and marched her way into the kitchen.
She let her eyes fall on her fathers in turn, and each looked a mixture of worried and hopeful. I'm mad at them, she reminded herself, and after lifting her chin and ensuring her stoic expression was firmly affixed to her face, Rachel advanced first on Hiram, and then on LeRoy. "Hello, father," she said with formality reserved for only the aftermath of the most important fights, and she kissed Hiram on the cheek. She repeated the process with LeRoy, and only then, when she was on the complete opposite side of the table as Blaine, did Rachel finally look at him. He was scowling at her, and her features faltered for a split second before she reschooled them and pulled her lips into a tight, forced smile. "And you must be Blake. I'm Rachel, Rachel Berry." The girl in the pink dress held out her hand, arm as stiff and straight as a rod as she walked back around behind Hiram to stand within shaking distance of Blaine. The boy only watched her, his teeth clenching as he took in the clear disdain in her tone and her eyes. From his perspective she was clearly looking down her nose at him, her expression smug, as if there was something she had he didn't – as if she was better than him. Blaine just looked at her face, then down at her hand, then up at her face again, but Rachel didn't falter or lower her hand.
Eventually, seeing no other option and nothing truly bad that could come from a handshake alone, Blaine took her hand gingerly in his own, clasped it tightly and didn't shake. "It's Blaine," he corrected her snappily before dropping his hand. Her eyes widened slightly and she swallowed thickly before furrowing her own brows even deeper, like there was something she was trying to riddle out.
Turning away from Blaine, Rachel clasped her hands and addressed the other men in the room. "Father, father, if it's all the same to you, I think I'll just take my meal in my bedroom alone."
For the first time since the previous day, Hiram looked visibly annoyed. "As a matter of fact, it isn't all the same to me. Blaine is here," he said, his tone softening briefly, "and we are going to have dinner here. As a family." At that word, Blaine's entire body tensed and he turned a sharp gaze on Rachel. The girl met his eyes with a disdainful glare of her own.
It seemed clear to each of them that they weren't exactly liked by the other. "That's fine," they thought simultaneously, "because I don't like you either."
It was early afternoon, and despite Kurt's constant assurances that he didn't want her to go, he felt secretly relieved when Mercedes enveloped him in a bone-crushing good-bye hug. "Oh – breathing. Can't breathe," he wheezed dramatically with a teasing grin on his lips. Mercedes pulled back and laughed.
"Bye, 'Cedes."
"Later, Kurt. Thanks again for hosting." The girl gave Kurt a friendly wave as she headed down the stoop and towards the street. Kurt, just smiling gently, leaned back a bit, one arm crossed over his middle and raised the other in a single gesture.
The boy breathed a soft sigh. He lowered his arm and crossed it in the other while he watched Mercedes reach and get into her car. He waited for her to pull away, raising his hand again when he saw her wave at him one more time, before turning around and heading into the house. As he locked the door, Kurt heaved a breath and let his shoulders sag and the smile to slide off his lips. Man, he was tired. Staying up way too late watching movies and gossiping was always fun, but left Kurt, who always got up extra early to do his skin-care routine no matter what, extra tired and ready for a nap by mid-afternoon. Today was no exception, but instead of heading to bed, Kurt headed up to his room, closed the door, and grabbed his phone off of its charger on the desk.
One thing had been on his mind – one thing he couldn't really discuss with Mercedes until he actually got the story from Rachel…and her permission, of course. Mercedes, as much as Kurt loved her, couldn't be totally trusted to keep a juicy secret, and certainly not one told to her second-hand. The brunet typed in his pin to unlock his phone, then went straight to recent calls and dialed Rachel. He waited, hoping he might actually get to talk to her. Instead, the phone didn't ring, going directly to Rachel's voicemail the moment the lines connected. The girl's overly-cheery sing-song voice made him cringe, like it always did when he heard the all too familiar greeting she'd recorded. Somehow the voicemail system had managed to make her sound even more annoying than she usually did in person.
Kurt pulled an annoyed face and disconnected without waiting for the 'beep' or leaving a message. He'd tried – he could surely say he'd tried – and with that alone enough to satiate his conscience, Kurt did something he hardly ever did and let himself flop, clothes and all, face down on top of his bed. Rachel had seemed most definitely upset the last time they'd spoken, but if it wasn't important enough to return his texts or answer his calls, then Kurt found he couldn't really bring himself to care to really know.