Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. I don't own Blaine, or Kurt. (Which is probably for the best, all things equal.) No money is being made off of this work. It's a work of fiction, and it's going to potentially contain triggers for all sorts of squicky stuff. So please, if you're easily triggered by mentions of rape, suicide, depression, I won't be at all offended if you go find another story to read. I'd appreciate it, however, if you do read it, please review! The more reviews, the faster I post the next chapter.
Note: I debated this. Haven't these boys been through enough? But I wanted more…if you keep reading my work, you'll come to find out I love angst. I find it cathartic to put my characters into hopeless situations and have them come out stronger. I'm so sorry this took me so long to post. I've had it written forever, but I debated changing it until the last minute. Now that the damage has been done, updates should be much faster. I hope...
The hour long drive passed in silence, and when Blaine pulled into his parents' driveway, he could see his father standing at the front window, arms crossed. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out of the car, wishing he had Kurt there to hold his hand, and yet, wanting to protect the fragile boy from all that was about to happen. He squared his shoulders and walked to the front door, head held high.
"Blaine Everett Anderson," his father said from between clenched teeth. "Where the hell were you last night?"
"I did call and leave a message on your voicemail, but I spent the night at Kurt Hummel's house, under the watchful eye of his parents," Blaine said matter-of-factly.
"Bringing everyone's attention, once again, to the fact that you're a fucking faggot?" Thomas Anderson spat. "With your fairy fucking faggot boyfriend?"
Blaine sighed. "Dad, I'm going to school an hour from here, I've never even considered bringing him to your country club, and, quite frankly, I don't appreciate the names you're calling me and Kurt. I don't know how much more discreet I can be without denying a fundamental part of myself!"
"Don't talk to me in that tone of voice, young man. You know this phase you're going through is unacceptable to your mother and I, and it needs to end before you graduate high school."
"This isn't a phase," Blaine said quietly. "I love Kurt. I'm not about to denounce who I am. Or what I am. Dad, I'm gay. I've known since I was twelve. And confirmed it by kissing a girl last year, in case you were wondering."
"You kissed a girl, and you went back to him?" his dad asked incredulously. "How could you do that?"
"Because I love Kurt, Dad, not Rachel. I love a man. And I will continue loving him. This isn't a phase."
Thomas closed his eyes. "You disgust me," he said. "Which one are you? The one who takes it up the ass, or the one who packs it in?"
"Kurt and I aren't having sex," Blaine said quietly. "We've discussed it, but we haven't done it. So please, let's change the subject. I'm going to go up to my room and do some homework and just stay out of your way for the rest of the night."
"No, you aren't," Thomas said quietly. "You're going to go gather the things you can get out of your room in the next thirty minutes. You're going to pack them into your car, and you're going to get the fuck out of my house. And you're not going to look back. Do you understand me?"
Blaine felt as if the bottom of his stomach had fallen straight out. "Understood, sir," he managed.
"Now, you're my son. I can't deny that, as much as I would like to. So here's the deal. You're going to have your allowance deposited into your checking account at the beginning at every month. Also, because I'm not giving you a roof over your head any longer, I'll be depositing the equivalent amount that I spent on room and board for you at Dalton, to cover your living expenses. This will continue until you graduate high school, at which time you will have access to your trust fund and college accounts."
"Thank you for your generosity, sir," Blaine said. "May I ask why?"
"Because I need to be able to save face at the firm," Thomas said simply. "I've told them that it's too far for you to commute to your chosen school, and I am providing means for you to support yourself."
Of course, Blaine thought. The firm. His friends and colleagues. He wouldn't do this for his son's sake. "May I talk to Mom before I leave?" he asked.
"I sent your mother to her sister's for a week," Thomas said. "She knows what I'm doing, so don't think you can play on her emotions. She didn't want to see you, either."
"Understood," Blaine said. "As you've only given me half an hour, I should be going." He headed toward the stairs.
"I'll be waiting. Half an hour, Blaine."
Blaine took a deep breath, and hurried to his bedroom. He pulled out the expensive luggage he'd been given for his sixteenth birthday, and started throwing everything he could think of into the cases. Music, clothes, CD cases, his laptop was in the car already, but he needed to pack his DVD collection, and make sure his guitar made it into the pile. He spent fifteen minutes organizing and packing, and then dragged the first set of cases to the front door, avoiding his father's gaze.
His keyboard and backup guitar made it onto the pile, along with his shoe collection in a duffle bag, and his bowties tucked into a messenger bag. Hair gel, and the rest of his toiletry supplies, including the condoms he'd bought 'just in case' when things started getting more heated with Kurt, got tossed into a shaving kit. He only hoped he had everything, as his time was ticking down. He grabbed his favorite pillow, his most comfortable blankets off his bed.
"Two minutes, Blaine!" His father shouted up the stairs. The teen sighed, grabbed a few more random items, including his alarm clock, and, as a last thought, his old stuffed rabbit. The rest he'd have to leave behind.
"Your mother's birthday is in two weeks. We will be having a family dinner at a yet-to-be-determined restaurant. You are expected to be there, alone, or with a female date. If there is anything else you need from your room, you will send your mother an email detailing exactly what it is, and if she feels like it, we will bring it to that dinner. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," Blaine said. He placed the rest of his bags on the front steps, and was shocked when his father helped to load his car.
"Now get out of here," Thomas said quietly. "Remember, you will be at your mother's birthday dinner."
"Yes, sir," Blaine said again. So he wasn't disowned, just banished. He drove away, not looking back. He couldn't believe this. At least he had an open invitation from Carole to stay the night at the Hummel-Hudson house. He'd figure out the next day where to go from there. She'd made it clear he wasn't welcome to stay the night on a school night. He pulled over at a gas station and dialled Carole's cell phone number.
"Hello?" Carole asked, not recognizing the number.
"Hi, Carole, it's Blaine. Can I talk to you for a moment?"
"Hey, honey, what do you need?" she asked, standing up from where she was sitting near Kurt and walking into the kitchen.
"Is the offer to stay the night again still open? My dad kicked me out today. He made me drive all the way home just to tell me to pack my things and get out."
"Oh, honey!" Carole exclaimed. "You just come right back over here, do you understand me? Burt just got home, and he's watching a Western in the living room with Kurt, but I'll pull him aside and let him know. Do you want me to tell Kurt? He was really bummed out that you had to leave."
"I'll tell him when I get there. But I need to go, I don't like to talk and drive at the same time."
"You must be upset," Carole said. "Are you sure you can drive? I can get Burt to bring me to wherever you are…"
"No," Blaine said. "I'm alright. I just want to get there, if that's okay."
"I understand, sweetie. Drive safely." Carole hung up the phone and returned to the living room.
"Who was on the phone, honey?" Burt asked.
"Come talk to me in the kitchen," she said, casting a glance at Kurt, who was still bundled up in the blanket on the couch. "It's time to start grilling."
Burt frowned, but followed his wife into the kitchen, and onto the back patio, where they talked while finishing supper.
TO BE CONTINUED…
If, that is, anyone is still reading this after the extreme length of time it took me to post this, and the less-than-appealing length of this chapter.