A/N: Ok, in case you all couldn't tell, this story is tracking the main events in Season 2. If you don't want spoilers, then I recommend watching Season 2 and then reading this fic. Actually, I recommend that anyway because a lot of seemingly random details actually refer to something that happened in the show, so it will just make more sense if you've seen it. Also, fair warning: lots of angst in the first half of this chapter.
D/C: I own nothing except my plot. Oh, and my O/C (who I'm growing to love more and more).
Blaine sat on the plush bathmat in the Berrys' guest bathroom, his back resting against the cabinet doors beneath the sink. He took measured, stuttering breaths, and willed the tears from forming. He didn't want to cry, not again, and he swallowed back the thick constriction in his throat. Arching slightly, Blaine reached into the pocket of his jeans for his cell phone. He felt the tug of his belt on his hip bone and readjusted his pants before settling down again. This pair of jeans was too big on him, but they were better too big than too small. A belt could hold up too large jeans, but didn't do a damn thing to help if the pants were too tight.
Flipping open the phone, Blaine scrolled down to the second contact in his phone and hit the "Send" button. Squeezing his eyes shut he pressed the phone to his ear. He expected her to be mad. He hadn't actually listened to any of the messages, or bothered reading the texts. He hadn't been ready to talk to his friend and knew that checking the messages might make him feel guilty enough to call her anyway. Now, it didn't matter if he was ready, he needed to talk to somebody, and with Adam out of the picture, he only had one option left.
"Blaine Anderson, where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick!"
Blaine's jaw trembled at the sound of Bethany's voice. She didn't sound angry. She sounded scared as hell. He opened his mouth to respond, but couldn't find his voice.
"Blaine? Blaine, please! Talk to me," she pleaded.
He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and gritted his teeth. God he wanted to. He wanted to speak so badly that it hurt. He sucked in a breath, and let out a choked sound.
"Blaine," she begged. "Oh God, where are you? I'll come get you."
Blaine could hear rustling and soft banging through the phone line and realized she was seriously gathering her stuff, probably shoving her wallet, keys, mace in her purse at that very moment. "Beth?" God, I sound so weak. "Don't. I don't need… I just need to hear your voice."
The sounds on Bethany's side of the line stopped. "Oh, Blaine," she breathed. "I'm here – I'm right here. Just – tell me what happened."
Blaine fought hard against the urge to cry. "Mom. She –" He struggled to find the words, and finally giving up, he told her, his voice small and shaking, "The f-funeral is Wednesday."
His friend responded with a shocked gasp. "Oh God, was it Darrell?" Blaine's eyes squeezed shut, a small pleading sound escaped his throat and he nodded before finally giving in to the thick urge to sob. He held the phone away from him as he tried to calm himself, tried to get himself under control. He could hear her voice coming through faintly from where he held the phone away from his ear, but only after he managed to take two full breaths did he pull the phone back to his ear with a trembling hand.
His friend had gone silent, but the line was still connected. After a minute he tried again. "Beth – can – can I see you then? W-will you come?"
"Of course!" she quickly replied. Blaine could hear a tremor in her voice. "Of course I'll be there, baby. Just text me the details, okay?"
Blaine nodded and sniffed in response.
For a moment both Bethany and Blaine said nothing, but then the girl on the other side of the line broke the silence. Carefully, she asked him, "Do – do you want to come over? You know you can stay with me if you want."
Blaine tried hard again to compose himself before answering her. "I know, Beth. I know, it's just – I'm not in Columbus right now. I'll – I can't really explain right now. I – I'll tell you everything Wednesday, ok?"
Blaine heard her attempt to cut him off, to ask more questions than he had the strength to answer, but in the end she accepted the promise for what it was. "Okay," she agreed, reluctance clear in her tone. "But if you need anything, Blaine…"
The threatening tone made the corner of his mouth twitch. God, he loved his friend. "I'll call you. I know," he said, finishing the sentence for her.
"Bye, Blaine."
"Bye."
Neither Hiram nor LeRoy attempted to talk to Blaine again that night. Well, that wasn't exactly true. Hiram slipped upstairs after a while, only to hear the muffled sounds of what he assumed was a telephone conversation through the closed bathroom door. He didn't want to intrude, wanted to respect Blaine's privacy, sure, but part of him couldn't help but feel like he should at least make sure that Blaine was all right. He pressed his ear to the door and only heard a snippet or two. "…really explain….tell you everything...I'll call you, I know…"
Hiram decided he'd heard enough before heading off to bed. If Blaine wasn't relying on them, he was glad his son was reaching out to someone. It was only then that Hiram realized something, though – something he probably should have thought of long ago. He readied himself for bed and sat on the bed, his brow furrowed in thought. When LeRoy entered their bedroom, a tired sigh on his lips, Hiram looked up at his husband. "Am I a terrible father?"
LeRoy was so surprised by that he halted midstep and actually laughed. "Of course not, Hiram. Why would you ask me that?"
Hiram sighed. He closed his eyes when he felt the bed shift under LeRoy's weight and melted into the embrace his husband offered. "I never even thought about his friends. I've been so focused on incorporating him into our lives here I never thought about the life we practically tore him from."
"Oh, honey, don't you think that's a little – well, dramatic?"
Hiram glared briefly up at LeRoy. "No." He didn't appreciate the implication that he was over-reacting. "He has friends. Or at least a friend. Maybe a girlfriend? I don't know. I came up to talk to him and heard him on the phone. There are people he's leaving behind. I didn't even think about how he might feel."
LeRoy was frowning now, and not knowing what to say, he merely pressed a kiss to Hiram's hair. They'd figure it out. Between them all, they'd find a way to make it work. They just had to.
Tuesday passed like a blur for Blaine. Neither Hiram nor LeRoy attempted to have another heart-to-heart, and Hiram left Blaine pretty much to his own devices while busying himself in some of the more public areas of the house. Blaine just stayed in his room until and unless Hiram knocked on his door to announce that a meal was on the table. Hiram wondered what Blaine was doing, sure, but knew that just coming out and asking would probably get him nowhere fast with the boy.
Instead, Hiram stuck to lighter topics, reverting back to superficial one-sided conversation. He'd learned that even Blaine's non-answers could tell him a lot about the boy. Hiram could say with some certainty that Blaine liked music, sports, and the color blue. He also had a serious dislike of mushrooms, which Hiram noticed when he'd picked all the mushrooms out of his lasagna the first night, and of nicknames. There was more, of course, but little by little, Hiram was getting to know Blaine and his preferences – something he considered a major accomplishment.
"So I was thinking," Hiram said casually while he watched Blaine poking unenthusiastically at the chicken on his plate. "that maybe if you wanted to meet up with any of your friends while we're in Columbus tomorrow…"
For the first time since the start of their mid-day meal, Blaine looked up, his eyes locked sharply on Hiram, as if he was trying to figure something out. Hiram continued assembling a forkful of his lunch. "LeRoy and I could find something to do for a bit. Or if you'd rather not tomorrow, we could always take a weekend and go, or LeRoy and I can bring you with us the next time LeRoy goes down to Columbus for business." He looked over at Blaine with a hopeful smile. "We'll follow your lead, bud-Blaine," he quickly corrected and smiled apologetically. "Whatever you want to do is fine with us." Hiram returned to his meal but kept an eye on Blaine out of the corner of his eye. Blaine stared hard at him, and for a long second said nothing, but then his brows twitched together and he looked away nodding. He breathed out a quiet, "sure," that sounded halfway between sincere and sarcastic before going back to pushing his dinner around his plate. Hiram smiled, and logged that conversation as a complete and utter success. He couldn't wait to tell LeRoy.
Rachel was mortified. "Wait, Mr. Shue is going to play Rocky?" Kurt couldn't help but overhear and think to himself if Mercedes was in her shoes, it would have been a ripe occasion for a patented "Hell-to-the-No." Rachel just buried her face in her hands. Sam looked like he was at a loss for words and just hung his head, crossing his arms protectively over his middle. "But I have to do a love scene with him, oh my God." She took in an audible breath and continued, clearly talking to herself, "Just breathe, Rachel, breathe. You can do this. You're an actress. This is what you were born to do." She trilled the word, set a determined expression on her face, and stomped her way to the stage.
Even standing on the side-lines – or rather, in front of a nearby vanity – Kurt couldn't help but find something wrong with the situation. Sure, ok, Rachel had a crush on Mr. Shue the previous year, but she was still a teenager. He was an adult, and old enough to be her unwed teenage father, at least. But the person Kurt really felt sorry for was Sam. He lowered the makeup sponge in his hand and glanced over at the blond boy. Sam was standing in front of a mirror three vanities down, holding up his shirt with one hand and pinching the skin off his abs with the other. Kurt's eyes drifted down to his rock-hard abdomen and couldn't help but stare. Sam turned and he lifted his eyes quickly, then turned away, blushing, and returned to the task of applying his make-up, hoping beyond hope that Sam would just forget he'd even been looking.
"Am I that hideous?"
Kurt's gaze snapped to meet Sam's, his eyes widening. The look on Sam's face and the tone of his voice spoke to Kurt of honest worry, and the panicky flutter in Kurt's chest, the one he always got when he realized he'd been staring at a boy who might not like it, waned just a little bit. Kurt (who at that point looked a lot more like Riff Raff than Kurt) looked over his shoulder to see if Sam could possibly be speaking to someone else, but the rest of the Glee Club members had almost all headed out to the stage for rehearsal by then. Turning back to Sam, Kurt's eyebrows furrowed at the boy's sullen expression. "No," he choked out quietly. He cleared his throat and tried again, "No, not at all. I – I think you made a great Rocky for what it's worth."
As soon as he heard the words come out of his own mouth, Kurt winced and turned back to his mirror. Sam said nothing back, though when Kurt glanced over at him again to see Sam looking away, he noticed the blond boy's lips were turned up into a slight smile as he lowered his shirt and smoothed it out.