Hello again, long time no see! I apologise for the major gap. I hope there's still interest in this story. I've been debating whether or not to leave it, but if people are still interested then I'll gladly continue it. May I recommend starting from the beginning because I know it's confusing finding your place in the story when authors don't update for a long time? It's hard picking up a story after seven months so I hope this is okay. It may have aspects similar to other chapters, but a) Blaine's not going to recover quickly; it's going to be a long terrifying process, and b) it was a good way to get back into the story. Thank you for all the lovely and/or constructive reviews, follows, favourites and PMs that people have sent over the last few months. Hope you like the chapter :)
Blaine had been told by his father all his life that he was useless: a waste of space, a creature no good for anything or to anyone… a mistake. However, he had never felt more so than when Kurt and Burt had to give up their own precious time and energy to stay with him in the hospital, and then feel obligated to grant him a place in their home. He hated himself all the more for what he was doing to them. He had been made aware of the fact that they had a new family now. Burt would soon be married again and Kurt would have a brother; someone to protect him and be his new best friend. They did not need him anymore and yet they still came back to see him day after day. He had no place with them, nor any right to be with them, and even though he wished desperately that it wasn't true, he was beginning to wonder if they had only volunteered to take him in out of some misguided guilt.
Blaine's sore body throbbed so agonisingly without relief; he was so confused and felt so groggy that he wasn't sure if anything would ever be clear to him again. But if he knew one thing, it was that these two people – these two… beautiful, perfect and purely good human beings had nothing to feel remotely guilty about. They had loved him and cared for him when no one else did, and the mere thought of them had kept him striving to survive, even in his darkest moments when the blows became too painful, the jeers unbearable and the urge to end it all became frighteningly strong. He knew he deserved that agony. The… the rape had been his own fault – his penance for what happened that night – even though the lady who had visited him a few days previously had contradicted this belief. Kurt and Burt had tried to convince him otherwise as well, and he wanted to believe them so very badly. But he couldn't.
He could not seem to communicate how desperately sorry he was each time he saw Kurt's beautiful blue eyes fill with tears, all because he did or said something wrong. He never wanted to hurt Kurt. Ever. And he was doing it so often, he knew that however many times the Hummels' denied it, he was frustrating them. He would will himself with every ounce of energy that he still possessed to stop crying but he couldn't, and that would upset Kurt, the kindest, most sensitive, wonderful person in the world. The person who, even though Blaine had abandoned him six years ago and in doing so, hurt him badly, had rushed to see him without a mere hesitation, holding his hand and offering comfort; refusing point-blank to listen to his apologies.
Blaine was devastating their lives, and they were welcoming him back like the Prodigal Son. He had been so useless that he hadn't even been able to dress himself, thus Burt had been forced to help him instead. He knew the man must have been so disgusted by his feebleness, but he was just too kind and polite to say anything. Burt told him it was okay to ask for help and Kurt had repeated over and over again, almost like a soothing mantra that things were 'okay', but he had felt their repulsion burning into his back when they saw the scars. They knew just how awful he really was.
Even then, as the three of them sat in a truck that was remarkably similar to the one Burt had owned six years previously – something that almost made Blaine crumble once more – he could feel the intensity of Kurt's concerned gaze on him, and Burt's scrutiny through the rear view mirror. It was an all-too familiar feeling of being exposed and open with nowhere to run to.
Blaine desperately tried to quell the frightened, panicked feeling in his gut, and dared to raise his eyes briefly to snatch a glance at Kurt who was sitting in the back seat next to him; the same left corner seat he had occupied when they were younger. He wanted to convince himself that nothing had changed. They were in a similar truck, sitting in the same spots as they used to, with Burt's left elbow half-leaning on the car door as he drove; a habit he still clearly hadn't altered. And yet Blaine knew that everything had changed. The pain resonating through his body, and the dark gloom of fear, fatigue and depression clutching his heart that hadn't been present six years ago were testaments of that. He was not the same person and when the Hummels' eventually got tired of him, realising that the ten-year-old who left Lima, was not coming back, they wouldn't want him anymore. He closed his eyes and swallowed the ache of terror in his throat at the thought of Kurt never wanting to see him again.
Blaine allowed himself to rest his throbbing head against the window and flinched briefly at its icy coldness. He had been forced to grow accustomed to the cold in recent months, yet the heat streaming from the front of the car was soothing and most welcoming. He leaned a little too far the wrong way and put a pressure on his sore backside that again made him wince, so he shifted slightly to get more comfortable.
Kurt immediately turned towards him in concern.
"Are you okay?" he asked, with a note of anxiety that only made Blaine hate himself even more for dragging him through such an experience with him. He automatically tried to reassure him.
"I'm okay, thank you, Kurt." He said softly, flashing as much of a smile as he could manage at the other boy, before fixing his gaze on his knees.
He glimpsed an imperceptible movement to his left and then half a second later, Kurt's fingers eased in between his, squeezing his hand gently. The touch was consoling and he felt his frantic heart beat slow just a little. It allowed him to believe, even if only for a short while, that things could be okay.
"You look tired." Kurt's soft tone filtered though Blaine's hazy mind. "Why don't you sleep until we get home?"
Blaine caught the pleading edge to the elder boy's voice, and once again felt that repetitive combination of guilt and fear. He desperately wanted to accept the suggestion, especially to please Kurt because his friend looked so exhausted as well. Falling asleep would probably give Kurt some much-needed relief from the problems he caused, and the heat wafting through the car created a temptingly lulling atmosphere. Yet the overwhelming dread of nightmares filled with rapists, naked women and drunken men was too distressing to give in. He glanced up at Kurt, willing him to understand.
"I… I can't." He whispered fearfully. "I'm so sorry, Kurt, I… I can't."
Kurt's stunning eyes softened with sadness and he opened his mouth to speak, however Burt's comment distracted him somewhat:
"Nearly home now, anyway."
Blaine felt himself tense as he turned to glance out of the window. He couldn't bear to say anything more to Burt or Kurt on the subject because they had already been so kind, and wouldn't hear any arguments, but he was terrified of going back with them. He didn't want to disrupt their carefully constructed lives or get under their feet. He did not want to cause them any extra expense on top of the medical bills Burt had told him in no uncertain terms that they would pay. He berated himself not to be scared of Carole's son, but he felt shaken and so, so frightened at the thought of living with a man he did not know; someone who, after overhearing a conversation between Kurt and Burt, he knew did not want him there. Most importantly, he afraid of going back to where everything began – to the house from which he had been dragged, never to see the two people he loved most for six years, and more specifically, the house next door. That house held so many terrifying memories, Blaine was not sure quite how to cope with living next to it after… everything.
A gentle squeeze to his hand brought him out of his depressive thoughts and he looked up into the beautiful face of Kurt Hummel.
"It's going to be okay." The older boy told him quietly. "I promise you, it's going to be okay."
As he didn't trust himself not to start crying again if he opened his mouth, Blaine did not know how to express his gratitude other than with a tentative squeeze of the hand. He was not used to people wanting to hold his hand or being so tender with him and he just hoped that he was responding in an acceptable way. It felt natural to him, but then he knew that a lot of things about himself were wrong.
Blaine slowly faced the window again and stared at the houses they passed. Some of them looked familiar, and others looked new. There were a couple of balconied buildings that now had walled gardens or trees that he did not remember existing before. Despite the old October air, they drove by a man mowing his grass whilst two kids ran around the yard laughing. He thought again of the young family in the hospital and then about what his father had told him that night and sucked in a shaky breath. He tried to calm himself by focusing on the road but that only made his already sore head hurt, and increased his ever-present nausea.
Then he saw them. Turning at a familiar bend, he saw the two houses standing side by side, looking so innocent in their stature, and yet both containing memories and nightmares that had helped to shape him to be who he was. The truck gradually came to a halt, Burt's hand turning his key in the ignition, effectively stopping the engine.
They did not move straight away. The three of them sat and looked between the two houses, and Blaine could once again feel the Hummels' wary eyes on him. He was not aware he had stopped breathing until the need to gasp for air became apparent. He could almost see the ghosts of him and Kurt running around in the front yard, feel the pain against hairline in recalling his father's rough touch as he yanked him down the garden path.
He swallowed, preparing himself, before he glanced quickly at the building next door, only to see a car parked outside, and unfamiliar floral curtains hanging in every window. Kurt seemed to have followed his eye line.
"An elderly couple live there now." He murmured quietly. "They… they're okay, I suppose. They mostly keep to themselves; just the occasional wave if we see them outside."
Blaine expected himself to feel something in reaction to this, but he just felt numb. Perhaps he was all cried out. He nodded to show Kurt he had heard, and flinched when Burt swiftly removed the keys from the ignition and stepped out of the truck. Blaine sat still, not sure what he was allowed to do as he listened to Burt's footsteps sound around the length of the car to the trunk. He became aware that he was still clinging to Kurt's hand, and he opened his mouth to apologise, preparing to slacken his grip, when Kurt said soothingly:
"Don't worry about it. You can hold my hand all you want, okay? I'm never letting you go again."
Blaine tried to believe him, but still, he couldn't. He just smiled weakly, and whispered his gratitude.
A few seconds later, he jumped again as Burt opened the door beside him and surveyed the two of them sympathetically. Next to him was the wheelchair they had managed to loan from the hospital which, once Blaine was a little stronger, Carole would take back with her when she returned to work. Holding Blaine gently under his armpits, mindful of his tear and broken arm, Burt managed to settle him into the wheelchair, all the while, Blaine making a conscious effort not to fuss, biting his lip so that he didn't whimper when the chair rubbed against his throbbing behind. Kurt locked up the car and they started towards the front door together.
The door was unlocked so they all entered into the hallway with ease, before stopping again. Blaine took the time to become acquainted with his surroundings. The walls were the same warm, creamy colour as he remembered, as were the carpets. Just inside the front room he could see that fireplace was still present, but had been filled in with an electric alternative. He looked further up the walls and saw familiar photo frames of a younger Burt and Elizabeth, Kurt, the three of them together, Burt and Carole, and… and a photo of him and Kurt.
His chest ached suddenly. He had not seen a photo of the two of them for six years. He had remembered every detail of Kurt's face, his smooth hands, his silky hair, his smile, his laugh, but Blaine had forgotten that he himself could laugh like that. He and Kurt looked so, so happy in that picture. Of course, he remembered when it was taken: Kurt's tenth birthday, laughing together on the tyre swing in the back yard because poor Burt had dropped Kurt's chocolate birthday cake, and had been buy crafting it into bowls of chocolate mousse instead. Blaine drew in another deep, shaky breath and strained to keep his tears at bay. He wanted so badly to laugh again. He wanted badly laugh with Kurt again.
"I have that picture of us on the inside of my locker at school." Kurt admitted quietly and then reddened as he apparently realised what he had just said. "Don't know why I told you that." He muttered.
Blaine felt himself give Kurt a genuine half smile and reached up with his good hand to squeeze the other boy's, trying to communicate that there was no need to be embarrassed. He would never judge anyone, especially Kurt.
Burt placed a careful hand on Blaine's shoulder and bent to look him properly, even though Blaine could see how much strain it was putting on the man's back, "What do you want to do, buddy? Finn might be upstairs if you want to meet him?"
Blaine's face fell as he once again realised how much he was intruding on these people's lives. Despite the picture in the hallway, he did not belong there. He wasn't part of their new family. He could feel his hand start to shake in Kurt's at the thought of meeting Finn, who didn't actually want him there, and he removed it so that the older boy wouldn't notice. He didn't want to upset him.
As if on cue, footsteps sounded across the floor above, and then down the stairs.
"Guys, is that you?" It was not a male voice that floated through from the stairs but Carole's, and within seconds the woman herself appeared, carrying a mound of laundry. Her face lit up at seeing three of them there, and she balanced the carrier of dirty laundry on the floor out of the way, hurrying to meet them.
"Hey, honey." Burt said affectionately, if not a little surprised. He pecked her on the cheek. "I thought you were working?"
Carole sighed, although she was still smiling, and Blaine almost felt relaxed in her motherly presence. Almost.
"I was," She supplied. "but my boss told me I looked tired, took pity on me and let me go home after the morning shift. I thought I'd come home so that I could greet you all when you got back."
Blaine was filled with horror as she admitted she had been tired. She had been so lovely and accepting towards him, and he was repaying her by making her exhausted, like he was tiring Kurt. When he looked at Burt, he saw bags under his eyes too. One by one he was hurting the people he loved and didn't mean to. He really didn't mean to.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, needing them to understand this. "I-I'm sorry I'm tiring everyone out. I can… I can go-"
"Blaine…" He heard Kurt whimper from behind him.
"-No Blaine." Carole swiftly said, moving in front of him, placing a gentle, caressing hand on his cheek, to which he was surprised he didn't flinch away from. Perhaps it was because she was the one who found him. She had seen him at his very worst, and she had also saved him, which only served to increase his guilt. "No, sweetie, it's not your fault. Not at all. We want you here, I promise."
Blaine knew that was another lie, but he tried to feel comforted by her placating, motherly tone. It was nice after twelve years of having no female presence in his life.
"Welcome home, sweetie." Carole whispered, rubbing his shoulder gently.
Blaine forced himself not to crumble at the word 'home', because he was all too hyperaware that he didn't really have a home. Anywhere. Not anymore. But he was so grateful to these people for letting him in to their lives anyway. He desperately wished he could thank them in an appropriate way other than nodding and crying.
"Thank you. He whispered back shakily, trying to convey how much her statement meant to him.
"So if you're tired, how come you're carrying Finn's dirty laundry?" Kurt aske with a raised eyebrow.
"Because he left it strewn around the upstairs bathroom." Carole tutted, rolling her eyes. "Don't worry, he's doing his own laundry. I just didn't want it to become a public health risk."
"Is he still at school?" Burt asked, removing his jacket and placing it over the edge of the banister.
"Nope," Carole said, shaking her head fondly. "He's upstairs in his room playing some video game or other as usual. His calculus teacher was apparently absent so he had the last two periods free." She headed back towards the staircase. "I'll go and fetch him."
Blaine didn't want them to go to any trouble for him. He didn't want to upset Finn by dragging him away from his game just to meet him. He was conscious of Burt wheeling him carefully into the front room, and helping him gently onto the couch, but he was too busy panicking about angering Finn to really feel the pain in his backside as it came into contact with the couch cushions. Kurt, wonderful Kurt, as always, seemed to notice.
"It's going to be alright." He soothed him gently, taking his hand once more, and sitting down next to him. The older boy started rubbing mindless circles with his thumb across the back of his hand, and Blaine's skin tingled at the touch. It was nearly effective as a distraction until yelling could be heard from upstairs and he flinched violently.
"Mom! Why did you turn that off?! I was in the middle of an important game!"
Carole's voice, a little sharper than it was before, echoed though the ceiling and down the stairs: "More important than welcoming somebody to our household?"
"He's Kurt's friend, not mine!"
Blaine whimpered at the ferocity in the young male's deep voice. He recalled similar words from a hazy memory between his mom and his father: 'He's your son, not mine!'. Blaine felt himself shrink in on himself, clenching his fist and screwing his eyes shut so that he wouldn't cry. Kurt's grip on his hand tightened.
"Finnegan, you get down those stairs and introduce yourself to that boy, now!"
"Mom, why don't you get that I don't want to?! I didn't get a choice whether he lived here in the first place!"
Blaine choked out a dry sob, and clapped a hand to his mouth, hoping Burt and Kurt did not notice in the face of the shouting above. Apparently they did, because Kurt suddenly engulfed him in a hug Blaine couldn't help but melt into, and Burt's face hardened a little. He got up from the armchair he had been sitting in, squeezed Blaine's shoulder gently and murmured, "I'm sorry about this, bud. This is ridiculous," before joining Carole upstairs.
"Finn, keep your voice down." Blaine heard Carole hiss, even from inside Kurt's warm embrace. "There is a very tired, frightened boy down there who needs all the love and support he can get. I thought that after your time with the glee club, you'd understand something like that."
"I-"
He was suddenly cut off as the much quieter, calmer voice of Burt Hummel interrupted the conversation, speaking with a no-nonsense air of reason and authority.
"Finn, come down for a minute, kid. That's all you need to do. Just don't yell or be stand-offish towards him. I accepted you as a member of my family, and you're living under my roof. Blaine's a member of my family and I expect you to accept him, and treat him with the same decency, do you understand?"
Blaine was so unbelievably touched by Burt's words, that he felt more tears making their way down his cheeks, but he wiped them away hastily before Kurt could see. He wouldn't cause these people any more pain.
"I-I'm sorry for causing you all this much t-trouble." He whispered to Kurt, resting his sore head tiredly against the older boy's shoulder as he continued to hold him.
"Please Blaine," Kurt whispered back against his ear. "no more apologies. This isn't your fault either. It's Finn being a complete douche."
Blaine winced slightly at Kurt's language. He wasn't altogether used to hearing foul words erupt from Kurt's mouth.
"I'm still sorry," Blaine whispered fretfully into Kurt's shoulder so that his friend couldn't hear him. "For everything."
The shouting had come to resolute stop and a couple of minutes later Burt and Carole returned, with Finn in tow. When Blaine caught glimpse of the boy, he recoiled completely, closing his eyes tightly again, praying the male wasn't going to hurt him. The boy was well over six feet tall, with a hulking frame that clearly read 'jock'. Whilst he had what could be viewed as usually kind brown eyes, those eyes looked anything but kind at that moment, and Blaine began to shake under the intensity of the ferocious glare Finn was shooting at them. He wished he could stop being so weak, but that glare reminded him of his father, and the tall body reminded him of… of his attacker. He was helpless to conceal another whimper as he delved even further into Kurt's arms, because Finn was slowly transforming into the shadow of somebody he really couldn't cope with seeing again.
It grew worse when Finn's glower landed on him. "Hi." He said coldly.
"I… I… I'm so s-sorry." Blaine found himself stammering and babbling, the tightness rising in his chest once more, and this time he was powerless to stop the wheezing sobs. It was pure instinct. "I… I'm sorry I d-d-disrupted you. I… I… won't d-do it again. I w-won't stay long… I'll… please… I-"
Blaine found he couldn't formulate any more words as the crying overtook his body. He stared, wide-eyed in Kurt's arms, shaking, remembering the feel of hands similar to Finn's on him; a body with a similar height pressing him into the ground.
"Finn!" He could hear Kurt snapping at the tall boy, who suddenly looked shocked rather than angry.
"W-What?" the boy said defensively. "I didn't do anything! He just started freaking out! If something breaks the kid this easily he should still be in the frickin' hospital!"
Blaine felt himself shatter even more at this comment. He didn't want to break. He didn't want to get Finn into trouble. He didn't know why he was seeing his attacker, his father and a kid who hated him all rolled into one. He struggled to breathe, panting slightly when he could, and felt another weight land next to him on the couch. A hand on his shoulder told him it was Burt, and the man was trying to get him to talk to him, yet his voice sounded like it was calling to him from underwater; he couldn't distinguish any particular vowels, just grunts of sound. Still, Blaine couldn't take his eyes off the potential threat in front of him. He wanted to be ready to protect himself. He didn't want to hurt any more.
Everything was going blurry, and faces kept zooming into his field of vision too fast to keep track of, like he was seeing things through one fogged up magnified kaleidoscope. And then the sound became slightly more coherent again, but the volume was crescendoing far louder than before.
"Blaine? Blaine, sweetie, breathe. Don't cry, it's okay. I'm here with you. I'm not going to let anybody hurt you."
"K-Kur?" he angled his head, trying to find Kurt and gasp out the older boy's name all at once. He just needed Kurt. "Sor… sorr-"
"What's going on? What the hell's wrong with him! Why's he reacting like this? I didn't do anything!"
Blaine tried to whimper again, but he couldn't even make a sound this time, as breath was becoming so hard to savour.
Burt's concerned face swam blurredly into view, "Come on, buddy, take deep breaths. Big deep breaths."
Blaine seriously began to panic as breathing became harder than ever in his disorientated state, and when he tried to obey Burt's commands, he felt his tongue seize up in his throat and he began to choke.
"Buddy, no." Burt's voice was drifting away again, his vocal tone becoming increasingly distorted. He felt hands grab him carefully around the chest, pulling out of his curled up position, and he tried to scream, but nothing came out.
"Try to free up your lungs, honey. Don't compress your bod-"
And then it all went black.
Blaine could not remember ever feeling so warm and comfortable, like he was floating on a cloud, nestled in a pile of feathers. He remembered the rough touch of the cold air, slapping against his skin with only thin clothes covering him, or if he was lucky, a newspaper. Yet he could not recall feeling this safe and nurtured since he was very young. Whatever was keeping him warm, it felt good. Drifting out of the depths of sleep, he tuned his ears to the sounds around him: voices, far away, in another room perhaps, because judging from the way the acoustic bounced off the walls, he was definitely indoors. In his immediate vicinity however, his keen ears picked up a tune being sung by what could only be the voice of an angel. It was a soprano voice, melodious and riveting, and Blaine was unsurprised that this was the main factor driving him from his sleep. He tried to listen more carefully, and from the sombre rhythm, he realised it was a lullaby. A lullaby he recognised from long ago, sung by a voice he knew so well. A voice he loved.
Shocking back to consciousness, he tried to remember why he was suddenly hearing this beautiful person's voice after six years of being apart. And then he recalled everything. Again. A heavy weight set in the pit of his stomach, and the ghostly presence of his attacker became evident again in the resumed throb of his left arm and backside. He winced, bit his lip and forced down the nightmarish memories by concentrating on the lilting voice.
Finally opening his eyes, he realised why he had felt so comfortable and contented. He was lying on his right side so as not to disturb his wounds on his other arm or bottom, in a large quilted bed, covered by a thick cream comforter, with his still-aching head resting on two large white pillows. He was being pampered like a prince, and he did not understand why, especially as he recalled the appalling way he had behaved earlier. Not much made sense to him anymore.
Frowning, he looked up and caught sight of Kurt, sitting next to him on the bed a little distance away to give him his space, but close enough to run a gentle hand though his curls. The older boy was humming to himself, staring as if in a trance at the far wall. Despite the beautiful melody, Blaine's heart broke to see that Kurt looked incredibly troubled.
"K-Kurt?" he rasped, and he cleared his phlegmy throat, not realising his voice would come out in such hoarse, unpractised manner.
Kurt jumped, disturbed from his reverie and gasped as he down at him. His hand stilled in Blaine's hair, moving down to rest on his cheek.
"Blaine?" He checked quickly, as if trying to reassure himself this wasn't a dream. "Blaine? Oh my God, are you okay? You had me so worried. I thought-"
"'m sorry." Blaine murmured, hating himself as more tears came to the forefront of his eyes. He cleared his throat again and coughed, trying to rid it of the uncomfortable, grungy feel. "I'm sorry, Kurt. I didn't mean to cause so much trouble." He looked down at the bedclothes around him, completely unable to comprehend how he actually got there. The last moment he remembered was being surrounded by Kurt, Burt and Carole on the couch. Everything was so confusing. "I don't… I don't know what happened… I-"
He tried to heave himself up to match Kurt's sitting position against the headboard, flinching as more weight rested on his behind. However, Kurt's arms folded around him again, forcing him to lie back down and rest against the pillows.
"Don't you dare apologize, Blaine. I swear, if you apologise for one more thing that isn't your fault…"
Kurt's tight voice ran off without actually finishing the sentence as tears filled his beautifully expressive blue eyes. Blaine couldn't bear that he was the one hurting Kurt; making him feel this way.
"I'm sorry." Blaine whispered, one solitary tear finding its way down his cheek. He tried to wipe the evidence away, but was beaten to it by Kurt.
"Don't cry." Kurt cooed, lowering himself down the bed so that they could meet eye-to-eye.
"Please don't cry." Blaine repeated fretfully, watching a tear stray down Kurt's own cheek as well. He in turn reached up to wipe it away, and Kurt let him. The older boy let out a watery chuckle, leaning his cheek against Blaine's palm for an instant.
"We're a right pair, aren't we?"
Blaine tried to smile. He really did. For Kurt's sake.
"I don't mean to upset you." Blaine eventually tried to explain, hoping Kurt would listen to him this time. "I don't mean to hurt any of you."
"I know, Blaine. We've been through this." Kurt chastised him gently. He reached down to hold Blaine's good hand, intertwining their fingers just like they did in the hospital. It was that familiar touch that relieved Blaine enough for him to squeeze back again, trying to convey the same comfort to Kurt.
After a while, Kurt's face turned serious, as though he was in deep consideration as to how to phrase his next speech. Eventually, he seemed to go for the blunt, direct option. "Carole said you had a panic attack. That's why you blacked out."
Blaine swallowed fearfully, not entirely understanding in his hazy state what he was being told, "What does that mean?"
Kurt drew in a huge breath, releasing it unevenly a few second's later, and played with one of Blaine's fingers, an action which the younger boy was surprised to find he didn't flinch away from. "I… I'm not sure exactly, but I think basically, you became so scared you couldn't breathe."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't." Kurt said shortly but softly. "It was Finn's fault, not yours."
Blaine scrunched up his face, trying to recall what exactly had happened. He could remember feeling shaken at the similarities between Finn and the people who had hurt him, and he knew Finn wasn't to blame.
"It wasn't Finn's fault." Blaine tried to justify quietly, his voice still hoarse and breaking in points. "It was mine-"
"-Blaine" Kurt tutted, impatience creeping into his facial expression, but Blaine forced himself to persist, regardless of the warning bells an expression of annoyance set off inside him. He didn't want Finn to get into trouble because of him.
"- I kept seeing things… similarities in Finn that… that reminded me of… of… the… r… the" He gritted his teeth and tried to say the word aloud, but to his frustration he was unsuccessful. His throat closed up around the word each time he mentally prepared himself to speak it. "I'm sorry. I… I can't seem to… say it." He whispered despairingly.
Kurt, as always, automatically understand, hushing him gently, removing his hand from his and stroking through his curls again. "I know what you mean, sweetie. I get it." There was a pause before Kurt added dryly. "But Finn was still being an ass."
"I know he doesn't want me here." Blaine said softly, looking down at the immaculate cream white comforter. "I'm sorry I-"
Kurt sighed and placed a hand lightly over his mouth, effectively stopping him from talking. Blaine's eyes widened and his heart rate quickened slightly, but he convinced himself that he was safe. He was with Kurt. Kurt wouldn't hurt him.
"Blaine, if you even finish that sentence..." Kurt said with a roll of the eyes; a completely empty threat, but Blaine was used to threats ending very badly for him so he hastily shut his mouth. The older boy smiled tenderly and removed his hand from his friend's mouth.
"Do you like your room?" he asked, a lighter tone to his voice, and Blaine could tell he was putting on a brave face for him, but he would take it if it made Kurt feel better. Anything to keep the troubled look Blaine had seen when he woke up, off Kurt's face. Although it took a few seconds for Blaine to register what Kurt had actually said.
"M-My room?" He stuttered apprehensively, finally looking around the expanse of the room. He remembered it vaguely; the creamy white walls, the same colour as the downstairs and the comforter gave the room a warm feel, as did the shaded ceiling lamp. He recognised the walk-in wardrobe at the end of the room as the place where Kurt used to keep all his fancy dress costumes for when he did little shows for Burt and Elizabeth. It was now empty, but it was large, and warm, and clean and it was all a little overwhelming for Blaine. His chin trembled dangerously as he repeated in disbelief. "My r-room?"
Kurt looked back at him uneasily, "What's wrong?" He eyed the space critically. "I know it's empty at the moment, but we can make it your own personal space. We can go shopping; buy drapes, paint, clothes, posters… all sorts. It'll look like home in no-time. You'll see."
Blaine sniffed. There was that word again: 'home'. He didn't have a home. He couldn't go ruining the Hummels' home by damaging their décor and wasting their money when he would inevitably leave. Also, he didn't exactly know how to define and make a place homely. He had always thought his home was with Kurt, but Kurt didn't need him anymore. If anything, he needed Kurt.
Kurt's face had fallen. "Do you not like it, Blaine?" he asked in a tone so vulnerable and child-like that it actually reminded Blaine of the old Kurt. The Kurt that had depended on him, and habitually, Blaine had to reassure him.
"N-no." He cleared his throat again. "No, I… I love it Kurt. I… thank you. I just… don't know how to repay all of you."
"You don't need to." Kurt said exasperatedly, and Blaine winced at the sharper tone.
He looked down at the spotless bed. It was a bed too clean and pure for someone like him to be sleeping in. "Do I..." he tentatively glanced across the double bed with wide eyes. "Do I… sleep here?"
Kurt frowned at him, and Blaine felt extremely dim, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment.
"Of course you do. Generally, people sleep in a bed, don't they?"
Blaine swallowed heavily, his breath hitching. He recalled years of sleeping only on a soiled lumpy mattress on the hard floor of a locked, box room, and months of sleeping wherever he fell for the night, and he suddenly felt very, very unclean. Tainted. In more ways than one. And when he thought about that horrendous, painful morning nearly a week ago, another tear broke free. And then another, then another, until he was ashamedly crying once more. He felt Kurt gasp beside him and wrap him in warm arms again.
"Blaine?" he whispered. "Oh, Blaine, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry… I didn't think. I… I know I can't even begin to understand what you've been through."
Even whilst lying down, Kurt was able to ease the shorter, far lighter boy against himself and rock him slowly, like they had done when they were younger and craved the warmth and comfort of each other to protect them from the outside world.
"I don't know what's okay to say to you anymore, Blaine." He heard Kurt admit quietly.
Blaine hiccupped, devastated at his best friend's revelation; that he reacted so badly to things he made the person he loved more than anything uncomfortable and miserable. He sobbed even harder.
"I don't know if what I'm doing is right." Kurt continued to whisper hopelessly against his curls. "But… but I promise I'll learn. I know you, Blaine. I know you're too loyal, even now, to speak out against your dad, and at the moment you're too… hurt to talk fully about the attack."
Blaine choked on another hiccup, heartbroken and knowing Kurt was absolutely right. His father was his father, and he wouldn't divulge information about him or give him up to the cops, and he was too weak and pathetic to willingly remember the attack, even if it might help the police to prevent it from happening to someone else. That made him disgusting and selfish.
"But I also know that you'll tell me eventually." Blaine felt Kurt smile faintly against his hairline. "You always do. I won't push you. I don't know what you've been through right now, but if I learn a step at a time, for however long it takes, I'll help you. It won't go back to normal because I know, even without the details of the last few years, that your 'normal' home life was… awful. But it'll get better. We'll get through it together, I promise. Because that's what best friends do."
And Blaine was gone, so overcome by the gentle kindness of his friend, and with love for the beautiful human being holding him in his arms. He knew Kurt couldn't and wouldn't ever feel the same way as him, but in that moment, despite the pain and desolation that plagued him, Blaine Anderson hadn't felt so loved in a long, long time.
Wiping away the remainder of his tears, Kurt descended the stairs, and approached his family who were sitting statically around the kitchen table. Carole, who ostensibly couldn't keep her hands still, was chopping carrots on the counter in preparation for the shepherd's pie for dinner that night. Burt was at the table, flicking through a newspaper at far too fast a pace for him to actually be reading anything, and Finn was in the dog house, sitting dejectedly in a chair at the other side of the table, attracting intermittent glares from both adults. Kurt decided to join in, and he sat next to his dad, scowling at his soon-to-be stepbrother. Even though he was far taller, Finn visibly shrank under the force of Kurt's glare, for the countertenor was in no mood to be meddled with. Finn was already being threatened with grounding and loss of video games for two weeks, but that wasn't enough in Kurt's book. To him, what Finn had done was downright bullying. He had taken it enough from the jock in Junior High School, Freshmen year and the beginning of Sophomore year, but he wouldn't stand by and let his jealousy hurt Blaine.
Finn flung his arms on the table and sighed exasperatedly, unable to take the silence any longer, "Look, I said I was sorry, okay?"
"Not good enough, Finn." Kurt gritted out, moving to the counter to help Carole dice the carrots.
Burt looked up from his paper, surveying his son stabbing the carrot after carrot into tiny, mutilated pieces, and asked gently, "Blaine woke up?"
Kurt assaulted another carrot, throwing the tip violently into the trash can, deliberately facing away from his family. "For a bit, yeah. And then he cried himself to sleep in my arms again."
Burt placed the unread paper down on the table quietly, and Finn picked it up. It was a mark of how desperately he wanted to avoid any more confrontation and harsh glares, because he never read anything willingly, especially the newspaper.
"Oh, bud." Burt sighed softly, staring at his son, not knowing how to put everything right. He had been as terrified as Kurt when Blaine started hyperventilating. Finn was of course partially responsible for the boy's breakdown, but just seeing the fear and devastation written across the kid's face, Burt had known instinctively that it wasn't just Finn's appalling attitude that triggered it. Blaine had seen something in Finn; something which made him relive a horrible memory, whether it was within the last six years or during the attack. When the poor kid had passed out, it had taken several attempts from Carole to reassure both he and Kurt that Blaine was in no precise danger now that he was unconscious. So he carried the kid up to his newly allocated room and got him settled in the bed. Kurt of course, had vowed to stay and watch over him. Burt would have too, but he somehow knew that he wouldn't be welcome when Blaine became conscious again. He would want Kurt.
Burt sucked in a breath and considered what to say. "I…" he said hesitantly, knowing whatever he said would sound pretty lame. "I know it doesn't seem like it right now Kurt, but Blaine will get better. We'll help him get better."
"That's what I told him." Kurt said in a constricted voice that betrayed just how close to tears he was. Instead, he took out his frustrations on yet another carrot. The teenager had diced far too many already, but no one was stopping him, so he was going to carry on. It made him feel just that little better; that little more in control. Burt just gave himself up to the fact that they would have carrot pie that night instead. There would be no room for meat in the dish. "I told him that I'd help him get through it. But I don't know if I was trying to convince him of that or… or me." His voice broke towards the end and he snapped his mouth shut, not wanting Finn to know how upset he was. It was a general rule to himself that he tried not to cry in front of the jock. Despite allegedly being a good guy now, Finn still had too much power and influence at school as the quarterback, and if he let something slip… well, he already had too much grief from Dave Karofsky. He was shaking, simmering even, like a kettle keening to boil. He was just on the cusp of being triggered and it was another of his dad's bland assurances that finally set him off screaming and raging.
"He will get better." Burt stated firmly.
"No he won't!" Kurt had had enough. He whirled around, knife still in hand, glaring hard at Finn Hudson. "Not when there's a jealous, self-centred, egotistical, chauvinist pig living here!" Finn looked back at him with wide eyes, and then at the knife, alarmed. "He was better today. He started out so well." Kurt told them, eyes still fixed on Finn, wanting the taller boy to realise just exactly what he had done, even though deep down, he knew he also just wanted an excuse to let off steam. "I could see in his eyes that he was scared, and that half the time he was trying not to cry, because he wanted to be brave… because he believes that him getting upset hurts us." He swallowed, catching his breath, before saying in a quieter tone, "And it does. But only because we get angry at the people who hurt him! Like you did today!" Kurt finished, his eyes flashing at Finn.
Burt did not know whether to be proud of Kurt's faultless passion and intelligence, or be worried about the fact that his son was still shakily holding on to the kitchen knife like his life depended on it. He decided the latter. His eyes met Carole's and she nodded swiftly, gently disengaging the knife from Kurt's hand and placing it a safe distance away on the counter. She rubbed his back soothingly in a way only a mother could.
"Why don't you go and sit down, honey?" she said softly. "We've got enough carrots now."
Kurt hesitated, not responding verbally. Instead he just nodded and returned to his seat next to Burt, who squeezed his shoulder tightly.
"What happened today won't happen again, will it, Finn?" Burt said, regarding the young man sternly.
Finn, who was still gazing slightly warily at Kurt, shook his head mutely.
"I explained to you that Blaine's a member of my family, and that you were to treat him with kindness and respect and you didn't." Burt said, surprising even himself with the level patience in his voice.
Finn, who had still been holding the newspaper limply with one hand, placed it back down on the table, and folded his arms, muttering something under his breath.
"Excuse me?" Kurt ground out, his fingers curling into fists.
Finn looked back at both Hummels' mulishly, "I said you didn't exactly treat me with respect when you suddenly announced you were bringing this strange kid home, without even consulting me. It's like I don't even have a say in this family."
"Finn!" Carole warned her son, shocked at his behaviour that day. She had raised a kind, usually sweet young man. His attitude seemed completely out of character.
"You do have a say in this family, Finn." Burt placated, once again with staggering patience. "Just not about this, I'm afraid."
"I bet you wouldn't let Rachel live with us." Finn said moodily, finding the entire situation downright unfair.
"That's completely different Finn, and you know it." Kurt growled, rolling his eyes at the mere thought of having to live with Rachel Berry. It would be an absolute nightmare. "Rachel's your girlfriend; Blaine and I are just best friends – I don't see him that way. Plus Rachel has two very doting dads who give her anything she asks for. Blaine has nobody. And finally," he said leaning forward, looking Finn squarely in the eyes. "if Rachel lived with us, we'd all have to walk around wearing earplugs because her voice is so loud the entire street could hear her."
"Hey!" Finn snapped angrily.
Burt placed a warning hand on Kurt's shoulder, forcing him back into the seat from which he had half-risen. "Enough. Calm down, Kurt."
Kurt glanced up at his father, hurt that he suddenly seemed to be taking Finn's side. "How can you be so calm about this?" he demanded. "You talk about Blaine being your family, and yet you let him," he bit out, nodding towards Finn. "frighten him to such an extent that he has a panic attack."
Burt had to check himself to maintain his tolerance this time, especially as his behaviour was being questioned by his own son, when the man was likewise, internally barely keeping it together. Kurt hardly ever shouted, let alone argued with him, and yet the kid seemed to almost be angling for a fight. Poor Blaine's dire circumstances were really getting to the boy.
"I'm calm, kid, because somebody has to be. And I think we can both guess that it wasn't just Finn that Blaine was seeing, and if you spoke to Blaine when he woke up, you probably know that."
Kurt's silence was damning, but his face was still mutinous.
"Right." Burt soothed him quietly; clapping him on the back, looking between the two boys, hoping that, after months of awkward tension between the two soon-to-be brothers, this wouldn't be the final straw.
Carole, who had finished setting out the basis for the pie, placed it into the oven to cook, and sat down at the table with them. She sighed audibly, placing her hand on top of Finn's, clearly realising that at this stage she was the only person who Finn would really listen to.
"Honey, I think you need to apologise to Blaine when he wakes up; introduce yourself properly." She said softly but sweetly to her son.
Finn exhaled heavily, looking extremely reluctant, but under his mother's reproachful gaze, he couldn't do anything other than agree, so he nodded. That was not quite enough reassurance for Kurt, though.
"I'm not leaving him alone with Blaine." He stated stubbornly. "What if he breaks down again?"
"Then go with him." Burt replied simply, careful not to let another heated squabble break out between the quick-tempered boys.
Kurt nodded, mollified.
"I'm not going to hurt him, dude." Finn spoke up, looking affronted that Kurt thought him capable of such a thing. "I don't hurt people."
"Yeah?" Kurt said under his breath, crossing his arms across his chest; feeling the slight burn against his thumb and palm from where he gripped the kitchen knife handle too tightly. "You don't think those dumpster dives hurt? The slushies?"
Finn still apparently heard him, "I apologised for that! I don't get it, dude. A few days ago you were all friendly… last year I know you had some weird crush on me no matter how many times you deny it. Then this kid comes along and suddenly it's like I'm the bad guy!"
Kurt opened his mouth to retort, but was cut short by Carole's loud but unwaveringly calm tone.
"Enough, boys."
The woman rose from her seat, taking out a pill bottle from the bag Burt had brought back with them from the hospital. She carefully put one tablet into a disposable plastic cup, filled a glass with mineral water, and set out three dry crackers with a smidge of butter in the corner of the plate, just in case it helped the food go down more easily. Placing everything onto a tray, she passed it to Kurt.
"Blaine hasn't eaten today, and he's due for another antibiotic in about fifteen minutes." She indicated the pill in the plastic cup and continued with her instructions. "He needs to eat as many of the crackers as he can and then wash the tablet down with water. If you have any problems, call me straight away."
Kurt just nodded and accepted the tray gladly, willing to do anything to help Blaine. He started towards the stairs and glowered when Carole told Finn to accompany him so that he could apologise whilst Blaine was awake. They ascended the stairs together, Finn eyeing the contents of the tray dubiously.
"So that's his snack, right?" he said awkwardly making conversation. "So he can take his meds?"
Kurt rolled his eyes, biting back a retort because they were getting close to Blaine's room and he didn't want to wake the younger boy and startle him. "No Finn, it's his dinner. He has to build his diet back up from scratch, because he's barely been eating for God knows how long. He can't handle anything more than this."
Finn looked horrified at the thought of not eating for ages, and even just at the concept of eating three measly crackers, especially when he considered the delicious dish stewing in the oven downstairs. He knew he hated the school dinners because the portions were tiny but this quite literally took the biscuit.
"Isn't it like… illegal to feed this little amount of food to someone?" Finn questioned, clearly having no knowledge of Third World poverty. He turned the handle of Blaine's door and stepped just inside the doorway. "I mean, the kids at school would freak at the thought of-"
"No Finn, listen to me, you can't tell anyone what Blaine's been through, okay?" Kurt said hurriedly, trying to quell the panic suddenly ignited in his stomach. He shifted the tray in his arms as he waited impatiently for Finn to move out of the way of the entrance. "You can't. It'd break his heart having everyone know. He's already so ashamed-"
"Kurt?"
Kurt tutted as Finn interrupted his important rant. It was essential that Finn understood that he couldn't tell anyone at McKinley what had happened to Blaine. Kurt could only imagine what grief Blaine would get if everyone knew, especially since eventually, he would probably have to go to school there. A traumatised, abused, raped gay kid; anybody would be sick to hurt and taunt him, and yet Kurt wouldn't put it past some of the jerks at McKinley.
"What?" he sighed irritably, trying to squeeze past Finn without knocking anything on the tray flying.
"Didn't you say Blaine fell asleep?"
Kurt frowned in confusion. Had Blaine woken up? He pushed to slide past Finn now. If that was the case, Blaine wouldn't want to see Finn straight away.
"Yes."
"In the bed?"
Kurt's heart froze mid-beat. Had he fallen out of bed and hit his head? Was Blaine hurt, or something?
"Yes. Why? Finn, move!" He cried urgently, and at long last his almost-stepbrother moved aside to reveal an empty space. The bed had obviously been slept in, but with one sweep of the room, it was quite plain to see that Blaine was no longer there.
People may be divided as to whether Finn behaved appropriately or not. I had some reviewers asking me not to make him too volatile towards Blaine, which he isn't (or I hope he isn't). He's just still adjusting to a new household and family and suddenly, to have a person he's never met come to live with them, is making him a little angry. I hope you liked the chapter. Please let me know your views, or if you would like this to continue. All the best :) xx