All I can say is thank you so very much to all of you who reviewed, followed and favourited the last chapter. Your desires for me to keep going with the story, and indeed to update faster inspired me to keep writing, so again, thank you for your support. I hope this chapter is satisfactory, even if it is a little long.
Kurt's heart stuttered to a stop as he took in the empty room. He did not move for a few seconds, as if willing Blaine to suddenly miraculously materialise out of thin air. His wide eyes scrutinized the space from top to bottom assessing every little detail without him even needing to leave the doorway. The area on top of the bed was rumpled but empty, and the breadth of the comforter was too small and thin to be concealing the boy. Underneath the bed was immaculate and untouched so it was quite clear that Blaine was not there, though quite why he would be completely escaped Kurt.
When Kurt remembered the essentiality to breathe, he sucked in a few shallow, shaky breaths to try and calm himself before giving up and running down the hall in panic, checking every room as he passed.
"Blaine!" He shouted the younger boy's name blindly in the vain hope that he would receive an answer. When he didn't, all that ran through his mind were the painful recollections of Blaine repeatedly apologising for being a burden to them. He wouldn't run away, would he? Could he? Blaine had barely enough energy and strength to even be able to stand up, let alone walk. How could he have run off without them noticing? It did not make sense. Kurt refused for it to make sense. Blaine couldn't leave him now. He had only just found him. He had only just got him back!
"BLAINE!"
"Kurt, what's going on?" He could vaguely hear Finn questioning behind him, but Kurt paid him no mind. All that mattered was Blaine. Only Blaine.
"Blaine, where are you?!"
Kurt pelted full speed towards the bathroom, hoping against hope that Blaine had just needed the toilet; that he'd decided to have a shower or something, even though he had been expressly told that he would need Carole's help with this for the next few weeks, due to his wounds and his cast. Kurt seized the door handle and shoved against wooden barrier, almost falling upon the threshold of the bathroom. The completely empty bathroom.
Kurt let out a whimper of frustration as his main hope was dashed. When he whirled around he saw that Finn had trailed behind him and was not only invading his personal space, but was also preventing him from running back down the hall to check the other rooms for his absent best friend. The hulk of jock tried to put a hand on his shoulder, presumably in an attempt to calm him down, but Kurt was not having it. He could not calm down; not when Blaine had, in all likelihood run off. And it was all Finn's fault. Blaine had been scared and hurt ever since they found him, but he hadn't had a panic attack around the rest of them; not even in front of Doctor Carlton. It had only occurred when Finn turned up behaving like a complete douche, standing there, glaring; towering over the frightened teenager, like he was about to murder him in his sleep. After everything he had been through, no wonder Blaine had panicked.
Kurt tore his arm out of Finn's grasp and pushed him away, angrily:
"Don't touch me!" he spat, squeezing past the taller boy in order to reach the other rooms, trying to formulate any sort of reason as to why Blaine might be hiding there.
"Dude, I just want to help!" Finn insisted; his eyes a little wide at the fire residing in Kurt's own fierce blue ones. The jock had never seen Kurt in such a state. He was always proud and held his head high, even in the face of Dave Karofsky, who Finn knew actually terrified Kurt. Yet here the shorter boy was, a visibly stricken expression upon his face, frightened by the mere thought that his friend, who he hadn't seen in six years, had run off.
Kurt let out what could only have been a fierce growl, which startled the boy himself. Kurt could not remember ever having produced such a noise.
"Help?!" He scoffed. Somewhere in his mind, it occurred to him that he should be searching for Blaine rather than taking his frustrations out on Finn, but the enormous boy was just not moving out of his way, and Kurt was filled with a need for his almost-stepbrother to understand the consequences of his actions before. "Why didn't you help earlier by making Blaine feel welcome, instead of glaring at him like he's some sort of freak?! Why didn't you help him by offering him some of your old clothes, which you refused to give up, because you didn't want a stranger wearing them?! Why didn't you help when he had a panic attack, instead of yelling that he should have stayed in the hospital?! –"
"– Dude, I'm sorry, okay! I – "
"No, it's not okay, Finn!" Kurt snarled, not sure where the endless stream of anger was erupting from, but it felt good to let off steam. "It's not okay, because now it looks as if Blaine's run away because he didn't feel like anyone wanted him; like he was a burden to us. And it's your fault!"
With that, he pushed past the tall boy and stormed down the hall, opening every door: Finn's bedroom, his room, his dad and Carole's… and there was nothing. There was absolutely no sign of Blaine anywhere. He glanced at Blaine's formerly designated room once more, thankful that the door had been left open to save him a fraction of time. Once he realised that he wasn't going to find Blaine upstairs, he descended the staircase faster than he ever had, jumping the last five, and leaving a wide-eyed, open-mouthed, guilty Finn by the bathroom door.
"DAD!" He yelled, aware that tears were now starting to fall in reaction to his sudden overwhelming panic, and his unsuccessful attempts to seek out Blaine. He needed to find his best friend. He needed to! He would not let Blaine roam the streets where it was only a matter of time before he got hurt, again. He couldn't live without him again; he had barely scraped his way through the last six years. Of course, Blaine was different to the last time he saw him, but he was still his best friend: kind, and sweet, and gentle – everything that was quintessentially Blaine.
He screamed Burt's name several times, checking every downstairs room, in vain, whilst waiting for a response. He was so frantic in his inspection; paying no attention to the outside world, that he was not aware that his dad appeared behind him at his first call. Kurt only realised this when a firm, guiding hand landed on his shoulder, persuading him to turn around. He only realised that he had been blocking out all sound when he saw his father's lips moving unintelligibly. It would take a few seconds for him to adjust aurally, but he couldn't wait that long. He immediately began spewing urgent pleas.
"Dad, he's gone – we have to find him. We have to go! We have to make sure he doesn't-"
"Kurt." His dad's placating voice finally filtered through, and for the first time in minutes, he bothered to look up at his father's face rather than continuing with his hopeless search for Blaine. "Kurt, calm down. What's going on?" Burt asked, always the voice of reason. "What was all that yelling about upstairs?"
Kurt broke down, swiping a hand furiously across his eyes and cheeks as he scolded himself that this was no time to cry. "He's gone, dad! Blaine's gone! I can't find him anywhere! Oh God, he's run off, hasn't he? He thought he was a burden, and he didn't want to hurt us so he's-"
Burt's features also automatically filled with a similar panic, though he appeared to be able to squash these anxieties down for just a while to ask carefully, both hands on his son's shoulders in order to keep him still:
"Are you sure, Kurt? Are you absolutely sure? He's not just gone to the bathroom or something?"
Kurt let out a tearful groan of frustration. Of course he had checked! He wasn't stupid. This was serious. They needed to go out and find Blaine as he had clearly left the building. He would have dashed out of the front door that instant if his dad hadn't been holding him down.
"I've checked, I've checked!" He shouted frantically, panic still coursing through his veins; his heart beating so wildly he thought it was going to rip through his chest and run out the door too. "He's not there! He must have run off! We have to go out and find him!"
Burt was clearly trying to think logically, though he was having trouble balancing his inner panic, his son's anxieties, and the reasonable voice in his head telling him that Blaine had been asleep only a few minutes ago. Kurt watched his father take a deep breath, a sure-fire tell that he wasn't just going to grab his keys and get into the truck to look for Blaine. They were going to have to talk about it first. He began to cry again as he was hyperaware that the more time they frittered the further away Blaine was going to get from the house.
Carole emerged from the kitchen, looking extremely concerned, both at the hysterical shouting from Kurt, and the troubled expression on Burt's face.
"What's going on?" she asked worriedly.
"Blaine's run off!" Kurt yelled, his wavering voice beginning to get sore from his constant shouting, but he didn't care. He would shout himself hoarse if it meant his dad would just go with him and look for his best friend. They would be able to cover more terrain, faster, in the truck than on foot.
"Kurt, bud, I don't see how." Burt argued doubtfully, heading towards the stairs, making to check for himself. "He could barely walk a few hours ago; that's why we have the wheelchair. And how could he let himself out of the house without us seeing or hearing him. We'd have heard the front door slam."
Kurt remembered all the times when they were younger, where Blaine would admit that he had snuck out of the house without his father noticing, just to get away; his small size was actually opportune in such moments. However, Kurt realised he didn't have time to explain all this at that precise moment so he just whined exasperatedly, running after his dad. "I don't know, okay? But he's not up there, I swear, I checked. Do you think I want him to have run away?"
Burt closed his eyes tiredly, pausing, mid-stair, "No, of course not."
"I wouldn't make this up! Why would I? We've just got him back."
"Kurt," Carole said, also aiming towards the stairs. "I think what your father is trying to say is that you may have missed something. You're tired… you're on edge… Let's just go and check, eh?" she said soothingly, but Kurt shook his head.
Instead, he backed defiantly away from them, towards the front door. "Dad, please," he begged. "If he's run away, we're wasting time."
Burt and Carole looked at each other, speaking to each other silently in a way that only lovers could, before Carole went ahead of Burt and dashed up the stairs. Burt looked as if he was going to follow her.
"Dad, you let him go last time!" Kurt cried, tears running unchecked down his face now. "You stood there, doing the logical thing… doing nothing, and you let him go!" Kurt knew it was a low blow, but he was convinced that he was right, and he needed his dad's support to find Blaine. They couldn't just leave it like they did six years ago. He hated himself when he saw a mixture of guilt and hurt pass over Burt's features. "Please." He found himself begging once more. "Don't let him go again. Please."
Burt looked haggard and hurt at this being held over him after so much time, and Kurt knew it was a sore spot. He was about to apologise, despite his panicked state, when Burt jogged back down the few steps he had taken, grabbed his keys from the table beside the door, and strode out of the house. Kurt followed readily.
The second they got outside Kurt was back on instant alert, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of Blaine, despite the slowly fading light of day. He looked up and down the street, hoping that Blaine hadn't even got that far, especially since his pace would be severely slow because of his injuries. When he saw nothing, he joined his dad in the truck. They started out one way, deciding that they could always go back the other way if they were unsuccessful. Kurt worked with the logic that although Blaine probably wouldn't want to be found, he was also exhausted, and the medication would be making his brain fuzzy so he probably wouldn't be in any fit state of mind to plot a complicated route. He would just stick to the sidewalks of main roads because they were clear pathways.
They drove in silence, a tension between father and son that Kurt knew he would have thought more carefully about had he not been so worried. They had only been on the road for a few minutes; their search again, unsuccessful, when a phone cut through the silence. Kurt recognised the ringtone as his dad's, and looked up to see him fish the phone out of his pocket, pulling over to the roadside to answer it. He was about to protest that they had to keep looking for Blaine, when Burt recognised the number on the screen and answered quickly:
"Carole?"
Kurt frowned, wondering why Carole was ringing them already. Did she want to find out news about the search? He wiped away some remaining tears which had slowed now that they were (or at least, had been) actively doing something to find the young teenager.
"Yeah." Kurt looked back to his dad to see the man pause as he listened to his fiancé, then breathe out a long breath of air. It sounded like relief. What was there to be relieved about… unless…? Kurt's eyes widened a fraction as it dawned on him the possibility that he had been wrong. Had he really not checked everywhere? Had Blaine been in the house all the time? In which case, why hadn't he responded to Kurt when he called out for him? "Okay, that's great, honey. No, don't try and touch him. We'll be back in a few minutes."
Kurt gulped, his theory proving correct; he had overreacted. With Blaine's constant apologies and worries that he was burdening them, Kurt realised that he had almost been expecting something to go wrong, hence his automatic assumption that Blaine had run away. Burt turned to briefly look at him, ending the call and placing his phone back in jeans pocket. He started the ignition, checked to make sure that there were no other vehicles on the road, before making a U-turn and heading back the way they came.
"False alarm. Blaine was in his room, curled up inside the walk-in closet." Burt said quietly, his grip on the steering wheel a little too tight for Kurt's liking.
Kurt let himself sigh in relief after hearing the words spoken aloud. On the one hand, he was so happy that Blaine was safe and sound, although he could not think why Blaine had been hiding in a closet. On the other, he was furious at himself for not checking there, and felt unbelievably guilty at having hysterically bullied his dad into going outside to look for Blaine with him. He had used emotional blackmail; a very touchy subject for them both – something that they had been aware of over the years, but had never actually broached. And Kurt had used it against his dad the second he went to pieces over potentially losing his best friend again. He felt terrible. He wiped the remains of his dried tears, sucked in a few deep breaths to remind himself that the crisis had been averted, then looked at his father, who was staring almost resolutely at the road.
"D-Dad… dad I… what I said… I was just worried-"
"I know you were." Came his father's quick, assuring response, but he got nothing more out of him. Not even a glance.
"But really… I… I didn't mean what I said… about you letting Blaine go-"
Burt sighed resignedly, "Yes… yes you did, Kurt."
"No, I-" Kurt said desperately, hating the hurt in his father's eyes. A different sort of panic started to swell; the sort that only reared its ugly head when he felt like he had disappointed Burt.
"You did." Burt acknowledged firmly, still not taking his eyes off the road. "And… well… I'm not going to say that what you did is okay, because it's not-"
"I know." Kurt answered quickly.
"You said what you said because you deliberately wanted to provoke a reaction in me; the only way you knew would get me to agree to what you said. And that's really not very fair, Kurt."
Kurt closed his eyes, "I… I know, and I'm sorry-"
Burt let out another short, but heavy sigh. "Look, I know we never really… talked through this over the years, but I'm sure you knew that I blamed myself, just as much as you blamed me, for not going after Blaine that day… or at least, getting to him in time."
"I didn't blame you, dad… I don't." Kurt denied, and then he hated himself for saying something that wasn't entirely truthful. He didn't want to feel that way and he certainly didn't resent his father at all. He hated Jonathan Anderson for what he did, and for the things he had done that they had yet to find out about, but he didn't resent his dad. He just wished they had both done more that fateful day.
"You did… and you obviously still do otherwise the accusation wouldn't have been made, even if it was just in the heat of the moment." Burt explained quietly, and then with a sharper tone, he added, "But if you think I did it because I didn't care, or love…" He blinked his eyes shut for a miniscule second, as if he wanted to close them entirely as he always did when something was too painful to communicate, but he couldn't because he was driving. "I… I did it because you were all I had, Kurt. And I panicked. I had to make a choice and by not keeping both you and Blaine safe, I made the wrong one. To this day, especially… oh, especially after what's happened to little Blaine, I… deeply regret not making the right one."
Kurt also blinked to keep any residual tears at bay, and reached a hand over the console and placed it on his dad's upper arm. "I know, dad. I forgave you a long time ago. You just need to forgive yourself." He squeezed his dad's arm to emphasise his point. "What I said just now… I was scared and… I was a brat. I just couldn't… I can't lose Blaine again… and I yelled at Finn too-"
Burt cleared his throat, making available one hand to pat the one Kurt had placed on his arm; to let his son know he was forgiven, "You know Finn was the one who found Blaine?"
Kurt frowned, caught off-guard, "What? Really?"
The shift in conversation signalled to Kurt to move on and let it go, and he did, mainly because he couldn't believe Finn had found Blaine when he himself hadn't been able to. It was probably because Finn was much less detached from the situation, so he had been able to think more clearly.
"Yep," Burt said, his grip on the steering wheel relaxing slightly. "Carole told him to help search and apparently the first place he looked was the walk-in closet in Blaine's room."
Kurt's frown transformed into bemusement. It wasn't usually a logical or viable option to anyone else to check in a closet for a missing person, but apparently it was Finn's rationale. Kurt was just so glad and grateful it had worked. He leaned back against the headrest, allowing some of his overwrought muscles to relax a little. However, he was still concerned. Why on earth had Blaine been curled up inside the closet? He asked his father just that:
"Why was Blaine in the closet, anyway?"
Burt's slightly lighter features contorted again into confusion and Kurt could tell this wasn't good news.
"I don't know. Apparently, some spare paint had been stored in there; he did something funny with that, and then curled up."
"Is he asleep?" Kurt asked, disturbed by what he was hearing. Why had Blaine been using paint of all things? That just didn't make sense. So far Blaine had been afraid to even touch anything he had been given, let alone something he hadn't, and especially paint which would undoubtedly make a terrific mess. Earlier, Blaine had looked alarmed at the thought of making the room his own. He knew Blaine had been having severe emotional swings, but did this action fit under that category?
Burt shook his head. "I don't think so, but Carole said he wasn't responding to her. She sent Finn out of the room so that he wouldn't panic again."
Kurt was extremely thankful when they finally pulled up outside the house. As Burt moved to switch the ignition off, Kurt readied himself to get out of the truck and run towards the front door, before his brain stopped him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if Burt had only let Kurt's mistake go so easily because they had a very hurt Blaine to attend to. He regarded the older Hummel, knowing he had to say something else to alleviate his dad's concerns. He hadn't realised the man had felt so guilty over the last six years, and he desperately wanted Burt to understand that there was no resentment there; to give him some form of absolution.
"Dad?" He asked quietly, and he was glad when his father finally turned to him. "You know I love you, don't you? I don't resent you or anything for what happened years ago. It happened… and Blaine's back, now. And just now… I was just frightened of losing Blaine again. And now, like you said, we… we just need to… help him, right?"
Burt smiled softly at him, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, and rewarded his son with a brief hug, because he clearly knew the boy was itching to go inside and check on Blaine. "You're right. That's all we can do. And I know, and I love you too, son."
Kurt managed a small smile, albeit a little shakily, before opening the door, getting out of the truck and running towards the front door. He did not see Burt's expression dampen slightly as he also stepped from the truck, nor did he hear the man's virtually inaudible mutter.
"I know you forgave me ages ago, bud. I'm just not sure I'm ever going to forgive myself."
Kurt literally tore up the stairs towards Blaine's room, almost tripping over the top step in his haste. Finn, who had, as Burt mentioned, been waiting outside the bedroom so as not to scare Blaine even more, reached out an arm as if to catch him. When it was clear he was not needed, he retracted the arm, and it swung uselessly back to his side. Kurt looked up at the taller boy with what he hoped was a half-apologetic expression. Now that he had had a few minutes to calm down with the knowledge that Blaine was safe and sound, he knew he shouldn't have flown off the handle earlier. Finn, though he did still share in some of the blame for Blaine's panic attack before, had not deserved Kurt screaming in his face. He knew that now.
"What's going on?" He eventually settled on asking.
Finn, who to his credit did not get defensive over Kurt's verbal assault earlier, jerked his head towards the inside of the room, and Kurt became aware that the door was still open. He peered around the edge, fearing what he would find, only to see no sign of Blaine, but Carole crouching at the entrance of the walk-in closet. The light wooden doors had been swung outwards into flaps framing the opening, obstructing Kurt's view.
"I found him curled up in the closet, man." Finn whispered, looking slightly relieved that Kurt wasn't going to yell at him again. "He'd painted this weird circle on the floor with one of the paint cans in there. What's going on with him, dude?"
"Did he say anything?" Kurt whispered back, catching onto the fact they weren't to use their voices too loudly.
Finn shook his head, "Nah man, he just… his eyes were closed and he was holding his head… but he wasn't sleeping, you know?"
Kurt didn't know, and he wasn't sure he particularly wanted to find out, because he was scared of what he would find. Yet when Finn talked about the painting of a circle on the floor, a memory sprang to the forefront of Kurt's mind, and he wondered if what he was thinking was accurate. Surely it couldn't be? They had done that when they were younger, but now… surely not.
Knowing he couldn't go in there without at least apologising to Finn, especially since the jock had been the one to find Blaine, Kurt tried to smile gratefully. "Finn… thanks… for finding him and… about before… I'm sorry-"
"'S' okay." Finn shrugged nonchalantly.
Footsteps on the stairs told them that Burt was joining them.
"No, it's not okay." Kurt whispered back firmly. "I know I was a brat… hysterical even. I just… when it comes to Blaine, I feel like I have to protect him. Because know one else does… no one else has."
Finn frowned at him, looking thoughtful, and shrugged again, though he didn't say anything. Kurt knew that presently the quarterback did not know or understand anything about his and Blaine's friendship but he really did not want to get into explaining the details right there. The younger boy needed him, so he just looked pleadingly at Finn to accept his meagre apology, before he glanced up at his dad who had come to a stop beside him.
"Okay?" Burt asked cautiously, looking between the two previously feuding boys, who now seemed to have come to some sort of truce.
Kurt knew he would eventually have to explain and make up for his actions later, with everyone, but for now he knew he just needed to see Blaine, so he nodded.
Finn eyed them awkwardly, "I'm just going to wait out here." He murmured, propping himself up against the wall like a naughty child. "I don't want to like… freak him out or anything."
Kurt nodded, and entered the more or less silent room. The bed was just as it had been left, but Kurt hardly paid it any mind. He just headed towards where Carole was crouched at the closet entrance, aware that his dad was following closely behind. Carole, who had been sitting with the boy, though not touching him, glanced up at the movement against the carpet and gave a sympathetic smile at the two Hummel's. Kurt almost sighed with relief that she did not seem too disappointed in him; she had a brilliant combination of mother and nurse which often made it difficult for her to become angry at anyone. She was used to difficult children and hysterical patients; she was wonderfully understanding.
Upon her beckoning, Kurt approached the closet with his dad and peered inside, hating that he felt like he was treating Blaine as if he was a zoo exhibit, needing to be watched; or a prisoner needing to be found. Kurt then felt extremely guilty. What if Blaine had curled up inside the closet because he wanted some form of privacy? He, and indeed his dad and Carole, had been watching Blaine very closely lately, just in case anything was wrong and the younger boy needed help.
However, as Kurt took in the heart-breaking scene before him, he knew instinctively that that was not the reason, and his recollection just now had in fact been correct. A thin line of cream paint had been drawn in a large wobbly circle on the wooden, uncarpeted floor. Next to it sat an old paint can, thankfully with the lid attached so the boy could avoid paint fumes. Curled up in a foetal position in the centre of the circle lay Blaine, his right hand clamped over his ear, shielding his face, and the other one, still encased in a heavy cast, only making it halfway up his body. The forefinger and index finger of his good hand were covered in slowly drying paint, giving away how the shape's perimeter had been created without a brush. The boy's eyes were clamped tightly shut, and his lips were trembling ever so slightly, as if he was uttering silent prayers to someone, anyone who was listening. His whole trembling body language read 'afraid', but Kurt knew just from the shakily drawn shape that he was.
"What the heck?" Burt murmured, clearly not understanding the sight before him.
Carole nodded sympathetically and whispered in such a low voice that even Kurt had to strain to hear it.
"I was hoping you would be able to explain it." She glanced at Kurt and then back at Blaine, at a loss.
Kurt's eyes filled with tears as he continued to take in Blaine, still hunched, small and frightened. "It's a protective circle." He choked out.
Kurt sobbed as he ducked under the wooden fence effectively banning students from leaving the main part of the playground, though he and Blaine never took any notice. He certainly did not care at that moment either. All he wanted was to put as much distance between Ty Peterson and his horrible cronies, and himself. He had had enough of the bullying and the snipes and the cruel comments, but this had been the final straw. He had hoped that there may be some respite for a while from the other kids' bullying, especially given the last week or so, which Kurt didn't want to remember. Yet what had just occurred had proved that this was not going to be the case.
He hated them. He hated every last one of them. His teacher, Miss Carmichael, had promised him that she would stop any potential bullying, but when the people at his table, most of whom were friends with Ty, had started sneering that his mom had left him and wasn't coming back, because nobody could ever want to come back for him, he couldn't help but start crying, and she didn't seem to notice. When it came to the beginning of recess and he had been so distressed that he hadn't been able to do any of the sums he had been given, Miss Carmichael had been sympathetic, accepting that it was a difficult time, but again, she did not seem to be aware of a key part of the reason why he was so upset.
Then, when he had set off with his precious notebook – the last one his mom bought him before she… she went – and felt tips, to find Blaine, so they could do some relaxing colouring together, because that seemed to take Kurt's mind off things, Ty and his gang had appeared. Lucas, Ty's best friend, had knocked the things flying from his hands, whilst Ty himself had tripped Kurt up. They then proceeded to use his own felt tips to draw goodness knows what on Kurt's face; Kurt didn't even want to look, because he knew it would be terrible. But the worst part was that despite his pleas, his notebook, his precious notebook, had been defaced, some of the pages ripped out and stepped on, whilst the cover had been torn in half. They had eventually grown bored and let him be, so tearfully, he had collected his remains, and run to the bathroom, only to find that the boy's bathroom had been closed for the afternoon due to a prank resulting in urine all over the floor.
So now, he was running away from it all, towards the only person he knew would understand and be there for him, quite literally, because he hadn't been able to get a conversation out of his dad since his mom… went. Kurt almost tripped over a particularly overgrown patch of weeds, but he did not care, because the greenhouses were almost in sight. He would soon be with Blaine.
He finally reached the third greenhouse, their usual spot, and spying the curly-haired boy, crouched on the grass, back against the glass, he picked up his pace and practically flew towards him. Blaine looked up as he approached, his features flitting from happy at seeing his friend, to heartbroken at the other boy's expression, in a single second. He stood immediately, dropping the odd tennis ball-shaped object he had been holding in his hands, meeting Kurt halfway. Within seconds, Kurt was in the younger boy's arms, and he finally felt safe. He let the already ruined objects slide from his grasp onto the grass, and gripped fiercely onto Blaine's sweater, sobbing his heart out on his friend's shoulder.
"Oh, Kurt." Blaine murmured wretchedly. "I'm sorry. Whatever's happened, I'm sorry. I should have met you after class."
Kurt continued to let himself cry for a few more seconds before he shook his head, still not releasing his hold from his best friend. "Y-You w-wouldn't have b-b-been able to d-do anything." He sniffed and then sobbed harder, because everything just seemed so hopeless. His mom was gone, his dad didn't seem to love him much anymore, and there was no way of completing school without going through this hurt every day. He was so sick of crying every day. Poor Blaine couldn't do anything. He had only found out a few days ago that Blaine's dad had been hitting him; hurting him. The younger boy should not have to be dealing with his problems as well as his own. Yet in that moment, Kurt just needed to be selfish and soak up all the support he could get. He just needed Blaine.
"I h-hate them, Blaine." He cried angrily into Blaine's neck. "I hate them all!"
It was Blaine who winced and pulled back first, looking extremely concerned, the loyal friend that he always was. It was rare that Kurt got so angry at people, although Kurt just felt angry at the world at the moment, ever since it had taken his mom away. The younger boy raised a hand to his face and traced what Kurt could only imagine were the grotesque drawings Ty had left there.
"Did Ty do this to you?" Blaine asked softly, his hand settling on Kurt's cheek to gently wipe away any tear tracks. Kurt suspected that with his tears mingling with the felt tip, he would now look like something reminiscent of a circus performer.
Kurt sniffled and nodded, trying to calm down. Blaine grasped Kurt's hand and just held it. Kurt relished the touch, allowing it to comfort him and slow his shaky breathing.
"H-He… he and his g-gang r-ruined my n-notebook." He whimpered, looking down at the devastated object, trying to recall his mom giving it to him. His mom had once touched that notebook and those monsters had defiled it, taking away all the good memories, so that all he could remember were the images of older boys holding him down whilst Ty Peterson destroyed its pages.
"I'm so sorry, Kurt." Blaine whispered sorrowfully, tears forming in his eyes upon witnessing his best friend's distress. "Maybe we can fix it?"
Kurt shook his head furiously, collapsing to the grass, dragging Blaine, who had still been clutching his hand, with him. He ran his hands bitterly over the damaged artefact, feeling as broken as the mangled pages before him. The notebook couldn't be magically mended back to its new self; it was missing some of its pieces. And Kurt was missing a fundamental piece of him, which he never, ever get back.
"It's ruined." He cried. "Everything's ruined."
There was a pause during which Blaine removed his hand from Kurt's. The older boy was about to whimper at the loss of touch when Blaine lifted himself onto his knees so that he was at Kurt's height level, and slipped his arms around him, drawing Kurt towards him. Kurt rested his forehead against Blaine's shoulder, feeling further comforted by Blaine's chin resting on top of his head.
"I miss her, Blaine." Kurt spluttered, reaching up a hand to wipe his runny nose. "I miss my mom."
"I know." Blaine whispered back, heartbroken. And Kurt knew he wasn't just saying that to be sentimental or nice or sound blandly comforting. Blaine did know what it felt like to lose his mother, and now he also knew what it felt like to lose Elizabeth, who he had also grown extremely close to in recent years. He understood that it hurt. "I miss her too."
"Th-The kids at my table in c-c-class said that she w-wouldn't come back even if she c-c-could. They said that n-nobody would ever c-come b-b-back for me because I'm not w-worth it."
Blaine's breathing hitched above him, and suddenly he stopped cuddling the older boy, his hands skating down Kurt's arms to rest on his wrists. Gently, he pulled back again so that he could look Kurt properly in the eye. Kurt was shocked and guilty when he realised that tears were now escaping down Blaine's face as well.
"You are worth it, Kurt." Blaine said emphatically, a fierceness to his soft voice that Kurt rarely ever saw. "You're the kindest, most beautiful, fantastic person in the whole world. I know she'd come back if she could. I know she would."
Kurt's chin trembled, "You think?"
Blaine gave a watery smile, replying earnestly, "Yeah, I do. I think my mommy would have come back if she could, because she loved me. I remember Elizabeth telling me that."
Kurt managed to smile a little more brightly upon hearing this, happy that his mom had had a chance to meet Blaine before she went. They slipped into an easy companionable silence, Kurt just relaxing his fraught body under Blaine's gentle ministrations; the younger boy just stroked his thumb soothingly up and down Kurt's wrists in a gesture of comfort.
"Why are kids so mean?" He asked despondently. He then remembered Blaine's horrible father and added, "Why are people so mean?"
Blaine wiped away both their tears, and settled cross-legged on the grass next to him, picking up the object he had been clutching before. "I don't know." He replied in a tight voice, clearly wondering the same thing.
"I just want to feel safe here." He murmured softly.
Kurt tried to catch a glimpse of what Blaine was holding, but the other boy was twirling it around so frenziedly that he couldn't quite place it.
"What's that?" He sniffed.
Blaine's quick hands came to a stop so that only one was gripping the ball-shaped object. He laid it out in the flat of his tiny hand so that Kurt could see properly.
"It's a big ball of chalk." Blaine explained, with a little more enthusiastic, bouncy energy to his voice which, as usual, made Kurt smile in spite of himself. "I found it on the sidewalk on my way to school this morning."
Kurt nodded. His dad usually drove both he and Blaine to school, but since his mom's passing over a week ago, due to Burt's trance-like state, it was only Kurt getting a lift to school. Blaine claimed that he actually liked the walk as it allowed him to get out of the house earlier. Kurt had worked out that Blaine was normally at their house hours before school to see Kurt anyway, and so technically, Blaine was leaving the house later, but he appreciated that Blaine was trying to make him feel better about it, so he didn't say anything.
Blaine handed him the chalk ball, and Kurt weighed it in his hands, allowing his mind to wander away from painful thoughts for just a second, as he considered why there would be a big block of white chalk near the road. It looked like the kind that builders used. He had seen something akin to the chalk ball be used in his dad's tyre shop back when it was being renovated. Kurt returned the ball to Blaine who ran his finger tips over the chalk thoughtfully, making them dusty in the process.
"I have an idea." The younger boy gasped suddenly.
"What?" Kurt asked.
He watched as Blaine sat up straight and looked around, his keen eyes finally landing on the old asphalt path which no one except the school caretaker used anymore. Blaine pushed up from the grass and propelled himself towards the wide asphalt strand, some of which was shadowed by overgrown bushes. This did not seem to stop Blaine who promptly started dragging the chunk of thick white chalk across the ground in what appeared to be a circular shape. His hand was a little shaky as he wasn't as careful a drawer as Kurt, and the circle had several wobbles in it, but Kurt didn't care. He didn't even care that they might get in trouble for defacing school property, though he actually doubted that, as any rainfall would probably wash the chalk away. That was what had happened when he and his mom had once spent a Saturday afternoon constructing pictures on the concrete path in their garden with colourful chalks. At the thought of his mom, Kurt flinched, and got to his feet, walking over the where his best friend was now standing, eyeing his work critically. The finished circle lay before them.
"Why did you draw a circle?" Kurt mumbled curiously.
Blaine smiled at him, took his hand and led him into the circle. It was just big enough to contain them both.
"It's a protective circle." He announced, as if it explained everything.
Kurt stared at the lines of the circle around him confusedly, "A what?" he asked, smiling a little at his friend's antics, even though he didn't really feel like smiling. Blaine just had a way of making him smile, even when they were both miserable.
"A protective circle." Blaine repeated patiently, sitting down on the asphalt, and pulling Kurt down with him with their joined hands. "I think everybody needs to have their own special space where they feel safe and protected." He swallowed and looked away, using his free hand to pick at his old, fraying jeans. "When my father's mad… my protective space is my closet – it's not a circle, but it's sort of got walls and a door to keep him out, because when he's really… drunk he sometimes can't figure out which way the doors open and he'll leave me alone, so I'm safe."
Kurt had only known about Blaine's real home life for about a week and he already hated it. He wished there was something he could do. He squeezed the younger boy's hand in a gesture of comfort and Blaine reciprocated the action, finally looking up at Kurt with a small smile. He jerked his head in gesture to the circle line around them.
"The circle hasn't got walls or doors or anything but… I think in a way that could make it better. We can like… imagine that it's built of anything… like… it's a castle, or something." He suggested, eyes beginning to shine with enthusiasm.
Kurt knew he should tell his best friend that he wasn't really in the mood for imagination games, but truthfully, he so badly wanted to be sucked into the world Blaine was describing. He felt like he had had to grow up a lot lately, and the temptation to play and behave like the real eight-year-old he was, was so strong. He just needed to forget everything else and imagine a new world. A small smile began to alight his features at what Blaine was proposing.
"Castles are really tacky." He said quietly, and for an instant, Blaine looked crushed. "Everybody in storybooks lives in a castle. It could… could it be a huge, fancy apartment… or a cottage?"
Kurt loved how Blaine's saddened face lit up again as the younger boy realised his friend was not only accepting his idea, but playing along. It upset Kurt a little that Blaine would ever think he would shoot the his ideas down.
"Whatever you want." Blaine shrugged, grinning. "A big apartment, but like a cottage or a castle, it's away from everyone… where Tyler Peterson or… Tanner Westwood or… any of the other bullies can't get to us?"
Kurt allowed himself a small giggle at Blaine's fantastical escapade, "I love it." He answered, staring at the circle, imagining it had sprouted walls, within which a fancy apartment, similar to a picture he had once seen in one of his mom's magazines, was being boasted. He could see old-fashioned, but fashionable leather couches and fluffy cushions – providing he extended the circle of course.
"And if the bullies try to get in… well, they can't. Like the three little pigs and the big bad wolf. They can huff and puff, but they'll never blow your house down." Blaine said simply, smiling at Kurt, squeezing his hand once more. "They can't hurt you here."
Kurt hadn't realised that he had closed his eyes to imagine the blissfully idealistic images, until he felt the comforting presence of Blaine leave his side, unwinding his fingers from Kurt's. His eyes snapped open and he made to grab Blaine's hand.
"Where are you going?" He asked quickly, clinging to Blaine as the younger boy stood. "Please don't leave me."
He didn't care if the plea was insecure or nonsensical. He had lost too many people recently, and he desperately needed Blaine. He had been enjoying himself during the last few minutes, probably for the first time since he lost his mom, but now the sadness and loneliness returned in full force.
Blaine smiled genially at him, squeezing his hand gently before letting go again. Kurt watched as his best friend headed back over to the grass where the damaged notebook and felt tips had been abandoned. "I'm just getting your things." He explained softly, padding back over to the circle and sitting down next to him again.
Kurt breathed a sigh of relief and shuffled a little closer to the other boy. He placed his head on Blaine's shoulder, purposely looking away from the torn notebook. He didn't want to be reminded of what had happened again.
"Please may I use some of your felt tips?" Blaine asked quietly, one hand rubbing Kurt's back soothingly, as if sensing Kurt's pain.
Kurt closed his eyes and turned his face so that his forehead was now nestled into Blaine's tiny shoulder. "Why? There's no point colouring." He said despairingly, thinking of all the drawings he had carefully constructed for them to colour, only for them to be ripped to shreds. "All of it's already ruined."
"Because I want to give myself a moustache too." Came the simple answer.
Kurt's eyes shot open and he stared at Blaine in horror. "What? Why?" he demanded.
Blaine didn't reply verbally. He just reached up to Kurt's face and traced over the skin between Kurt's nose and mouth. The touch was enough for Kurt to understand.
"Ty drew a moustache on me, didn't he?" He said in mortification, feeling tears welling up.
Blaine immediately moved his hand to cradle Kurt's again, "Don't cry, Kurt." He encouraged. "I know the circle isn't really protective or anything, but… we have to imagine it is." He put on a completely fake, stern tone of voice that simply did not fit him at all; wagging his finger in imitation of a strict teacher chastising a pupil. "Don't cry, Mister. No crying in the circle. It's a happy place."
Such an antic made Kurt giggle a little, and he swallowed back the tears, nodding. Blaine grinned back at him in that goofy way of his that Kurt couldn't help but love.
"What else did they do?" Kurt asked, biting his lip.
Blaine stated, as if it was the most normal thing in the world: "They gave you some whiskers, as well."
"Oh." Kurt responded feebly.
"Please don't be sad." Blaine implored with big beseeching brown eyes, selecting a black felt tip from the ripped plastic packaging and testing that the nib was still fairly usable against his thumb. "I love cats… and rabbits – and they both have whiskers."
"They don't have moustaches." Kurt reminded him morosely.
Blaine shrugged, that cheeky grin returning, "Then you're a classy, manly cat."
Kurt sometimes just had to laugh out loud at some of the things that came out of Blaine's mouth, and this was one of those occasions. It warmed him greatly that each time the bullies did something horrible; Blaine always found a way to make him feel just that little bit better. His grin faded though as he watched the black felt tip approach Blaine's face.
"Don't, Blaine." He whispered to his younger friend. "Everyone will just laugh at you too."
Blaine gave a one-shouldered shrug, "I don't mind."
"But I do."
"If I draw on my face too, it'll just look like we played a game." Blaine reasoned, once again demonstrating how incredibly smart he was for his age. He knew that Kurt didn't want to openly tell the teachers about the intense bullying, especially as he wanted to fly under the radar at the moment. If the teachers knew, they would probably bring Burt in, and his dad already looked so sad, without him adding to his troubles.
Kurt's argument wavered and he was for an instant, he was torn. However, as he glanced back up at Blaine, he realised that whilst he had been immersed in thought, the younger boy had already started applying the felt tip to the spot above his upper lip. It looked a complete mess, and Kurt laughed. This then made Blaine laugh, which of course resulted in the felt tip becoming even more smudged. When he had calmed down to a sensible degree, Kurt asked Blaine if he wanted him to do it.
Blaine grinned and handed him the felt tip, "Yes, please." He said bashfully. "I'm not very good at art. That's why it's a protective circle."
"What?" Kurt asked, confused, as he started drawing the lines of a careful moustache across Blaine's skin.
"I was trying to make a square because it's more… building-shaped, but I'm bad at drawing, so it turned out to be a circle." Blaine explained, blushing even more in embarrassment.
Kurt chuckled at his friend's endearing humility, as he continued his work. It was just as well: 'Protective Circle' sounded better and somehow more magical than 'Protective Square'. When he pulled away, he grinned somewhat triumphantly at his work.
"How do I look?" Blaine asked, batting his eyelashes in imitation of some of the older girls at the school who had recently stating using various forms of make-up in order to impress Middle School boys.
"You look like Jafar from Aladdin." Kurt spluttered, and they promptly fell about laughing. It took a good few minutes to sober up, but when they eventually did, Kurt smiled gratefully at his best friend. "Thank you for doing this."
Blaine's face grew a little solemner.
"I'll always protect you Kurt, I promise." He vowed sincerely, his eyes alight with a rare, fierce intensity. It was because of this that Kurt believed him, absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, and he reached forwards to hug his best friend once more. In the distance, the school bell rang shrilly, signalling the end of recess.
Kurt was unaware that he had drifted off with his memories until he felt a solitary tear break free from its constraints to dribble helplessly down his cheek. He hastily rubbed it away before anyone saw it, but apparently it was to no avail. When he finally tore his eyes away from the pitiful sight of his cowering best friend, he realised that both his dad and Carole were studying him with expressions of concern. He could tell that the only thing preventing them from all-out questioning his behaviour (which would be difficult, because Kurt had never confessed to Burt every instance of bullying at his elementary school) was Blaine's presence.
"A… um." He realised how nasally he sounded; a key tell that he had been and was on the verge of crying, so he sniffed deeply and exhaled a shaky breath. "A protective circle. It was a thing that Blaine invented… well, I suppose you could call it a game, in a way… when we were kids. Basically, you made a protective circle when you wanted to feel safe; it was your own private safe space where nobody could hurt you. I…" He frowned, partly because he did not know why Blaine was still clinging onto such fantasy games at fifteen years old, but mainly because he was heartbroken that Blaine felt so insecure in their home that he had to build his own happy space. It should not have happened; they took him home so that he would feel loved and safe in a familiar environment, yet apparently, this did not seem to be the case. He tried to suppress another brief spell of bitterness towards Finn. "I… don't know why he's made one here."
His eyes flitted to both Carole and Burt respectively, but he could not sustain his stare for long. Carole seemed simply heartbroken by the implication that they hadn't done enough to make Blaine feel comfortable, and his dad looked as if he wanted to wring the necks of whoever wore away Blaine's beautiful, energetic spirit, to result in this: the bare, fragile bones of a person. Gazing upon Blaine, he literally caught sight of the boy's bones protruding through his skin, even beneath the oversized beige jumper Kurt had presented him with, and he was instantly alerted to the fact that this whole episode had been instigated with the requirement for Blaine to eat and take his antibiotics.
Hesitantly, Kurt took slow, measured steps towards Blaine, as if preparing to tame a wild beast. Blaine did not even react. He remained in the same curled, protective position, hands over his face; his lips muttering soundlessly. Carefully, Kurt lowered himself to the hard wooden floor. When he still did not elicit a reaction from Blaine, he bit his lip and crawled cautiously into the circle next to him, avoiding the drying paint. The teenager really did not occupy much space, having mapped out a fairly expansive circle, and Kurt wondered if it was because Blaine would feel claustrophobic in a smaller area.
"Blaine?" He cooed softly, not reaching out to touch yet in case the contact would be unwelcome. "Blaine, sweetie?"
However, when Blaine still did not respond, apparently deep inside his meditative state, Kurt knew had no other option but to touch him. Little by little, he reached out and placed a gentle hand on top of the one Blaine had clamped over his ear. In a flash, Blaine's eyes were open and he was coiling himself into an even smaller ball, whimpering.
"Please…" The boy begged faintly, his eyes wide, haunted and unseeing, studiously avoiding the eye contact of anyone around him. He did not seem to comprehend that it was Kurt trying to communicate with him. "Please… no more. I'll be good… please… I'm sorry… please, don't…"
Kurt heard his dad shift slightly from behind him, as if every sinew in his body was itching to run forwards and help in some way. Swallowing down his anxiety over Blaine's pleas, which he could only guess were aimed at Jonathan, Kurt tried again. He kept his touch light and tender, using his thumb to caress Blaine's small, bony fingers. He tried to ignore the way Blaine recoiled even more, his whimpers loudening.
"Blaine, sweetie, it's Kurt." He hummed gently, trying to think of how to reassure his traumatized friend. "It's me. I'm not going to hurt you. No one's going to hurt you here. You're safe."
He experienced a huge wave of relief when the haunted look in Blaine's eyes faded, and he gradually became more responsive to the reality around him. Kurt decided it might be best to keep talking to allow Blaine to adjust to his voice again. He did not know what had triggered this reaction in the first place, but he somehow knew that if Blaine could realise that it was Kurt sitting beside him, things would work out eventually; they could reel him back from whatever dark limbo he had been trapped in.
"You used to say that the protective circle was ourthing…" He continued, gently cajoling Blaine's hand away from his ear so that he could hold it. "That I was always allowed in your circle so… here I am… no one else is here, I promise. It's just me… it's just me."
Kurt watched as his younger friend's eyes travelled, inch by inch, to take in his kneeling position, gradually shifting up to his face. The process of recognition was plainly visible inside Blaine's head, and not a second later, two tears streaked down his cheeks.
"I'm sorry." He choked out, and Kurt took that as the signal that Blaine had fully returned to the present. He shuffled a little closer to test the waters, pleased when the other boy didn't recoil.
Doing his absolute best to give a reassuring smile, Kurt wiped Blaine's tears away. "Don't cry in the circle, remember?" He teased him gently. "It's a happy place."
"K-Kurt?" Blaine stammered tentatively, as if it was only just coming back to him where he really was.
Kurt's smile widened a fraction, "It's me… I'm here." He traced his fingers from Blaine's thin cheekbones to the boy's wild, dishevelled, overgrown curls, combing through the dark hair – an action that had somewhat soothed him when in the hospital.
"S-Sorry." Blaine whispered brokenly.
"It's okay." Kurt answered immediately, though he didn't know what the boy was apologising for.
"I… I…" Blaine still looked shell-shocked, like he was trying to remember what had happened, yet was also trying to gather his present bearings. He seemed to have trouble forming a coherent sentence. "You were there… and… I think I fell asleep a-and then I woke up and… y-you weren't there. Shouting… there was shouting… I made everyone mad-"
Though Blaine's explanation was fairly fragmented and muddled, Kurt understood entirely. He recalled the shouting match he had had with Finn downstairs and inwardly kicked himself. Blaine had been a light sleeper in the hospital, plagued by nightmares and anxieties, so the slightest things could wake him. In this case, he and Finn had disturbed him, and it appeared, frightened him.
"No, Blaine." Kurt contested, quick to alleviate his friend's self-deprecating thoughts. "No, you didn't make anyone mad. Finn and I were just-"
Blaine suddenly squeezed his eyes shut again, swallowing heavily; pressing his head back down into the ground as if he wanted burrow underneath the wooden floorboards and hide away from the world.
"It made me think about… things…" He whimpered timidly, and Kurt hurt to see his friend begin to tremble again, as if he was reliving some kind of nightmare. "Things I don't want to think about."
Kurt tried to think of some consoling reply to this, but honestly he couldn't. He could not even begin to imagine what past horrors Blaine was referring to.
"It was like I was back there… everyone was mad at me… shouting… screaming my name… he was coming to get me. Th-They were all c-c-coming to g-get me."
Kurt swallowed back more unbidden tears because goodness knows; he had cried too much that day, but he felt an overwhelming sense of dread fill the pit of his stomach at the images Blaine's words were painting. Who was 'he'? Was it Jonathan? Was it his attacker? And more to the point, who were 'they'? He inclined his head slightly to look to his dad for guidance, only to glimpse Burt standing there rigidly, bubbling with barely-contained rage; anger that he knew wasn't directed at Blaine. Helpless, Kurt turned back to Blaine, gently lifting his head up off the floor and arranging it in his lap so that he would be more comfortable. Blaine did not complain, but he didn't stop trembling either, and Kurt was at a loss as to what to do. He felt incredibly guilty that his fight with Finn, probably caused by his undeniable need to just rage at someone, had triggered such a reaction in Blaine. Also, his screaming for Blaine earlier had apparently made it worse. Not for the first time, he wondered whether he was up to the task of helping his friend through this ordeal.
He sensed a movement behind him and he rotated his head to see Carole checking her watch. By her grim face, he knew that Blaine should have taken the antibiotics by now. Without jostling Blaine too much, because the boy thankfully seemed to be relaxing ever so slightly in his hold, he motioned to Carole to bring the tray holding the crackers and medication. It had been placed on the nightstand, though Kurt could not remember putting it there in his haste earlier. Carole got the message quickly and fetched the tray.
"Blaine," he said softly, rubbing the younger boy's shoulder carefully. "Nobody's coming to get you here, I promise. I know Finn was a Class A jerk earlier but honestly; no one here is going to hurt you. We may fight sometimes, like before, but it's over silly, superficial things like brotherly rivalry, or who uses the shower first. It's… it'll never get violent or frightening… or… or cruel, okay?"
Blaine opened his bleary eyes a fraction to stare at Kurt, as if trying to gauge if it was the truth. He visibly jumped when Burt appeared in his line of vision at the entrance of the closet, and Kurt tightened his hold on his friend to assure him that he was safe.
"Blaine." Burt said solemnly, now perfectly composed, as he crouched down to their level, wincing at the twinge in his back. "You're not going to get yelled at, or… or hit… or any of the other things that might have happened to you before. We look after our own and as I explained in the hospital, you're one of our own."
Blaine wasn't trembling anymore, nor was he crying. He just looked tortured and tired. So, so tired. "I can't stop thinking about… c-certain th-things." He whispered weakly; a rasp still evident in his voice from his earlier panic attack. "I don't want to think about them, but s-something happens that m-makes me remember… and it… it hurts… it hurts and it won't s-stop. Why w-won't they s-s-stop?"
Carole returned with the tray, sitting next to Burt in the entrance with the tray, and if it had been any other situation, Kurt might have laughed at the sight of his family, minus Finn, sitting in and around a closet with a plate of crackers like they were settling down to some bizarre picnic.
"You may have these… flashbacks for a while – that's what Doctor Summers said; do you remember the woman who came to speak to you that second day at the hospital?" Burt reminded the dark-haired boy, and Blaine responded with a small acknowledging nod before whining as his head obviously still ached. "And it's okay to have them. We're not going to get mad at you for them. You just need to know that you don't need a…" He gestured vaguely at the circle that the two boys were crouched in.
"-Protective circle." Kurt supplied quickly.
Burt nodded briskly, "Yeah, you don't need some circle or a closet to keep you safe, buddy. Maybe you've needed them over the years… but you don't need them here." He added quickly, "You can use them if you want, of course… just… there are people here who love you and will keep you safe."
Blaine focused his shameful gaze at the ground, trying to pull himself out of Kurt's lap and into a sitting position. Kurt laid a hand on the small of his back to steady his friend, but as Summers had reminded them, he granted Blaine the dignity of moving himself.
"I-I'm sorry a-about the floor." Blaine whispered monotonously, unable to look any of them in the eye. He winced as his weight landed on his backside. "I… I didn't think… I… I've ruined the-"
"You've not ruined anything, sweetie." Kurt interjected quickly before Blaine could work himself up again. "It's your room. You can do anything you like with it, right, dad?"
Burt just nodded. "Sure, bud." He approved, smiling warmly at Blaine. "You can decorate in any way you please. You're free to stay up here… you can go downstairs whenever you want… watch TV, although good luck with that because Finn hogs it most of the time. It's your house just as much as ours now." At Blaine's blatantly doubtful expression, he added a gentle, "I'm not messing with you, buddy."
The younger boy was silent, and the worry lines etching their way back into his face told Kurt that he was still anxious about something.
"What's wrong?" He asked his friend, softly.
Blaine's focus was still on the wooden floor, and his mouth opened and closed a few times, a few half-choking inflexions building in his throat, like he was trying to say something, but couldn't quite transmit the message from his brain to his speech. He eventually just whimpered in frustration, "I… I'm sorry."
"Don't be, honey." Carole soothed, speaking for the first time in the conversation. "Just take your time. There's no rush to say anything."
She was still holding onto the tray, like she was longing for Blaine to take his medication, but they all seemed to sense that they needed to smooth out Blaine's anxieties before persuading him to eat or take anything. Blaine just nodded again, looking woefully ashamed. Kurt could just see him beating himself up internally. He took one of Blaine's hands and squeezed it, smiling a little when the action was reciprocated. Some things never changed.
"P-Please…" Blaine stuttered out, looking pained. "Please c-could I…" His small frame flinched away as if he was expecting to be hit when he finally rushed out in all one frightened go, "Please don't put a bolt on the door. P-Please don't lock me in."
A shocked silence followed. Kurt rather thought his heart became lodged in his throat and he fought the sudden urge to vomit. Blaine was terrified of being locked in; he thought they were capable of bolting him in his room with no escape, like a prisoner; like a caged zoo animal. As ever, Kurt hated Jonathan Anderson for doing this to his best friend. His dad just looked stony, and once again, guilt-ridden, and Kurt knew he was thinking the same thing.
Blaine must have mistook their silence for contempt, because he rapidly began to shuffle away, tears pooling in his eyes. "I… I-I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I shouldn't h-have… I… I'm a b-bad person, I'm s-sorry. I won't s-say it again. P-P-Please don't-"
Kurt knew he had to react quickly. As Blaine lifted his good hand to shield his face, Kurt folded his arms around his best friend yet again, kissing his temple, and pressing him against his chest. "No bolt." He reassured hastily, rocking the younger boy a little when he felt the teenager's breathing pattern speed up, like he was fighting the impulse to cry. "Right, dad?" He uttered out of the corner of his mouth to his still-shocked father. "We won't lock him in, will we?"
Burt snapped out of his stupor and came quickly to his senses, "Absolutely not." He said firmly, clearly unable to comprehend anyone trapping their child like that. "You won't ever be locked in, okay, bud? Ever. I promise."
Nevertheless, Blaine still looked slightly mistrustful when releasing a small trembling 'thank you'.
Carole shifted so that she placed the tray carefully in front of Blaine so as not to startle him. It was clear that they couldn't wait any longer. The boy had to take the medication between certain times for it to take effect.
"Honey," she said in a gentle, but pressing tone that instantly read 'nurse. "You need to eat a little something now and take another antibiotic to flush out any residual infection."
Kurt, who was still clutching his friend against his chest, felt him tense and bury his head into Kurt's shoulder.
"I know, honey." Carole sympathised. "They're horrible to take, and often the pills make people feel sick and woozy, but I promise it does the world of good in the end."
Kurt had a feeling Blaine was more worried about eating the crackers, because looking down, the dark-haired boy had tinged a decidedly sickly sea green. Every time he had consumed food at the hospital, despite it only consisting of a single cracker, he had vomited it back up.
"I know you're not hungry, Blaine." Kurt encouraged softly, his chin resting on top of Blaine's head. "But you have to eat something – even if it's just a little bit – for the meds to take effect."
It took a few attempts, but gradually, between the three of them, they coaxed Blaine into sitting up and nibbling slowly on a cracker. Kurt could only imagine how humiliated his friend must have felt, having people he loved watch him in such a state; unable to manage more than one measly dry cracker. The butter Carole had slipped on the side of the plate, just in case, went untouched. Once it was clear Blaine couldn't stomach anything more substantial, he took the tiny antibiotic. Kurt held the glass of water for him, just as he had often done in the hospital, because Blaine's hands were still so shaky.
Once finished, ignoring the audible crack in his back as he picked the small boy up off the floor, Burt carried him back to the bed and settled him comfortably under the covers. Blaine's eyelids were already drooping, worn out from such a simple task as eating. He didn't see Finn peeking in at the scene, his face chalk white, apparently having eavesdropped on many of the things being discussed. When Blaine finally drifted off into another feverish sleep with the words of yet another senseless apology on his lips, Kurt saw Finn reveal himself in his entirety, hovering awkwardly by the doorframe. Kurt met his dad's eyes and nodded towards Finn. Burt didn't look particularly surprised or perturbed by his apparent eavesdropping, and simply asked Finn to fetch a bucket. Finn obeyed, flying downstairs to fetch one from the basement, though the frown on his face when he returned showed that he really didn't understand why.
"It's in case Blaine needs to be sick and he can't get to he bathroom in time." Burt explained to the room at large. Kurt nodded at the sensibleness of the idea; he couldn't help but expect that Blaine would ultimately be sick from the food he ate. Even Blaine himself seemed to have realised it; hence his reluctance to eat.
The family eventually retired from the room, Burt ruffling Blaine's curls gently so as not to disturb him. They left the door ajar in case Blaine awoke and panicked for some reason that he was locked in. Kurt promised to return downstairs when dinner was ready, but until then, he pointedly stayed by Blaine's side, sitting next to him on the bed, his knees pulled up virtually underneath his chin. Occasionally he would hum; sometimes he would murmur soothing words to Blaine whilst the younger boy seemed to be in the throes of another powerful nightmare. These were interspersed with long periods of time during which he would piece together all the titbits of information Blaine had let slip about his past so far.
He was there holding the bucket when Blaine awoke over an hour later needing to be sick. He was also there to refute Blaine's constant apologies for being sick. He did not fulfil his promise to go down to dinner that night. He fell into an exhausted slumber, clinging tightly to Blaine's hand, as if fearful that his best friend would slip away whilst he was sleeping.
I hope that was alright. Apologies if it was too angsty. The reasoning behind Blaine dredging up a childhood fantasy game at the age of fifteen shall be explained and elaborated upon during chapters later on. Kurt's still trying to displace some of his pent-up emotions (hence his blow-up at Burt ad Finn), Burt's guise as being a pillar of strength is slipping, and Finn's just trying to understand a situation that isn't making a lot of sense to anyone in the family at the moment. The next chapter will move along a little. Again, thank you for the continued support. Please let me know what you thought of the chapter. All the best :)