Author's Note: Ladies and gentlemen, I have returned. And I am aware that it has been way, way, WAY too long, but better late than never, right? I wish I had a better excuse for leaving on such an unexpected and extended hiatus, but it was really just a combination of several things that kept me away (including trying to write a decent finale for this thing I've created here). Nevertheless, I hope some of you are still interested in reading the ending. This is either the last chapter or next-to-last chapter before the epilogue, I haven't decided yet (so, yes, there's more after this). I also may or may not start posting new stories soon… keep an eye out if you like. Thank you for your support, as always, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter. :)
Disclaimer: I do NOT own the show Glee.
~Chapter 22: Battle~
There was a second crash downstairs, the sound of breaking glass sending Kurt's body into a shaking fit. Blaine looked to him helplessly, the fear Kurt felt mirrored in his own eyes. They were trapped.
"We have to do something," Blaine whispered hastily, searching Kurt's face for a sign that he hadn't completely gone into shock. "I'll go-"
"Don't leave me!" Kurt burst out, his voice hushed and choked by panic. "It- it has to be him. He'll hurt you, B-Blaine. He… he's-"
"Sssh." Blaine placed a hand on Kurt's cheek. Since the very beginning, this had been his battle, his burden; it had weighed him down and fought against him and made him forget who he really was. Now, though, Blaine understood himself so much better. At last it was time to face up to his fears and show his father just how strong he had become… how strong Kurt had helped him to become.
Blaine held Kurt's gaze for a long moment. "I'm going to take care of this," he said finally, each word sure and steady. "This is the last time we'll ever have to deal with him again. I promise."
Kurt watched in stunned silence as Blaine walked away. He sank to the floor, curling in on himself, a million questions swimming through his mind. What was Blaine going to do? What was he supposed to do? What if Blaine…?
What if Blaine didn't come back?
No.
Kurt shook his head, and- with trembling yet determined fingers- reached into his pocket for his cell phone. He would not sit here helplessly and become the victim. Blaine was not going to be hurt- not again. Not on Kurt's watch.
If Blaine had the bravery to face up to his father, then Kurt would do whatever he could to help.
They were going to make this right.
x.x.x
He used to tell me that I was a terrible person. Worthless. And if he got really annoyed, he would hit me.
Blaine felt the blood pounding in his ears as he silently descended the stairs. Fear, anger, an ever-lingering sense of betrayal… so many feelings flowed through him, so many emotions he could never shake, no matter how hard he tried…
He's just trying to punish you, Blaine. You've got to tell him it's been long enough. Scary as it is, nothing's ever going to change unless you have a little courage, right? Show him that he can't control you.
And Kurt's words kept echoing in his mind. Kurt, who had changed everything. He owed it to Kurt to fix things now.
You know who you are, and I just feel like I'm floating around trying to prove that I'm actually good enough for someone like you.
Blaine's father appeared at the base of the stairs. For a moment, there was total silence between them. Empty, haunting silence.
"Would you kill me?"
Richard Anderson stared back and let out a single, harsh laugh. "What about you, Blaine? Would you kill your own family?"
"It's not about family."
Blaine forced himself not to cringe at the sight of Mr. Anderson's cruel smile. He had seen that smile one too many times to give in at the sight of it. "Ah, of course," Mr. Anderson said, his voice softer, teasing. "So it's to be a fight to the death, is it?" He stepped back, held his arms out to the sides in surrender. "Kill me, then."
Dramatics. That's what this was really about. Mr. Anderson wanted to see Blaine break down and react, just like that night when he had pushed him down the stairs. He needed an excuse to call Blaine the bad guy, the escaped reform school student who had started all the trouble in the first place.
Maybe, at one time, Blaine would have taken the bait. But with Kurt so close and so significant, he felt a pull at his thoughts, like an anchor keeping him focused. There was nothing to prove here but that he could be the better man, if only for the sake of protecting the person he'd fallen in love with.
"I won't," Blaine said simply. His words were quiet but seemed to echo back at him and ring in his ears with volume.
He watched his father's expression change as he began to laugh. "I should have known you wouldn't have it in you. You were never much of a man, anyway. Wouldn't have been a fair fight, really."
Blaine didn't feel that he was moving, only that he had somehow come to shove his father roughly up against the nearest wall and hold him pinned. His jaw clenched and he glared up into Mr. Anderson's face. "I'll fight you like a man," he snapped, "when you become one."
His father's gaze hardened. "Do tell, Blaine," he answered, spitting the name like it had a sour taste. "What am I now?" And he threw Blaine to the ground.
Blaine barely had time to react as his skull crashed sharply into the wall and his body crumpled to the floor. The world spun. He remembered, vaguely, that Kurt was listening upstairs. He wished he could be with Kurt right now…
Kurt.
Kurt.
Suddenly, Blaine's vision swam back into focus. A hand clutched his shirt collar and heaved him upright.
"Tell me what you think of me, fag. Or are you too scared? Huh, loser? You scared of me?"
Blaine felt an earthquake coursing through his nerves, his bones. His blood boiled. He thought of Kurt, of his mother. He thought of running into burning buildings and riding motorcycles and pretending to be tough. Of lying in Kurt's arms and knowing he was in love and that nothing else mattered because that, among all things, was real.
"A monster. I can't stand to call you my father."
Blaine forced himself free of Mr. Anderson's grasp and held his ground. His skin was on fire. He felt a slow trickle of liquid down the side of his face that had to be blood.
"You're not any better."
You're not any better.
For the shortest second, it occurred to Blaine that the man standing before him had- at one time- been his hero. He had, after all, raised him as a child, brought him up to adulthood. In a way, Blaine would always be who he was because of Richard Anderson, even if he didn't like it. Because that was just the way the world worked. That was family.
Yet… Blaine wasn't himself just because of his father. In fact, he was a lot of what his father never wanted him to be. He was made up of his mother, of Kurt and Burt and Tina. He was the oddest excuse for a Dalton Reform School delinquent. He was gay.
He was also his father.
And finally, finally… he was Blaine Anderson.
He heard the sirens then, just as the front door burst open and a flood of officers rushed inside. Kurt had called the police. He must have. He was reliable like that, smart.
Mr. Anderson's mouth opened slightly, the words he had meant to say lost somewhere in the moment when he was at last caught in handcuffs. Blaine watched quietly. It was like a dream. Or a nightmare.
You're not any better.
Blaine's eyes met his father's, and the one thing he had waited so long to say was there, unmistakable, certain: It's over.
Because Blaine had finally won.
Blaine had won.