Again, so sorry for the lengthy gap between updates- I've been pretty ill lately. I hope this makes up for it. It's sort of a filler chapter, but I hope you like it anyway. It took quite a while to edit. Thank you so much to everybody who reviewed the last chapter, and for those of you who messaged me to remind me that I need to keep going with this!
The very last thing Kurt wanted to do that morning, with only three full hours of sleep under his belt, was go back the school. Last night, as had become the norm over the past week, he had hurtled into Blaine's room to soothe his best friend when he screamed out in terror at the evils in his dreams. Kurt was of course aware that it was never a good idea to wake a person whilst they were in the throes of a nightmare, however when it came to Blaine, all logic seemed to fly out the window with Kurt. He did not care. He simply couldn't stand hearing those agonised cries, and even more so, he couldn't bear the thought of Blaine suffering, even in his dreams. Surely the boy had been through enough.
Thus, he spent the duration of the night, as he had every other night, hugging Blaine, trying to coax him back to sleep. As the whole house had been disturbed in the commotion, with the exception of Finn who could sleep quite contentedly through an earthquake, Burt had tried several times to take over from Kurt so that he could catch up on some sleep, but Blaine would scream when confronted with a tall, broad-shouldered man whilst he was still in that vague haze between sleep and consciousness. It simply did not compute that it was just Burt. Carole was still too unfamiliar to Blaine for him to recognise her when he was still feverish from his nightmares, so it seemed to be up to Kurt to help him through the night.
Despite only having three hours of sleep, Kurt was aware that he was doing better than Blaine who would only sleep properly for around an hour before jolting awake, distressed by his nightmares, unable to force himself to return to the depths of unconsciousness.
Kurt had even tried to use his lack of sleep as an excuse not to go to school that morning yet Burt had flat out refused. Kurt supposed he could not blame his dad. The man had been exceptionally lenient about him missing school over the last week or so. At first, he had even suggested that Kurt stay at home to help Blaine adjust to his new environment, but as the younger boy had gradually become slightly more settled over the last couple of days, Burt had announced that it was time for them to return to their normal schedules. They would have to do it eventually, and they were routines that Blaine would have to get used to anyway if he was going to be living with them for the foreseeable future. Also, as Carole had pointed out, having a set of specific routines that Blaine could follow, might actually help the younger boy adjust; he seemed so out of touch with this new world.
So after much arguing – all of which had been done whilst Blaine was out of earshot, because they didn't want another 'protective circle' fiasco – Kurt reluctantly agreed to return to McKinley. Leaving Blaine's too-small body curled up under the covers that morning had been one of the hardest things Kurt had ever had to do. He had seen the younger boy's frightened eyes, no matter how much his friend tried to disguise his fear. He knew Blaine was terrified of Kurt leaving him alone with people he didn't know very well; that was part of the reason why he had been so distraught when they left him each night at the hospital. Burt had also returned to work that morning and Finn to school with Kurt. Carole had managed to beg a few days off work so that she could stay and look after Blaine, which was fine with Kurt because he knew that she was a great nurse and mother, but to Blaine, Carole was still nearly a stranger. When Burt had told Blaine that Carole would be the one staying with him, Blaine had taken it, as always, very sweetly, and thanked the woman quietly before apologising yet again for being a burden, but Kurt could see the doubt and fear in his friend by the way his shoulders tensed and his hands shook.
It wasn't as if they could leave Blaine at home alone. Aside from the fact that they were still trying to persuade Blaine to realise that he was loved and cared for in the Hummel-Hudson household, physically the younger boy was still exceptionally weak. His appetite was no better; he still couldn't manage more than one miserable cracker, or even dried toast and any food he consumed came back up again within the hour. When Blaine had been in one of his exhausted post-sickness dozes, Kurt had heard Carole confessing to Burt that she was worried there was a serious problem with Blaine's stomach and intestines; that he had been starved both on the streets and at home for so long, that it would take much more than just a few weeks to set Blaine right. Blaine's lack of nutrition and energy also contributed towards his still incredibly fragile emotional state. He was hurt and was in desperate need of psychiatric help, but Burt was adamant that until the boy had enough energy to stand up and walk on his own into a hospital or into a waiting room, that unscheduled appointment with Rosemary Summers would have to wait. They would take one step at a time. For the moment it would be detrimental to any slim progress Blaine had made to overwhelm him with such things.
All Kurt had been able to do before leaving the house that morning with Finn, was hug his best friend tightly and tell him that things were going to be okay. He had seen Blaine attempt a reassuring smile and a nod, but Kurt wasn't fooled.
And now he was back to reliving the nightmare of McKinley. Had he not hugged Blaine earlier; smelt and felt him, he might have believed the past couple of weeks had been a dream… or a nightmare – he couldn't decide which. Everything was the same as the day Blaine had been found. After carpooling, he and Finn parted at the school's entrance just like last time, the same cars were parked in the same spots, the same kids, including Stoner Brett who seemed to be participating in some weird LSD-influenced exotic dance with a girl who was in the same state (even at half past eight in the morning, Kurt added mentally). Nothing had changed. And yet to him; to the boy in the bed at home, everything had.
He walked down the hallway in a daze, conscious of people rushing around him, some accidentally bumping him as they hurried to get to some important place, yet he felt peculiarly numb. He felt as if these people had no right to be happy and thriving; living normal teenage lives when the sweetest boy in the world was lying huddled and damaged under a comforter at home, existing, but not living. In fact, it seemed as if he hadn't been living for a long, long time. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.
He tightened his grip on his messenger bag and approached his locker, quickly entering the combination. Had he not done it so often that the muscle memory in his hand remembered the combination, Kurt was quite sure he would have been unable to open the locker door, because he simply had no brain power that day. His lack of sleep meant that his head felt fuzzy, and he was sure that he would be useless in all his lessons. Thankfully, first period was history and according to Finn, Mr Jacobs was still on sick leave, so he figured he could perhaps get away with catching up on some sleep there.
He then remembered he had calculus after history and he was pretty sure Mrs Beech set some homework for the class, though he couldn't recall for the life of him what it was. He was off-kilter, and for the first time in his high school career, he hadn't bothered with any homework. Surprisingly, it hadn't been his first priority of late. Yet he knew his dad had rung the school and called for him to have special circumstances. Kurt could only hope that his teachers would take that on board. He certainly didn't want detention after school for not doing some homework or other; he had to get home to Blaine as soon as the final bell rang.
Stuffing his history and calculus books into his bag, he accompanied the shutting of his locker with a tired sigh. His gaze was cast on the floor for the next few tentative steps down the hallway so it took him by surprise when he felt a rough hand on his shoulder shoving him into the lockers and the next thing he was aware of were cold eyes glaring at him, and sausage-like fingers grasping the front of his grey, woolly cardigan.
"You're back then?" David Karofsky sneered, pressing himself further against Kurt in an alpha-threatening manner. Kurt couldn't help but startle and try to back further away, only to remember that his slowly bruising back was already flat against the lockers. "Thought we'd finally got rid of your faggy ass."
Kurt was so tired and he was emotionally drained. David Karofsky was literally the last person he wanted to see. Still, he tried to reign in his temper. He swallowed and tried to grasp onto some shreds of courage and dignity.
"Sorry to disappoint you." He murmured in a tone that he hoped sounded cool and strong, and full of sarcastic wit.
Karofsky blatantly didn't like that, and he snarled, saliva splashing onto Kurt's cheek. His grip tightened on Kurt's cardigan and Kurt could feel himself being tugged forwards. He gritted his teeth and prepared for the inevitable punch; either that or the rest of football team who would spring out of nowhere with every colour of slushy under the sun. He had tried to be brave and now he was clearly going to regret it. He thought of Blaine and the hardships he had had to endure at the hands of his father; at the hands of his rapist. Surely, Kurt should be able to handle something as trivial as a high school bully. And yet… he had to admit that he was scared as Karofsky pulled him until their faces were mere inches apart.
"Don't push me, Hummel!" he growled. "This school doesn't need you spreading your fairy dust everywhere! I thought you'd maybe done the right thing and left. Truth is, you're just so cowardly you had to run away for a bit 'cause you can't face up to people like me!"
Kurt knew he should probably keep his mouth shut, but because of the events of the last couple of weeks, his temper was already simmering just under the surface, and as had been the case recently, he was itching for a fight. "People like you… are bullies!" he snapped, trying to tug himself out of Karofsky's grasp. He was shaking under the force of Karofsky's gaze, but he didn't want the huge boy to read his fear, so he kept his head held high. "You're nothing but bullies." He thought of Blaine's dad and the way he domineered over the younger boy, slowly chipping away at every bit of confidence; every spark of joy, until he became a broken shell of a person. It wasn't right. It wasn't ever right. "You think hurting people makes you so big, but it just makes you more of a coward than I could ever be!"
Karofsky released a grunt of frustration and slammed the locker beside Kurt's head angrily. Kurt tried not to jump. He didn't succeed. "I'm not a coward, Hummel! I'm not afraid of anything!"
"You're afraid of change!" Kurt burst out, demanding of himself why exactly he thought it was a good idea to fight back now of all days. "You're afraid of fact that people like me aren't ashamed to be who we are anymore. Even in this school. Even in stupid Lima Ohio!"
Something undefinable flashed in Karofsky's furious eyes, and perhaps if Kurt had been a little more awake he might have been able to attempt to assess it, but for now he was just content when the hulking great boy backed off and relinquished his grip on his cardigan. The jock was alertly checking right and left as if suddenly realising they were in a crowded hallway, in close proximity. No straight guy, least of all a jock, wanted to be that close to the gay kid. The school's grapevine was lethal. At that moment, nobody else seemed to be paying them even the slightest bit of attention, though; everyone was wrapped up in their own personal bubble.
"Don't talk back to me, Hummel." Karofsky growled, in a lower tone, so that only Kurt could possibly hear him. "You should learn not to talk to me that way. You're the one who should be afraid." He shot one more threatening glance at him before storming off down the hallway.
Enraged and petrified all at once, Kurt shouted after him, his voice trembling, "What's that supposed to mean?!"
The bulky football player did not turn around and instead disappeared around the corner. Kurt seized the opportunity to take a few shaky breaths and then saw that in the scuffle, his messenger bag had found its way onto the floor. Wincing at the newly forming bruise on his upper back, and trying to hold back the tears that were begging to fall, he retrieved the bag and dusted it off before looping it around his shoulder. It had definitely been a bad idea to talk back to Karofsky, and it had granted him what sounded like a pretty menacing threat, yet Kurt had just been unable to stop himself that morning.
Everything was too much. It was eight-forty in the morning and he already just wanted to go home. He wanted to curl up with Blaine under that massive comforter to sleep and cry. But he couldn't sleep because of Blaine's recurring nightmares, and he couldn't cry, because Blaine was sick and hurt enough without worrying about his problems as well. And Blaine would undoubtedly notice if he had been crying because he was… well… Blaine. So clearing his throat, blinking any telling moisture from his eyes, and holding his head high, Kurt dragged himself off to history class.
Despite the morning's hold-up with Karofsky, Kurt made it to history in good time. Whatever supply teacher they were set to have hadn't arrived yet, and only a handful of students were present. One of them was Mercedes. Kurt felt a huge rush of guilt as he realised that his phone was still turned off; he shut it off whilst he was at the hospital with Blaine in those first few days and in the midst of things he had forgotten to turn it back on. He was overwhelmed by friends texting him and he just didn't know what to say, so he settled for not saying anything at all. And that wasn't right. Even though he knew he couldn't tell anybody about what Blaine had been through, for the boy's own protection (from hurtful gossip and the media more than anything else), he knew he couldn't just ignore his friends forever. He would have to tell them some semblance of the truth.
At that moment, Mercedes glanced up, spotted Kurt, and then with a slowly souring face, returned to eating her usual packet of potato chips. She always ate her way through a packet of chips before history; she claimed it gave her enough strength to carry her through the dullest and most deadly boring lesson of all time. But from Mercedes expression, Kurt could see he was in the dog house. Slowly, he approached his best girl friend, plonking his bag down on the floor and sitting in the vacant seat next to her. For a good few seconds he stared at her, hoping she would acknowledge him, however she pointedly stared at her salty snack.
He sighed, searching for a good opening line. He really hadn't enough brain power to do this. "Those things are really high in calories; they're not good for you." Kurt immediately closed his eyes and mentally kicked himself. For two reasons, in fact. Firstly, that was an unbelievably stupid starting topic, and secondly, it was hypocritical of him to say that because he knew would do anything for Blaine to attempt to eat a packet of chips, or even anything with a high calorie rate, just to get his energy back up.
Mercedes finally acknowledged him, though she didn't look happy at all. "Really, Kurt? That's your opening line after not talking to me for two weeks? Implying that potato chips are going to make me fat?"
"No, that's not-"
"Or were you saying that I'm already fat because I eat lots of chips?"
Kurt sighed, "That's not what I'm saying at all. I just… worry about my friends."
Mercedes snorted, chucking another chip in her mouth, "Friends? I'm sorry, are we still friends?"
Kurt was feeling guiltier by the second. He hadn't meant to freeze his other friends out. He really hadn't. It was just because… well… Blaine was back. Blaine needed him.
"Of course we are. At least… I hope we are."
Mercedes was silent, so Kurt took this as his invitation to continue.
"I'm really sorry, Mercedes. I didn't mean to not call you or contact you in…" He trailed off, trying to recall how long it had actually been. Really, his mind was seriously not on the money that day.
"Two weeks, Kurt." Mercedes murmured, hurt more evident in her voice than anger. In some ways, that made him feel even worse. "Your phone's been off that whole time – I've left you texts and voice messages, and who knows how many missed calls. And you've not been on Facebook or at school either. It's like you dropped off the face of the planet or something. To begin with I even called your house for a while, but nobody picked up."
He figured that must have been when they were all at the hospital with Blaine. Kurt bit his lip, trying to work out what he could reveal to his friend. There really was no excuse, he knew that. But still. "I… there were… things I had to take care of."
"Things more important than your friends?" she asked testily. "That's not like you, Kurt. You've always been someone really reliable. I've always been able to rely on you to take my call."
"You still can." Kurt insisted. "I just… I've just been really… I've been going through some things…"
"Then why not tell me? It's got to be serious if you've missed school for two weeks. Why not tell your best girl, boo?"
Kurt sighed, really not knowing how to respond. He hadn't thought this far.
"I even asked Finn in glee club when he came to school and you didn't, but he just… mumbled something about it being your business and your business only."
Kurt was very grateful that Finn had taken his words on board. Since the time Blaine had experienced that initial panic attack in response to Finn, the jock had been surprisingly gentle towards the curly haired boy, and remarkably sensitive to his needs. He had even gone so far as to stop playing violent video games in the house since the sound effects of screams, shouting and gunfire had triggered another terrifying panic attack. So now, he either put the games on mute in his room, or he ventured over to his friend, Puck's for a video game marathon.
"I just thought… you know… I meant more to you than for you to just… drop all contact for a fortnight." Mercedes shrugged, apparently losing her appetite as she threw the half-full bag of chips into her bag.
Kurt mentally kicked himself again, "You do, Mercedes. You're my best girl. And I'm really, really sorry." He looked imploringly at her, willing her to understand, even if he couldn't yet give her a reason for her to understand properly.
Mercedes sighed, and looked up. More of their class were beginning to file in, but the supply teacher still wasn't in sight. There was still time to continue the conversation. "Are you even going to tell me what stuff you've been dealing with?" She asked, looking expectantly at him for the first time since he had initiated the conversation.
Kurt sighed, and fidgeted with a button on his cardigan. It had worked itself slightly loose whilst it had been in Karofsky's hold. Kurt was surprised that he didn't even care. He closed his eyes, searching for the right words.
Mercedes beat him to it, "You… you aren't sick or anything right? You've not got some serious illness or something?" She asked worriedly.
Kurt didn't think it was possible but his guilt increased ten-fold. He hadn't wanted his friend to worry that there was something physically wrong with him. He reached forwards hand placed his hand on top of hers, for once overlooking the fact that it was covered in grease from the discarded chips.
"No, no, nothing like that. Really, there's nothing wrong with… me." He assured her quickly.
She frowned in confusion, "Then… there's something wrong with your family? Your dad? Because you were called out of class for some reason and then I haven't seen you since. Was there a family emergency?"
Kurt knew that if it had been anyone else, he would have moodily told them to mind their own business; the stop being so nosy, but Mercedes (with the exception of Tina and on very rare occasions, Rachel), was the only one he had been able to confide in since starting high school. He felt that he owed her some sort of explanation.
"Kind of." He settled on. He thought about his words very carefully. "A family friend is… staying with us for a while because he… his family's going through some things."
It was sort of the truth, because Blaine was most definitely a family friend, and if he approached it from the point of view that Blaine was their family, then yes, they were certainly going through some tribulations. Kurt saw that Mercedes was regarding him with a strange expression. He immediately felt bad. She was his friend; he should be able to trust her with this. It was just that she and Tina were not the best people at keeping secrets (actually, they were the main source of the gossip chain at McKinley, along with Rachel and Santana – all of them were ironically in glee club), and when Blaine eventually did attend McKinley, he didn't want people abusing him for what had happened before they even knew him.
"So…" Mercedes said, frowning. "Why did you have to take time off school? If it's a family friend, why didn't your dad or Carole handle it?"
Kurt bit his lip, "They did. I mean, they are. But… but the friend… he's my age… well, a year younger than me actually… actually he's a good, good friend to me and… and I wanted to make sure he's okay… help him settle down here."
"He's not from Lima?"
Kurt shook his head. Well, Blaine wasn't technically from Lima anymore. He hadn't lived there for six years.
"Well that explains why if he's such a good friend to you I haven't met him before."
Kurt noticed the hint of jealousy in her tone. He supposed it was justified. He had blown his friends off to look after Blaine. But if they knew the full story, they'd understand why he did it. He just couldn't actually tell them the full story. He sighed at his predicament and rubbed his eyes tiredly.
Mercedes must have noticed how exhausted he looked because her expression softened, and the edge in her voice melted away.
"Well, you and I have a lot to catch up on then, I suppose." She smiled. He tried to smile in return. "Tell me about this boy then. Is he coming to school here soon if he's going to be staying with you, whilst his family sort things out?"
Kurt tried not to wince at the thought of Blaine's real family 'sorting things out'. Jonathan had 'sorted Blaine out' enough; there was no way he was getting him back. And who knew where the illusive Cooper Anderson was, these days?
"Umm… he'll be coming to McKinley eventually, I think." He said slowly. "But he just needs to settle down first."
"Can I go over to your house and meet him?"
Kurt, who had been rifling through his messenger bag for his history book, almost dropped the said book in surprise and horror. Poor Blaine couldn't meet anyone new at this point. He was still getting used to Carole and Finn, and the new changes in both Kurt and Burt.
"I… probably not yet, Mercedes." He said, as casually as he could. "He's… really shy and… just getting used to Lima."
"Oh," Mercedes murmured, looking a little disappointed. "Okay. Maybe another time."
He nodded vaguely and was glad when she eventually steered the conversation away from Blaine, and instead started talking rapidly about the canteen and its new menu, which apparently included potato tots. Kurt made sure he smiled and nodded, and even objected in all the right places, but he was only half-listening at best. He was tired, and now worried he had revealed too much about Blaine's circumstances, and guilty that he had sort-of lied to Mercedes. Also, a niggling worry had just occurred to him. If he himself was terrified of Karofsky, how would Blaine ever survive in the face of such a bully if and when he came to McKinley?
Kurt was exceptionally glad when Miss Holliday walked through the door wearing a bizarre get-up that was apparently supposed to represent Eleanor Roosevelt. He allowed himself a slight smile; Miss Holliday's supply lessons were always an ample distraction.
Blaine lurched forwards into consciousness, screaming, sweat rolling off him, for the fifth time that morning. It took him a long moment to realise that the world he had been so absorbed in had just been another nightmare, or more accurately, yet another flashback. The more frequently they dominated his dreams, the more real they seemed to become. And he had noticed that the flashbacks had increased dramatically since the… the attack. He still couldn't seem to say or even consider the actual word for it.
Shaking, and trying to suppress his cries, he raised his good hand to slowly wipe away the trace of tears, and the uncontrollable beads of clinging to his forehead. Blaine shut his eyes tight for a second, trying to block out the terrifying image of a rough, angry balaclava-clad man, only to realise that the darkness served to exacerbate his imagination, and the image became realer than ever. He gasped and wrenched his eyes back open. He passed his available arm underneath his runny nose and gulped in several long, deep gasps of air to try and calm down.
It then took several further seconds for him to once again remember where he was, as he took in the cream walls and the thick, soft comforter. He was at Kurt and Burt's house. He was alone in the room because Kurt had had to return to school. The older boy had spent far too much time trying to look after him; he had a life to resume. Blaine couldn't keep holding him back, and yet, he remembered, he was still being a burden because Carole was downstairs preparing food, missing her own work to kindly look after him because he just couldn't seem to put himself right. He was trying, he really was. But the bad thoughts, the nightmares, the flashbacks and the panic attacks wouldn't stop, and he still felt so overwhelmingly frightened by everything. And although he tried to eat more simply because of how disappointed Kurt looked when he didn't, his stomach just wouldn't let him. His stomach was the physical reminder, without his father there, that he didn't deserve to eat; especially not until he had done something that made him worthy of food. But Blaine hadn't done anything worthwhile. He was very conscious that he was lying in bed all day long, whilst these people catered for him, and looked after him. He knew he shouldn't be troubling them like this. It was so wrong. He was such a bad person.
He placed his good hand on the mattress and tried to haul himself with difficulty, into a sitting position. That was when he felt it. Wetness. There was a horribly familiar, cold, smelly wet patch by his crotch, on the sheets, and beneath him on the mattress. Oh no. Oh please, no. Not again. Not now! Not here!
Panicking, he drew the comforter back so that he could assess the damage he had done, and he felt another onslaught of tears begin to swell. Spanning halfway across the once-clean, cream sheets of the mattress was a large, yellowish puddle; the sheets protecting the comforter had received the same treatment. The pyjama pants that Kurt had leant him were also completely soiled. Blaine began to tremble. He had done it now. He had ruined the Hummels' property. He knew he would; he always ruined everything. He remembered the soiled, yellow mattress at home. This was why he didn't deserve to have nice things like sheets and a proper bed. He whimpered as he recalled that Burt had bought the mattress especially for him; it was brand new, and he had soiled and damaged it two weeks in. They wouldn't be understanding about this. How could they be? They would realise what kind of person he really was: a pain, childish, a vandal of property… a horrible, horrible person. They would hate him. Kurt would hate him. He felt hot tears travel easily down his face and splash on the surface of the cream comforter. He furiously swiped them away, desperate not to cause any more damage. Blaine swallowed. He had to do something to make this right. He had to clean everything up.
The sound of sudden footsteps on the stairs hit Blaine like a series of consecutive gunshots. Each one grew louder and louder as they approached his room, and Blaine realised that he wouldn't have time to clean everything before he was found out. With each closer step, Blaine was nearing his fate. His trembling intensified alongside the fear and uncertainty. Kurt, Burt and Carole had all told him that they wouldn't get mad at him for crying or having nightmares or panic attacks, but they never said anything about wetting the bed. With his father, he knew the punishment would come then and there, and usually it would be apparent what the punishment was within seconds when he felt it. He didn't know how he would be punished here. If anything, the not knowing made it all the more terrifying.
In one last-ditch attempt to protect himself by concealing the damage, Blaine pulled the comforter back up and cowered underneath it, waiting for the inevitable yelling and pain to start. He gripped the underside of the comforter with his good hand in order to stop it from rising and falling with the quivers of his body. That was always the tell that his father looked for.
Seconds later, the footsteps stopped outside the door, and a quiet knock was audible before it opened to reveal Carole. Blaine tried not to think about how kind and smiley she looked in that moment, because it would only hurt more when she got mad.
"Hi, honey." She smiled softly, entering the room, carrying a tray of toast that had been sliced into soldiers to make it more manageable. "You're up. I heard you screaming from downstairs. Another nightmare?"
Blaine tried to open his mouth to reply but he couldn't seem to force any words out. Instead, he tried to control his shaking. Frowning, she deposited the tray on the bedside cabinet and reached out a hand towards him. He let out a strangled whimper and recoiled away as best he could. She had sensed what he had done. She must have.
"Honey," Carole murmured, withdrawing her hand slightly. "You're shaking and you look as if you're overheating. I'd just like to put my hand on your forehead to check if you're running another fever. It's okay." She soothed in a calm, measured tone. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. I just want to check your temperature."
Blaine desperately tried to believe her words, and though he didn't want her to approach him in case she found out, he didn't want to disobey her either. So he nodded, tightening his grip on the underside of the comforter. Smiling reassuringly, Carole sat down on the edge of the bed and slowly placed the palm of her hand flat against Blaine's forehead. It remained there for a good few seconds as a thoughtful expression crossed the woman's facial features. She retracted her hand.
"I think you're okay, honey." She told him softly, gently rubbing his arm. "The sweating and the overheating are probably just a result of the nightmare. I just had to be sure." She studied him sympathetically. "Was it a particularly bad one?"
Blaine could only force himself to respond with another nod. He felt the hand that had been soothingly rubbing his arm come to a sudden stop, and he instantly stiffened, looking up at her fearfully.
"I think maybe we should get you into some other pyjamas though." Carole told him. "You've been wearing these for a while, and remaining in damp clothes is all that is needed to start another fever, especially since your immune system is pretty shot down at the moment."
Blaine couldn't stop himself from eliciting a whimper, and although Carole had been heading towards the door at this point to fetch new pyjamas, she must have heard, because she immediately turned around again, concern etched into her features. She was going to make him change his clothes, and he hadn't been able to do that by himself as yet because his left arm was still stiff and painful in the cast. She would insist on helping him, and there would be no way to hide what he had done. She would get mad! She would hate him!
"What's wrong, honey?" Carole asked gently, walking back towards him.
Blaine cowered under her gaze. He couldn't take it anymore. He had always been unable to hide it from his father, and now he couldn't hide it from her. There was no excuse for it this time either. His door had been unlocked; he could have gone to the bathroom whenever he wanted. But this had happened in the midst of a nightmare; he hadn't been conscious to stop it!
"I'm really sorry!" He burst out, trembling violently as she continued her approach. Carole seemingly noticed this, because she quickly stopped in her tracks. "I'm really, really sorry."
"Honey, what could you possibly be sorry for?" Carole cooed gently. "For having a nightmare? For needing new clothes? Everybody has nightmares and needs to –"
"No, I'm really sorry. I didn't know… c-couldn't stop it-" Blaine managed to gasp out, although he was having trouble breathing again. He recognised the shallow breaths and the hazy vision as signs of an imminent panic attack, and so he desperately tried to calm himself. That was difficult when he was scared stiff of Carole's reaction.
"Couldn't stop what, sweetheart?" Carole hushed, nearing the bed again.
Squeezing his eyes tight shut so that he couldn't see her face, he used his good hand to tug the comforter away from his body, finally revealing the extent of damage. There was pure silence for a few seconds, filled only by his constant whispered mantra of 'Sorry… I'm sorry', until Blaine felt the woman retake her seat at the edge of the bed. He struggled to take another deep breath whilst his body was quivering so rapidly, but he managed to hunch his shoulders inwards in order to make himself as small as possible. Pain didn't hurt so much when he was curled in a ball.
Blaine felt hands on his upper arms, and he readied himself for whatever was to come next. He did not expect the hands to guide him gently towards Carole's body, before tender arms wrapped around his back and shoulders in a comforting embrace; a hand lightly stroked up and down his back, easing away the tension.
"Oh, baby." He heard Carole sigh as she placed her chin on top of his sweat-damp curls. "It's okay. It's okay. It happens. These things happen."
Blaine had always taught himself to close his eyes; to shield himself from any prospective hurt, but the shock at Carole's reaction, and the gentleness of her words and touch encouraged him to risk opening them. He peeked up at her uncertainly, surprised when he saw only a sad, but comforting smile.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, needing her to know that he meant it.
"It's okay, honey. This happens. These things happen." She repeated softly, continuing to rub up and down his back. He was surprised that he didn't feel the need to rip away from the touch. As yet, the only person he had felt comfortable enough hugging was Kurt, and on occasion, Burt. Then he remembered that this had been the woman who had found him… who had saved him and brought him to Kurt and Burt; who had helped him in the hospital when he didn't want to be touched by other men. He allowed some of the stiff tension to ebb away.
"N-Not at f-fifteen." He whispered shakily, ashamed. "I know I sh- sh-shouldn't… shouldn't d-do it."
"You couldn't help it. I know." Carole soothed kindly. "Honey, I've been a nurse for many years now, and I've seen thirty… forty year old men wet the bed. It's okay. When you're in a new environment, or you have a terrible nightmare, or you're just… scared or really emotional… these things happen. And when you're asleep, your body presides over your mind – you can't exactly stop it from happening." She studied him silently before querying, "Is that what happened?"
He nodded quickly, anxious for her to know… to understand, "I s-swear I didn't mean to."
"I know." She hushed. "But why don't we get you out of those wet clothes. And we'll need to change the sheets as well." She paused, her eyebrows rising as if an idea suddenly hit her. "In fact, honey, if you're feeling strong enough, how about we run you a bath? I don't think you're quite sturdy enough on your legs to stand up in the shower for a long length of time, but you could have a bath, if you want?"
Blaine swallowed. He was aware that he had been sponged down in the hospital when he was first brought in, but whilst in the company of the Hummel-Hudsons', he hadn't washed properly yet. He had been so focused on getting through other things, and he had also been warned not to let his cast get wet. He knew he should, because although personal hygiene wasn't cared about on the streets so much as immediate survival, he didn't want to upset or disgust Kurt or any of the rest of the family.
However, countless memories of his horrible attempts to shower or bath at home sprang to the forefront of his mind: strangers peeking in on him, his dad or even the people at school holding his head under the water for so long he thought he was going to drown. He didn't want to go through that again. Yet Carole looked so hopeful, and the alternative would be to eat the toast and consequently be sick again, so he swallowed again and nodded slowly, praying this wasn't some form of delayed punishment.
Carole didn't think she would ever forget the absolutely petrified expression on Blaine's face as he revealed he had wet the bed. He had just sat there, eyes clenched shut, quivering like an abused puppy. God only knew what that poor boy was thinking was going to happen to him as punishment for the deed. She had an awful feeling that similar incidences had happened at home, wherever Blaine had once lived, and that the boy's father had reacted none-too-gently towards him.
Since he was still weak and his muscles unsure of themselves, she had carefully helped Blaine out of bed and along the hallway towards the bathroom. It was a vicious circle. Until Blaine ate something substantial that his stomach wasn't going to reject, then he would continue to get weaker and more exhausted, and exhaustion meant that he would sleep more, which of course meant more nightmares, flashbacks and emotional setbacks. He had vomited up his breakfast, and she had noticed that he had steadfastly avoided the toast she brought up to him.
Carole gently sat him down on the toilet seat lid whilst she ran a bath for him, making sure he could see what she was doing at all times as he had looked a little reserved at the prospect of a bath.
"Would you like bath salts?" She asked. "Usually Kurt and I only use them, because they're wasted on Burt and Finn. They just take a quick shower – in and out, never mind a bath. But you might like them, honey. They're pretty relaxing."
Blaine, who was heartbreakingly huddled in on himself, as if he wanted to sink through the floor when asked a question, whispered in reply, "I… I don't know."
His eyes were wide, regarding the ball of bath salts with caution, as if wondering if it was meant to hurt him. She decided to leave that for another day. It was probably best to stick with what the boy knew for the moment.
"Maybe not." She suggested kindly. "Just water and soap for now, eh?"
He gave a little half-smile and nodded.
Once she was sure that the tub was filled to an appropriate level, she turned the water off and dried her hands on a spare towel, before casting it on the floor as a bath mat. She produced another one which she set on the wooden chair in the corner of the bathroom.
"You can use this later when you want to dry off." Carole informed him gently, watching him as his eyes fell on the blue fluffy towel. "It's brand new." She added. "You can use it as your towel now."
His eyes went wider still as she had learnt they always did when he didn't expect kindness. The poor kid never seemed to anticipate kindness.
"Thank you." He whispered softly.
"That's okay, honey."
Carole regarded him as he sat stock still, staring at the bath water with a mix of fear and longing in his eyes. He made no move to undress and approach the water.
"Honey, do you want any help getting undressed or… getting in the tub… or washing?" she prompted gently, knowing not to push too hard. He had to take things at his own pace.
Simply by the anxiety in his face, she knew he desperately wanted to do everything on his own. He wanted his privacy, which of course, she knew she herself would want, whether she had been through the horrors he had or not. Yet he was also physically hurt, and she didn't want to risk him slipping in the tub and causing himself further injury. Blaine's face went pale. She knew he was gearing up to ask for help. It was something the boy seemed to have real trouble with; he never wanted to burden anyone.
His mouth opened several times, as if struggling to get the words out, before he asked timidly, "Please… please would y-you h-help me w-with… with…" he drifted off into a half-shrug, not wanting to finish the sentence. She understood. Regardless of what he had experienced, he was still a teenage boy, and thus, was still embarrassed to ask a mother for help, particularly with undressing.
"Of course, honey."
She carefully lifted his pyjama top over his head, slotting both arms out of the sleeves, noticing not for the first time how skeletal and starved his body was, never mind the numerous scars littering his chest. Carole made sure her eyes didn't linger there, wanting to give the boy whatever privacy she could. Next, as she often did with patients with broken limbs at the hospital, she wrapped a thin, but waterproof layer of plastic around Blaine's cast, so that it wouldn't be damaged by the water.
Carole suggested that Blaine take the pants and boxers off himself. She knew from experience with rape victims that doing something like that for them, would frighten them no end. As it was, poor Blaine was trembling as he removed them with his good hand. Carole pointedly turned away, only looking back when she helped him into the tub.
Her heart clenched when he winced as the warm water came into contact with his backside, thighs and hips, all of which were still incredibly bruised and sore. Carole made sure he kept his left arm well out of the water, resting on the edge of the tub, before handing him a sponge and allowing him the freedom to wash himself. In this time, she retreated from the bathroom to strip his bed of the wet sheets and place them, plus the soiled pyjamas, in the wash.
By the time she returned, careful to knock on the bathroom door to announce her presence first, Blaine had relaxed ever so slightly, his muscles soothed by the warm water. All seemed to be going reasonably well until she suggested that to wash his hair, he tilt his head back under the faucet. It was a stupid idea; she should have known better. Blaine automatically began to try and scramble away, sloshing water over the edge of the tub, begging not to have his head shoved underwater, and that he hadn't meant to wet the bed. It had taken a lengthy proportion of time for Carole to convince him that she had no intention of doing such a thing and that the bath wasn't some kind of punishment. If anything, her aim had been to help him feel better. By the time Blaine had calmed somewhat, and Carole resolved to tackle washing his hair another day, the water had turned cold.
Carole noticed that Blaine refused to look at himself, and especially, his lower regions, during the experience. She turned away whilst he dried the bits of himself he could reach, and then she continued the process with his back and so forth. His skin was pinkish-red, as if he had tried to meticulously scrub every inch of himself, and if the now ragged sponge was anything to go by, he had. Blaine steadfastly avoided looking in the long mirror on the tiled bathroom wall as well. He kept his gaze resolutely on the floor. It all broke her heart.
She helped him get dressed in a fresh pair of flannel pyjamas – another old pair that no longer fit Kurt, before suggesting that whilst she dried and aired his mattress, he could rest in Kurt's room. Carole was sure the older boy wouldn't mind.
Utterly exhausted just from the effort it took to bathe and dry, and lulled by the effects of the warm water, Blaine simply gave a meek nod, allowing himself to be helped back along the hallway. She suspected that it was the first time he had been in Kurt's room since he was ten years old, and though he was extremely tired, she couldn't help but see how he gazed around the room in awe. His stare lingered on the photo set on the bedside cabinet of Kurt, Burt and Elizabeth from years ago, before he sunk down on the mattress. Carole tucked the comforter around him warmly.
"C-Carole?" Blaine asked faintly, much her to surprise. He rarely volunteered any speech unless he was spoken to.
"Yeah, honey?"
"Th-Thank you for… for helping me and... not… getting mad." He murmured, his eyes on the bedclothes. In that moment, even more so than he did in the hospital, he looked like a small child rather than a teenager. She supposed childish mannerisms in Blaine were probably to be expected considering it looked as if he had never had the growing-up experience most kids like Finn or Kurt had.
"That's okay." She smiled softly. "Do you need anything or do you just want to try and get some more sleep?"
Blaine's eyelids kept threatening to close, yet each time it seemed as if was about to drift off, he shook his head slightly to keep himself awake. He was still terrified of the memories sleep brought. She didn't blame him. When Finn's dad died, she relived all kinds of memories when asleep, yet the good were distorted with horrible images of his dead, mutilated body, so it came to a point where she simply didn't want to sleep. She probably wouldn't have slept at all if she hadn't had to get up and take care of Finn every day.
"I… I don't want to go to sleep. S-Sorry." He whispered fearfully.
"That's okay." She assured him, looking around Kurt's room for some sort of inspiration. The TV in the corner of the room caught her eye, and she glanced at the DVD collection just underneath Kurt's desk. "How about a movie? Something so brain dead and stupid that you don't even have to think about it, but it's still entertaining to watch?"
Blaine seemed to hesitate, but then gave one of his brief little half-smiles and nodded. She crouched down to get a clearer view of the DVD rack. Carole automatically ruled out anything violent, and especially any romances that might involve adult scenes, because that was the last thing Blaine needed to see, although unsurprisingly, Kurt didn't have too many said movies. At the bottom of the stack she found a few kids movies that were fairly dusty and clearly hadn't been watched in years. Perhaps they were what were needed. Running her fingers along the spines, she selected Aladdin, The Little Mermaid, Space Jam and Mary Poppins, holding the four selected movies up for Blaine to see.
"Which one, or none of them?" She asked, watching as his eyes slowly flicked from title to title, taking them in one by one.
"Please… please could I watch… Space Jam?" He finally asked.
"Sure, honey."
She opened the dusty case and slotted the disc into the DVD player. The TV was a pretty old model, but then Carole couldn't remember one time she had seen Kurt actually watching it. She often wondered if he just kept it in his room for memories of a time long gone. Seeing how nostalgic and almost awed Blaine seemed to be by the TV, Carole also wondered if television was something the boy had been denied in his life along with many other things. She waited for the movie to begin before heading towards the door to leave him to it.
"Carole?" Blaine's soft voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
This time, Blaine was actually looking at her, shame and resignation in his eyes; a similar expression to the one he had worn when he revealed he had wet the bed. "W-Would you… would… please… please don't tell Kurt about… about…"
She understood immediately. Had he not looked so sad and ashamed she would have laughed because yes, he was certainly still an awkward, embarrassed teenage boy. "I promise I won't say a word about it to him, honey."
After the longest day at school ever, and following the most nonsensical excuse as to why he couldn't possibly go to glee, Kurt was just glad that he had finally made it home. Mercedes had expressed interest in hanging out at the mall for a while; she even offered to skip glee with him which was a first, yet thankfully, she wasn't too miffed when he asked her for a rain-check; preferably sometime when Blaine was a little more settled. His plan had been to dump his bag next to the couch before heading straight upstairs to Blaine's room, however Carole had apprehended him halfway there to tell him that Blaine was currently in his room because she wanted to clean the younger boy's bedroom.
Though he found this slightly odd, because Blaine's room was virtually empty and thus, there was nothing in it to actually clean, he didn't question it. He assumed that Blaine must have been sick and had not made it to the bathroom in time. That had happened a handful of times. So instead, he simply jogged up the stairs to his own room. Sure enough, when he got there, he found Blaine curled up under his comforter, watching a movie he dimly recognised on the television. He couldn't remember the last time he had watched that TV. It was probably when Blaine was still living next door. After Blaine left, he didn't find much comfort in watching movies. He turned his attention to other hobbies like cooking, fashion design and music; his CD player and his IPod became much more coveted artefacts.
Apparently having heard him enter, Blaine inclined his head slightly to seek the source of the disruption. He gave Kurt one of his small but genuine smiles, and Kurt's heart fluttered to know that Blaine was happy to see him. His day suddenly got just that little bit better. Kurt closed the door behind him and walked over to the bed, sitting on top of the covers, back against the headboard next to his friend, as had become the recent norm between them.
"Hey, you." He murmured softly, slipping his hand into Blaine's. The younger boy reciprocated the touch, curving his fingers around Kurt's, the small, shy smile still visible.
"Hi." He whispered back. "How was school?"
There was something so oddly domestic about the situation. It was as if, in that split second, they had slotted back into their original roles. Blaine was asking him about school, and the old Kurt would have spewed endlessly about his fears of Karofsky, and the looming threat the jock had left when retiring down the hallway, whilst Blaine would have listened and comforted him. However, he was aware that he couldn't do that anymore. Blaine was the one that needed the comfort; the looking after. He didn't need the weight of Kurt's worries pressing down on him in addition to his own.
"It was fine." He replied casually, holding back a wince as his bruised upper back came into contact with the top of the headboard. "School is school. History is deathly dull, calculus is unnecessarily complicated, home economics is bearable, phys ed is torture and art is great, so a mixed bunch."
Blaine glanced at him for a little longer than Kurt would have liked as if he still had the power to see into his soul and tell when he was holding something back. However, if Blaine had sensed something more, he didn't push Kurt, just as Kurt didn't pressure him to tell him anything about his past or the attack. There was an unspoken rule between them that if and when they felt ready to talk about something, they would. Instead, Kurt thought he felt Blaine's grip on his hand imperceptibly tighten.
"How was your day?" Kurt asked softly. The younger boy definitely looked a little calmer and, he had to admit, a little cleaner. He smelled a lot better too. He leaned in a little and sniffed his friend, observing: "You smell like vanilla and coconut shampoo."
Blaine's small smile melted away, and his eyes reverted to the TV, looking anywhere but at him, just as he always seemed to do when he was ashamed of something. "I… Carole helped me have a bath."
Kurt frowned, trying to see the problem, "You didn't like having a bath?"
Blaine was silent for a few seconds, his dark eyebrows minutely rising and descending, as if he was reliving the moment in his head, then considering how to phrase his next sentence. Unlike the Blaine Kurt had known six years ago, this boy always thought extremely carefully about what he said, as if fearful of offending or angering someone.
"I... It's really kind of Carole to h-help me. It's n-not her responsibility and I know I'm a burden to her… to all of you-"
Kurt tried to conceal the impatience in his voice as he interjected, "Once again, you're not a burden to us, Blaine."
Blaine chewed his lip before continuing, "B-But I'm p-p-putting too much on all of you. I can't even dress or… or wash myself-"
"You're just hurt right now. You'll get better." Kurt explained kindly, willing himself to believe his own words.
"I'm trying to eat, Kurt." Blaine murmured in distress. "I promise I'm trying… and I know I won't… g-g-get better until I eat properly… I know that… but… I… I c-can't seem to…" He closed his eyes in frustration. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."
"Hey…" Kurt hushed, disengaging his hand from Blaine's so that he could wrap his arms around the boy's thin frame. He could feel his friend's ribs and the chain of knobs forming his spine, but he swallowed his anxiety. Blaine was going to get better. He was. "I know you're trying. I know. And Dad and Carole know you're trying. And Carole's a nurse, so helping you clean… she's not going to have seen anything she hasn't seen before."
"I know." Blaine whispered against Kurt's shoulder, reopening his eyes. "I know… I… I just…"
Kurt could understand Blaine's inarticulacy. The curly-haired boy probably wasn't used to people looking after him. He had had to take care of himself for years. So for him to be physically too weak to do so; to rely on others to help him, was a big step into the unknown.
"What are we watching?" Kurt asked quickly, careful to add the plural in an attempt to subliminally let Blaine know that he wasn't going anywhere; his friend wouldn't go through any of this alone.
"It's Space Jam." Blaine answered, returning his gaze to the screen, watching Bugs Bunny fill a bottle of alleged 'Secret Stuff' with running water.
Kurt watched a few minutes of the action take place, wondering why it seemed so familiar when it struck him.
"We used to watch this movie when we were really young." He recalled, wondering how he had so easily forgotten it over the years. It used to be one of his and Blaine's favourites. "We would compare that godfather-like alien boss to Tanner Westwood like… all the time, because he's similar to how Tanner was with his cronies."
Blaine gave another ghost of a smile before adding, "I… don't think Tanner Westwood smoked cigars, though."
Kurt looked away from the movie back down at his friend, trying not to show how shocked, yet overjoyed he was that the boy made a sort-of joke. Blaine seemed to be going through an endless spiral of pain and misery. For him to respond to light-hearted humour was definitely something new. He could only hope this was a sign that Blaine was growing more comfortable around them; a sign of progress. Kurt couldn't hold back his smile though, and he risked gently tickling Blaine under the chin – a place he remembered as being the younger boy's weak spot. Sure enough, Blaine squirmed and shrank away, though with a wider smile adorning his features, rather than the frightened, guarded expression he so often wore when touched.
"Be quiet, you." Kurt said affectionately, before hugging Blaine tighter to him. "Regardless of whether Tanner smoked cigars, he still had a terrible dress sense – just like this guy." He indicated the alien boss onscreen. "I mean, what is he thinking? A maroon suit and pants. Really?"
Blaine didn't respond this time, and when Kurt glanced back down, he saw the little smile still etched onto the younger boy's features as he once again became transfixed by the movie. Kurt didn't speak again after that, content to allow his friend the rare opportunity to escape the horrors of his past with the distraction of a simple, childhood movie.
Burt made sure he returned home from work extra early that evening, permitting Jim to close up shop. He was aware that he'd been putting a lot of responsibility on his second-in-command lately, as Jim had to run the business whilst Burt was away, but he was reassured by the state of the books and income that the man was infinitely reliable. The only problem was that Jim was long overdue a few days off, and so in the next week or two, Burt knew he would have to give the man a break. It would be tough taking care of the shop virtually on his own and then returning home to his shaken yet slowly adjusting family, but he would just have to make do.
Ensuring that his oily overalls were folded neatly and wrapped in newspaper in a separate laundry basket, he toed off his boots and made his way through the house to find Carole. He was surprised to find Kurt and Blaine on the couch. Blaine didn't often dare venture downstairs as he was still very wary of people other than Kurt. Now however, the dark-haired boy was curled up next to Kurt on the couch sleeping peacefully, and Kurt seemed well on the way to sleep as well. He left the room silently, not wanting to disrupt these now rare moments of quiet.
Burt found Carole preparing a sausage casserole in the kitchen, the whirring of the dryer accompanying the boiling of mixed vegetables. His fiancé smiled when she saw him.
"Hi, honey." She gave him a swift peck on the cheek, before continuing her work.
Burt smiled wanly in response and flicked the kettle on to make himself a cup of coffee. By all accounts it had been an exhausting day.
"Hi, hon."
She frowned, "You sound dead on your feet. Long day?"
He proceeded to tell her about his trying day: a few customer complaints here and there that they hadn't been able to have the owner of the business service their car because of his absence, the trawling through the books to make sure they had been filled out correctly, the knowledge that he would have to be in work longer in the next two weeks to cater for Jim's time off, and so on. Once finished with his own tribulations, he was almost afraid to ask about her day with Blaine. He did so hesitantly, filling a mug with instant coffee granules and applying boiling water. He couldn't be bothered making proper coffee from scratch.
Carole paused in her actions of turning sausages, leaving them to sizzle for a few minutes whilst she talked.
"Blaine wet the bed this afternoon."
Burt, who had been aiming to take a sip of coffee, suddenly lost the desire to drink anything and set it back down on the counter. He closed his eyes briefly, turning to face his partner. He should have known things would only get worse. He searched for a reason why the kid might have done such a thing. It wasn't exactly the natural behaviour of a fifteen year old.
"Oh boy." He sighed, taking his baseball cap off and massaging the top of his head, as he always did when he was stressed. "Do you know why? Did he feel as if he couldn't go to the bathroom without permission or something?"
Blaine had been having problems with doing anything without permission. There had been near accidents in the last week where Blaine had, out of the blue, gasped out a plea to go to the toilet, and they had only just got him there in time. He had clearly been holding it in for far longer than was healthy. Burt suspected that Blaine hadn't had the freedom to do anything at all when around Jonathan; that he even had to ask permission just to answer the call of nature.
"No," Carole answered softly. "It just happened whilst he was asleep. The nightmare must have been really bad this time."
Burt gritted his teeth and nodded, once again filled with the desire to strangle Jonathan Anderson. Carole sighed and laid the spatula she had been clutching down onto the counter beside Burt's untouched coffee.
"He looked so… terrified, Burt… so… ashamed of doing something like that. It was almost like he was just… waiting for me to yell at him or… h-hit him."
Burt placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, but he couldn't think of any verbal reply that could possibly console her. Neither of them could understand child abuse. They were all out of their depths.
"And then I persuaded him to take a bath." Carole continued, sniffing slightly, but passing it none-too-subtly off as a reaction to the steam from the cooking. "I suggested washing his hair under the faucet and he… he just started crying… begging me not to… hold his head underwater. I think he thought I was trying to punish him for wetting the bed."
Burt took a few calming breaths, ignoring the erratic beating of his heart. It was something he had been doing a lot lately, but he felt as though composing himself – taking on the role of the cool-headed, responsible patriarch of the household, was somehow his job.
"Burt, do you think Blaine's father used to hold his head underwater?" she asked tentatively, stilling as if dreading the answer.
"I wouldn't put it past him." Burt confessed honestly, shocked at the monotonous note to his voice. It was almost like he was just expecting the horrors now. "The bastard had no idea how to love a child. Actually… he had no idea how to love, period."
Carole sniffed as he confirmed her fear and nodded, regaining her hold on the spatula to slide the sausages back under the grill.
"I saw the boys on the couch." Burt stated, turning back to his cooling coffee. He took a sip and revelled in the taste. He had needed a good black coffee all day. Unfortunately, his kettle at work had gone on the blink and he stubbornly refused to buy one of those ridiculous, new-fangled coffee machines. Making coffee manually was a day to day ritual he had practiced since his teenage years. He wasn't going to just stop that because some guy invented an almighty device that saved a miniscule amount of time.
Carole smiled, "Blaine's bedclothes are in the dryer and I had to dry out his mattress, so I put him in Kurt's room until Kurt came home from school. They watched a movie, then Kurt suggested they get a change of scene, so they've been downstairs for a while, just sitting together… talking sometimes."
"Blaine was sleeping when I came in. He looked a little more peaceful." Burt observed.
Carole shrugged, "I've always found that people feel a little more human and relaxed when they've had a bath. Maybe it did some good after all."
"He eating any better?" Burt asked, finishing his coffee in a few gulps.
Carole's expression dampened and she shook her head. "He was sick after breakfast and when I persuaded him to eat some dried toast earlier so that he could take his meds, he was sick again."
Burt sighed, passing his hands over his eyes tiredly, "What can we do, Carole? He's not getting any better. He can't eat… he can't sleep… he can't do anything without asking permission or… apologizing…" He tailed off wretchedly. "I just feel like I'm failing him all over again because I can't… help him in any way."
He slammed the empty coffee cup down on the counter in frustration. He was Blaine's caregiver; his temporary guardian. It was supposed to be his job to find out how to help the boy, and so far, only Kurt seemed to be having any sort of positive effect on him. Carole slid the tray of sausages out of the grill and started slicing them, arranging them around the bottom of a Pyrex casserole dish.
"I was thinking that we should start him on a fluid drip tomorrow." She suggested quietly, glancing up at him sympathetically to show she understood his frustration. "His stomach's not taking solid foods, and he's taking vitamin supplements, but they're not meant to be used as a substitute for normal food. At this stage, I think it's the only option we have. Once he's eaten, he'll have more energy to face his emotions, and then the real healing process can start. Healthy body, healthy mind."
Burt nodded helplessly. She was right. They didn't seem to have a choice.
"Have you heard any more from Rosemary Summers?"
Burt sighed, "No, it seems to be her policy that Blaine comes to her rather than her pushing him to talk. And he's certainly in no fit state to do that yet."
Carole nodded.
The room suddenly became a little quieter as the dryer came to the end of its run. Burt glanced in through the circular window at the cream linen and old fraying pyjamas and walked over to remove them from the machine. Slinging everything under his arm, he turned to his fiancé:
"Is Blaine's mattress dry enough for me to put these back on the bed?"
"Should be, honey."
Nodding, Burt made for the door only to be stopped by Carole's call.
"Oh! Burt…"
He halted in his tracks, and spun around to meet his partner. Carole wiped her hands on a nearby hand towel and peered over his shoulder, as if to make sure that the kitchen door was firmly closed, so that they would be safe from prying ears.
"Blaine asked me not to tell Kurt about him… you know." She hinted in a soft voice.
Burt caught on immediately. Of course, he could understand the boy's embarrassment, and he could especially understand why Blaine wouldn't want Kurt to know. Kurt was, after all, Blaine's oldest friend, and even with everything that had happened to him, it was clear to anyone who watched them together that the younger boy absolutely adored Kurt. He looked at him as if he hung the moon and stars; had done ever since he was just five years old.
"Oh… right, okay. I'll make sure I won't let anything slip to Kurt. Or Finn, for that matter."
Carole flashed as small smirk before resuming her meal preparations. "Oh, please. Finn wouldn't ever have cause to think badly of Blaine. He'd deny it to everyone, even me, but I know that even throughout middle school he would sometimes wet the bed."
Hope that was okay. Part of the reason it took so long to update was because I was constantly writing and rewriting this chapter, and I'm still not entirely happy with it, but I thought I ought to get something out there. Next chapter there's another little time jump and a big change coming up! Also thank you to Ionaadsila for your advice on diet whilst sick - I hope to use it (or something similar) in due course. Please review and let me know what you think, or if there is anything you want to see happen. All the best xx