Again, sorry for the major gap between updates. Life is very busy! Perhaps it would be better if people go back and remind themselves of the story? Also, sorry that you have to keep doing that! If this chapter is well received I am planning to update more regularly (maybe once a week for a while if is manageable) to keep the flow of things, because I know readers are put off by a story that only has updates once every few months. Anyway, I hope this chapter is alright because oh boy, it fought me tooth and claw to be written! We've hit the first major turning point in the story.
Over five weeks had passed since Carole's discovery of Blaine lying battered, broken and bleeding in the entrance of Queen's park. Four weeks since Blaine's hospital release and just over three since he accidentally wet the bed – an incident to which Kurt was still none-the-wiser. Kurt had hoped that with a little time, things would get somewhat better, and to some extent, they had. A week into Carole starting him on a fluid drip, Blaine's stomach had started to accept small quantities of certain foods again. However, Kurt was unsure as to whether this was due to the drip easing the process along, or because of Finn. Finn was an absolute gem, of that Kurt was sure. Without Finn, he wasn't sure if Blaine would have been brave enough to try food again at all. Of course, the change had actually been brought about by the fact that Finn was a total pig, but Kurt accepted that this could be overlooked due to the positive effect his excessive snacking had on Blaine.
On this thankful day, he had skipped glee practice again to be with Blaine, and the two of them had enjoyed some quiet time curled up on the sofa. Blaine, who was still exhausted and in the early stages of his physical healing process, had dozed off and Kurt was doing the same when Finn arrived home, lumbering into the room clutching a McDonalds bag, clearly having taken the longer, greedier route home after glee.
"Hey, dude." Finn greeted, louder than he intended, which made Blaine whimper in his sleep and jostle against his friend.
Kurt was on guard immediately, shushing his almost-stepbrother, "Keep it down, Finn. He doesn't often sleep this well. Just because you can sleep through anything doesn't mean the rest of us can."
"Sorry." Finn made sure to measure his voice into a quieter tone. He offered Kurt a fry as he made himself comfortable in the armchair near the couch. "Want one?"
"No, thanks."
Finn shrugged as if to say 'suit yourself' before shoving it back in the bag and devouring his cheeseburger instead.
"Finn Hudson," Kurt admonished quietly, careful not to disturb Blaine, whose head had flopped onto Kurt's shoulder as he drifted further into sleep. He was conscious of the fact that Blaine was easily woken, and if he spoke too loudly, the younger boy might wake up just from the vibrations he felt through Kurt's body. "Your mom's in that kitchen right now slaving away over a healthy and nutritious casserole, and you've gone and got McDonald's. Dinner's going to be ready in about half an hour."
Finn shrugged and stuffed the remainder of the burger into his mouth, "I'll be hungry again by then."
Kurt shook his head and pursed his lips, but didn't say anything more. He knew when he was fighting a losing battle. Finn and his dad were as bad as each other; he knew of Burt's affinity for unhealthy snacks outside of mealtimes too, though he claimed they were to keep his energy up, and Kurt could reluctantly admit that they all needed a little more energy these days with Blaine still waking up screaming in the middle of the night. And then there was Mercedes at school who was still obsessed with the potato tots they served in the cafeteria.
"I thought you were going over to Puck's after glee?"
"I was, but we were both hungry after glee club so we stopped off for a snack. Mr Schue's making us learn this really hard choreography for sectionals. The only people that can get it so far are Mike and Rachel 'cause they've had dance lessons, and Quinn, Santana and Brittany 'cause they're like… really dancey people 'cause of cheerleading and stuff."
He scrunched up the wrapper from his burger before delving back into his takeaway bag for fries. When he surfaced, he peered properly over at Blaine for the first time since he entered the room.
"Is he feeling any better?" He asked, a little uneasily. Finn had to admit, he didn't really know how to act around Blaine. Everything seemed to freak the kid out, and he looked scarily ill a lot of the time; too pale and far too thin to be healthy.
Kurt hesitated. He sighed resignedly, "I want to say he's getting better bit by bit, but I… I just don't know. When he wakes up after a nightmare he just cries incoherently for a few minutes until he realises where he is and then he'll clam up and won't say anything more about it. The police have gotten nowhere with their investigations and he's still too hurt to deal with therapy."
Finn frowned, shoving a few fries into his mouth to keep him occupied, because he didn't really know what else to do. After all, he still wasn't privy to all the knowledge about Blaine that Kurt, Burt and Carole were. "So that's a no, then?"
Kurt sighed again, miserably, "I guess."
Silence reigned for a good few minutes as both boys were left to their respective thoughts. After a while, midway through chewing yet another fistful of fries, Finn commented:
"Mr Shue's not happy that you missed glee again. He says he wants all hands on desks for sectionals." He frowned. "Whatever that means."
"All hands on deck, Finn." Kurt yawned, tiredly, stretching his numb arm out slightly and wiggling his fingertips to regain feeling in them, before drawing it back around his best friend's body . "The saying is 'all hands on deck'."
"Oh. Right. Sure, I knew that."
"And I don't care if I have to miss glee for a bit. Blaine comes first right now."
Finn raised his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. He didn't want Kurt snapping at him again. "Hey, man. I get that now. I do. I just… don't get why this has to be such a secret that we can't tell Mr Schue or glee club. Mercedes is still hinting that she wants to come over and meet Blaine, and I keep having to make up excuses because you're always disappearing after school. The last time Mr Schue wanted to know where you were, I panicked and said something about racoon infestations."
"What?!" Kurt frowned, trying to conceive how that could possibly have been the first thing Finn thought of.
"It just popped in there, dude. I panicked. I'm not good at being put on the spot"
Kurt shook his head, making a mental note to put right whatever Finn had said to people at school. He reasoned that at least the jock's heart was in the right place.
"I know, and thanks for covering for me… for not saying anything. It's just… think about it, Finn." Kurt said quietly, and Finn could see how weary the brunette was. The bags under his eyes, though layered with numerous skin products, were almost as bad as Blaine's. "Blaine's going to go to McKinley eventually – like I've already told you – and how horrible is it going to be for him if everybody's first impression of him is 'the gay kid who was raped'. Believe me, it's bad enough just being the gay kid." He said, somewhat bitterly.
Finn swallowed down guilt over the fact that he often saw Karofsky giving Kurt a hard time, but he didn't step up and stop it because he valued his position as quarterback too highly. He wanted the guys on the football team to listen to him during championship games, and the only way they would do that was if they still respected him in some way. Whilst he was still in glee club, keeping his head down seemed to be the key to holding onto those remaining shreds of dignity. But that didn't mean he didn't feel bad about it.
"When Blaine goes to school… it has to be a fresh start for him."
"'Kay, dude."
Blaine suddenly shifted against Kurt, whimpering until his eyes flew open and he launched dangerously forwards. He might well have fallen off the couch if Kurt hadn't been holding firmly around the middle. Finn watched the scene in uncomfortable silence as Kurt hushed his friend gently, rubbing soothingly up and down the smaller boy's back to calm his sporadic breathing, occasionally rocking him from side to side.
"Okay… it's okay." The older teenager whispered.
Finn always felt uncomfortable and awkward during these moments. It felt as if he was intruding on something incredibly intimate… private between the two best friends. Although, it had also occurred to him that he and Puck and been best friends since kindergarten and they were never this… touchy-feely. His attention was drawn back to the other two boys when Kurt stood, stating he was going to fetch Blaine some more meds. Finn had grown used to knowing what this meant. Oral medicine meant needing to eat food, even though Blaine was now on a predominantly liquid diet. Carole had been back in contact with the health specialist at the hospital, who argued that whilst it was a good idea for Blaine to maintain such a diet until he was properly ready for solids, it was also wise to have him chewing something at least once a day, or his gums would wear away through lack of use, just as his muscles had without exercise over the last few weeks. However, this still always ended with Blaine throwing his food back up, regardless of how well he was progressing on liquids.
As Kurt left the room, Finn studied Blaine closely. The boy did look a little better for the sleep, despite being disturbed by the nightmare, but he was also quickly turning an ugly shade of green at the prospect of eating more dried crackers.
"Hey, dude." Finn said to Blaine unexpectedly. This was a first, since he had never really initiated a conversation with the curly-haired boy; Kurt was always glued to his side like they were a pair of those Siamese twins Finn had seen in a documentary in Biology class back in freshman year – too protective of Blaine to let anyone say or do anything that might upset him. Blaine seemed just as shocked by the unfamiliar approach; his eyes widened in surprise and he looked incredibly guarded as he inclined his head to face Finn's direction. His breathing was still a little staggered, and he couldn't quite meet Finn's eyes, but the jock decided he would take whatever response he could get. At least it was an improvement on the panic attack the fifteen-year-old had had on their first meeting. "Have you tried like… not eating crackers or… toast… or something? For the meds, I mean."
Blaine's mouth opened and closed a little, reminding Finn of a huge piranha he had seen when visiting an aquarium in elementary school. He seemed to be struggling to formulate a reply.
"I mean," Finn continued, munching on another fry thoughtfully. "when I'm sick, I hate eating crackers or toast 'cause my mouth gets too dry, and that just makes me want to barf all over again. So I eat other things like… cereal with water, or… jello – yeah, jello's a good one… or… salty snacks. I find that I can always eat potato stuff, and the salt makes me feel better when I'm ill. So you could try like… potato chips or… fries-"
He glanced down at his half-empty cardboard fries container, his eyes lighting up as an idea suddenly struck to him. He eagerly offered the packet to Blaine. The boy recoiled quickly at the sudden movement, his good hand reaching up as if to shield his face; his eyes growing wider still with fear as the packet was thrust unceremoniously under his nose.
"Here." Finn said brightly, shaking the packet slightly to compel the timid boy to eat, rather like one would when trying to tame a frightened puppy. It actually reminded him of a scene in his favourite Star Wars movie, 'Return of the Jedi', where Princess Leia tried to gain the trust of a wary Ewok who kept backing away every few seconds, unfamiliar with strange hats and foreign food. "Try one if you want."
Finn noticed that Blaine began to tremble slightly, looking around him with those big brown eyes, as if waiting for someone to career into the room and yell at him for even considering the idea.
"I…" The boy stammered. "I d-d-don't know if… if I'm a-allowed. C-Carole said to t-try plain things if I a-ate f-f-food at all."
"Fries are plain." Finn insisted. "When I had my appendix out, and I felt sick for a bit, the first thing I asked my mom to get for me was a huge packet of McDonald's fries. Don't know why, but they just made me feel better. Maybe they will for you too?"
"I… I don't know." Blaine whispered, though Finn noticed that he did look a little tempted. Finn didn't blame him. But then, he loved all things food-wise. And if the alternative was more dried crackers… well… Finn knew which option he would choose. Plus the smell was great! Yet he saw Blaine's reticence.
"You don't have to if you don't want to, dude. It was just a suggestion. You can say no. I won't be offended or anything."
Blaine swallowed and looked down at his knees. He was still dressed in an old pair of flannel pyjamas, because Finn knew that the family still hadn't had time to go out and buy him some proper clothes of his own. He also knew that the kid had really been through hell, though he still didn't quite know the full story. But just seeing him stressing over whether or not to accept food was, in Finn's book, the biggest tell that he wasn't okay.
"Tell you what, man." Finn said, selecting a tiny fry from the packet and offering it to Blaine. "Have this. If you don't like it or if it makes you feel bad, you don't have to have any more. But the way I see it, if the other stuff is making you feel really sick, what's there to lose?"
There was a pause, as Blaine really thought this over. It took so long that Finn had almost given up on Blaine responding, when slowly, ever so slowly, the younger boy's good hand slid from its resting place on his knee and reached out to tentatively accept Finn's offering.
"Th-Thank you." Blaine answered softly.
"Welcome, dude." Finn shrugged, shovelling three more fries into his mouth. He had to admit; the kid was kind of endearing once you got used to him.
He watched Blaine bite into the potato snack, chewing the miniscule mouthful with care, before taking another bite, and then another. From the way that Blaine hadn't automatically thrown up like he sometimes did with crackers or toast, Finn decided with a triumphant grin, that his idea had been a success. He proudly offered Blaine another fry. The boy accepted it with another soft 'thank you', this time with less coaxing. This process happened five times before Kurt returned with a tray of crackers, water and pills.
The brunette's eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. For an instant, it looked as if he didn't know whether to be happy or angry as he watched his friend finally willingly eating something. Kurt settled the tray on the coffee table before sitting back down next to Blaine.
"Blaine, sweetie, do you feel okay eating those?" he asked uncertainly, watching Finn give Blaine another fry.
Blaine halted in his tracks, eyes wide and meek, as if he had been caught doing something terrible.
"I… I'm sorry." He whispered hurriedly, dropping the offending fry immediately, like it was acid that had just burnt him. "I… I thought I was allowed… I won't…"
Kurt was quick to assure him. "No, no. Eat whatever you want. Just as long as you're sure you can handle it. If they're making you feel sick you can stop, you know."
Finn found himself on the receiving end of a very powerful accusing stare.
"You didn't force him to eat these, did you?" Kurt rounded on him, though in a low tone so that Blaine couldn't hear.
"No. Why would I?" Finn replied defensively. He had only been trying to help; he wasn't expecting to be given the third degree. "Come on, man. He throws up every last bit of those crackers you guys feed him. They're obviously not working. The only thing he can cope with are those weird watery soups mom makes, and those drips he has to have during meal times, and that sucks. So why not try him on something else? I told him how I sometimes eat salty snacks when I'm sick." He shrugged and indicated Blaine who was cautiously chewing a new fry Finn had given him. His gaze was fixed on the carpet and his white cheeks were even paler than usual. Finn got the impression the boy knew they were bickering about him "And they seem to be doing the job now."
"Yeah, but what if he's sick later?" Kurt demanded, regarding his friend anxiously.
Finn shrugged, "Then at least we tried, right? It's no less a reaction he's going to have if he eats those." He nodded towards the crackers still lying untouched on the tray.
Finn decided it was a victory when Kurt relented and nodded. The peace was short-lasting as he was soon gabbling worriedly again. "You haven't let him eat them too fast, have you? It'll upset his stomach."
"Dude, chill." Finn tried to placate the brunette. "He's a teenager, not a toddler. He's okay. Besides, he's like the slowest eater I've ever seen, man."
Kurt sighed, worrying his lip. "Sorry." He whispered back in the same undertone as Finn. "I guess I just… after seeing him so… so hurt… I feel like I need to… look after him. He means… everything to me."
Finn didn't comment further; he didn't know how, so he just reached forwards and handed the entire packet of remaining fries to Blaine. The younger boy looked as if he was about to refuse the gesture, but Finn explicitly told him they were for him.
"If you like 'em, man, eat 'em." He informed the timid boy. "I'm not going to miss them, and I get to have casserole in like… fifteen minutes."
Kurt smiled at Blaine encouragingly, which seemed to be enough to cajole the dark-haired boy into accepting the food with another grateful 'thank you'.
"Finn, I take back all the things I said in the past about jocks just being dumb Neanderthals." Kurt said softly as they watched a potential major breakthrough take place. "You may just be a genius."
It was indeed a major breakthrough, as that had been the first night Blaine wasn't sick. After that first decent 'meal' of fries, through which Blaine seemed to have remembered that not all food led to sickness, Carole had been able to encourage Blaine to eat more and more until the drip simply wasn't needed. He was even starting to eat small helpings of whatever the family had for dinner, if the foods were plain enough. So far they had established that Blaine could eat some basic casserole recipes, if there were potato slices decorating the top of the dish, cottage pie and even sausages and mash, excluding the blip Blaine had had when throwing up gravy after Carole had become a little too presumptuous over what his stomach could handle. Rich foods, they decided were an absolute no. So when the family had pasta dishes or spicy curries, Blaine resorted to tackling and keeping down his previous nemesis: toast. All in all, Blaine was ever so slowly regaining some semblance of an appetite, even if the amount Blaine ate quartered what Kurt had in a meal – it was still an improvement.
With the improvement in diet finally came Blaine's steady progress physically. In a few more weeks the cast on his left arm would be removed for a check-up, and perhaps permanently removed to give him more mobility. Bit by bit, Blaine had become steadier, more sure of himself on his feet, so that he could cope with small amounts of exercise, such as walking around the house, or taking himself to the bathroom. He had even finally been granted the privacy to wash himself, something which seemed to at least relieve the younger body somewhat. However, Kurt had discovered that just walking up and down the street with Blaine took its toll on the younger boy, though he wondered whether that was because of the tide of emotions that filled Blaine's oh-so expressive eyes when they passed the house next door; the house that Kurt guessed held so many of the memories that haunted Blaine's recurring nightmares. After these (what seemed to Blaine to be) long periods of strenuous exercise, it was all he could do to force his wobbly legs to climb back up the stairs so he could collapse on his new bed and sleep.
On the surface, the nightmares seemed to be gradually receding to once a day, if that. But Kurt knew that those were just the audible nightmares… the ones that everyone heard because Blaine couldn't help but scream out in terror. He knew there were more, but as Blaine was becoming more alert and less vulnerable to the hazy side effects of his antibiotics, he was quieter in every possible way. He still wouldn't tell a soul about the blatant horrors he had experienced, and he closed off entirely when police officers continued to call by, trying to wheedle Jonathan's whereabouts out of him. He also exerted more of a conscious effort to keep his problems hidden – a defence mechanism he had probably learnt over the years in order to survive with Jonathan. Here though, Kurt suspected his younger friend simply didn't want to be any more of a burden than he already felt, and he himself didn't want to push, but from his own room at night he heard Blaine tossing and turning in bed through the paper thin walls. His heart ached when his sharp ears picked up muffled, helpless weeping, as if Blaine was sobbing his pillow so that he didn't cause any disturbance. On those occasions, Kurt itched to go and curl up in bed with his friend; to hold him as he had done in Blaine's early weeks with them. But now he wasn't sure if that was appropriate. As Blaine was becoming more conscious of the things going on around him, so was Kurt. He found himself analysing every little thing he did, wondering if something would upset his friend, or contrastingly, after that conversation with Finn, if it would baby Blaine too much. It seemed as if Blaine's introductory session with Rosemary Summers, scheduled two weeks away, couldn't come soon enough. They all needed help.
The bright side was that Blaine finally had some clothes to call his own, though the dark-haired boy had been overwhelmed by the gesture, resorting to his usual plea that he didn't want to be a liability, apologising again and again for causing so much expense. However, it had all been worth it, Kurt decided, to see Blaine dressed in clean clothes that fit him. The baggy pyjamas he had been wearing for weeks had only served to highlight his pale complexion and starved body, so anything with a little colour and style suited Blaine at the moment. Although Kurt would proudly proclaim himself a well-dressed man with an eye for fashionable bargains, when shopping with Carole, he didn't push for anything controversial that might emphasise Blaine's presence.
He could tell from the way Blaine hardly ever went outside, hardly ever left his room that he didn't want to be seen. Kurt was aware of the likelihood that Jonathan had probably ordered Blaine to keep well hidden from his sight – unless he wanted a session with his own private punching bag, of course. That had always been the case six years ago. Though Kurt didn't want to cheer on Blaine's attempts to hide from the world, he supported his friend's desire to do so. He couldn't imagine the torments Blaine had endured, but through everything that had happened to him, the younger boy had survived, despite Kurt's frequent angsts over the years that Jonathan might have killed him. Thus, Kurt trusted Blaine's judgements; trusted his survival skills. Plus he would do anything to make him happy again.
So he and Carole chose nice, smart but undistinguished polo tops, coloured in black, red, blue and olive green, some comfortable flannel shirts, cardigans that Blaine could wear easily over his cast, an assortment of hoodies and sweaters, four pairs of jeans (two black, two blue) a warm pea coat, several pairs of boxers, some plain striped pyjamas, and three pairs of shoes: some converses, some sneakers and some rather nicer brown leather shoes that Kurt hadn't been able to resist selecting. They didn't take Blaine with them. He wasn't ready for either the long traipse around stores, or the massive crowds around the mall. Kurt held no doubt that the pushing and shoving of loud-mouthed strangers would have frightened Blaine and set him back several miles in his road to recovery.
So yes, although to some extent, things were better, in other ways they weren't. Blaine was getting quieter and quieter, prone to retreating into himself more often than talking (even with Kurt, recently), and he spent vast quantities of his time in bed, in a virtually catatonic state. Unless a family member accompanied him, or rather, coerced him into going for a small walk down the street to give him some fresh air – a little more colour to his still pale cheeks – Blaine seemed terrified of the prospect of going outside. Kurt couldn't blame him one bit. After all, his attack had taken place outside and from the looks of things his friend had endured months of living on the streets – another potential fuel for memories. Quite how he had survived was something Kurt was still puzzled about, considering how jumpy and frightened Blaine was, but then he reasoned that perhaps much of his behaviour came as a result of the rape.
So what with Blaine's terror at going outside, Kurt could see a problem one evening when he discovered that Carole had to finally go back to work the following morning, as her leave of absence had come to an end. It had only been authorised for so long because Blaine had been imminently ill and could have regressed without a carer keeping close watch. However, now that Blaine was out of the danger zone (physically at least – Kurt was still anxious about Blaine's emotional and mental state), Carole had been told that she should return to work. This was, of course, problematic as Blaine was still in no condition to be left at home alone, Kurt and Finn had school, and Burt also had work to attend.
The difference with Burt's job was that he was his own boss. It was a private-run tyre shop, built up by Burt himself through years of hard work, so there was no one to tell him he couldn't bring a kid under his care to work with him to keep an eye on him. So this is what they decided. Naturally, they checked with Blaine that this was okay, as they didn't want to force him to do anything he didn't want to do, but as usual, Blaine just nodded and politely agreed. Kurt got the impression that Blaine didn't think his opinion mattered, because he obviously wasn't really fine with the arrangement. Blaine's chalk white face and wild, frightened eyes the following morning proved his suspicion.
"Blaine, are you okay, sweetie?" Kurt asked, sitting down next to a trembling Blaine at the breakfast table.
As had become habit now that Blaine was physically stronger, his friend had beaten him to the table. The younger boy had caught onto the fact that they seemed to have breakfast at about seven o'clock each morning, so Blaine always arrived dot on seven – never a second later or sooner. It was as if he was wired to get to a place on time. He probably was, only Kurt couldn't bear to think about what the consequences would have been for Blaine if he was late.
Poor Blaine seemed so stressed, he jumped almost a foot in the air when Kurt spoke.
"I… I'm okay, thank you, Kurt." He responded meekly, wincing again when Carole bustled over and placed bowls of cereal in front of them. She noticed his reaction and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Sorry, honey, I didn't mean to startle you."
Blaine offered her a weak smile and mumbled a disjointed and shaky apology. She flashed him a sympathetic look, now used to his constant contrition, before heading to the counter again to prepare breakfasts for the two taller men of the household. They had yet to surface. Kurt noticed how his friend didn't quite meet his eyes as he chewed cautiously on the food put in front of him. Though his appetite had improved, his eating pace remained the same. Kurt suspected that this was not only Blaine being careful so that he wasn't sick again, but also him savouring each mouthful, as if food was still a foreign concept to him.
"Are you sure?" Kurt asked softly, scooping up a spoonful of his own cereal. "Because you seem jumpier than usual, this morning."
Blaine's spoon clunked against the side of the bowl when his hand slipped, and the boy startled again. His eating halted and he bowed his head, his eyes coming to rest on the bamboo mat beneath the bowl. Kurt's heart broke at the way his friend's shoulders sagged in defeat. Blaine chewed his lip anxiously, as had become normal when he was overthinking things. But Kurt let the younger boy formulate his careful reply.
"I… I'm a bit… s-scared." Blaine admitted softly after a while.
"Of going to work with my dad, or going outside for so long?" Kurt probed gently, also putting down his spoon to give Blaine his full attention, even though said boy still hadn't dared to look up at him.
There was another painful silence, filled only by Carole pouring out five glasses of orange juice.
"Of… both, I guess." Blaine murmured, using his good hand to fiddle nervously with the front of his new jeans. He closed his eyes and bowed his head further in shame. "I… I know it's stupid b-but I-"
Although Kurt was sitting to Blaine's left, he reached across his friend's lap and placed his hand on top of Blaine's, effectively stilling it.
"It's not stupid." Kurt said firmly, and repeated it for good measure. "It's not stupid, Blaine. You've been to hell and back. You're nervous to be outside… to be around people after everything you've been through… especially after the… attack."
The entire family had learnt to refer to the incident as the 'attack' rather than its actual term, due to the panic it triggered in Blaine whenever he heard the word. Hesitantly, Blaine looked down at their hands and slowly laced them together in a gesture of affection. He nodded, but it didn't appear as though he particularly believed Kurt's words.
"Blaine, look at me." Kurt insisted, fearing that he was never going to get his best friend to realise that he wasn't worthless. "Please, look at me."
Blaine had never denied Kurt anything if he could help it. He looked up and finally met the brunette's fierce blue eyes.
"It's not stupid, I promise." Kurt repeated honestly. "You've come so far since you were in the hospital, sweetie. So far. But this is a huge step. This house has… well… I guess it's become your safe haven and to go back into Lima where the attack happened… I'd be scared too. I'd be terrified. In fact, I probably wouldn't even be able to do it."
Blaine smiled wanly, "You would, Kurt. You're brave… braver than you think." His smile dampened. "You have much more courage than I do."
Kurt squeezed his hand, "That's not true." At the other boy's doubtful expression, he persisted. "I know you don't believe me right now, but I swear, that's not true."
He thought of all the times he had been flung against the lockers by David Karofsky… all the times he had come crying to Blaine for help when they were kids, and Blaine had been the one to be brave; the stand up against the bullies and defend Kurt. The creaking of floorboards along the landing and the deafening stomps akin to a herd of wildebeests descending the stairs alerted them to the fact that Finn had finally decided to get up.
"Besides," Kurt continued quickly before his almost-stepbrother could enter and cause a commotion. "There's nothing to be afraid of at my dad's shop. We went there when we were younger, remember?"
Blaine nodded hesitantly, his eyes still wide and frightened. Kurt decided to try and get him to smile again. It was a rare occurrence, but it was wonderful when it happened.
"You'd come to the shop with me after school," he reminisced. "and I wouldn't go near those horrible, oily cars because… just... eeurrgh… so much grease that's bad for the skin, but you'd follow dad around like a little puppy dog asking all sorts of questions about what car part went where, and what each tool was called. And dad would pretend to get mad at you-"
Blaine's eyes suddenly grew worryingly empty. His elusive gaze wandered from Kurt to stare vaguely at his cereal bowl before he closed his eyes completely, seemingly shutting away everything that could possibly hurt him – even memories. Kurt mentally kicked himself for his thoughtless wittering.
"But he was never actually mad." He continued quickly as Finn lumbered into the room, his hair strewn every which way, his clothes askew and his eyes half-closed. "He secretly loved having someone so interested in his work, because we both know I was a dead loss at that. Even now, I'll drive a car but you won't catch me fiddling around underneath the hood."
"Morning, Finn." Carole said, spotting her son a little belatedly, suggesting to Kurt that she had probably been listening closely to their conversation.
Finn just grunted a vague 'Morning', before helping himself to the cereal his mother had set out for him on the counter. He set it down on the table with a huge clank, and for the umpteenth time that morning, Blaine flinched. His eyes flew open, darting around in terror to survey what the noise was, like a frightened rabbit surrounded by several foxes.
"Finn!" Kurt hissed, disengaging his hand from Blaine's so that he could gently rub up and down his back, something he had quickly come to realise calmed his friend.
Finn, who was oblivious to his surroundings and Blaine's sickly pallor, glanced up from his cereal.
"What?"
Kurt jerked his head towards Blaine with a death glare, and seeing how shaken the youngest boy looked, Finn put two and two together, realising what had happened.
"Oh. Sorry, dude." He mumbled.
He began to eat a little more sedately.
"Blaine, honey," Carole spoke up from the counter, turning around to face the boy who had frozen in his seat, studiously avoiding eye contact with everyone and everything. "It's perfectly fine to be afraid. Your feelings are your feelings. You can't help them. But today will be okay, you'll see. There won't be anyone there but you and Burt. Jim, Burt's second-in-command is off on his monthly leave, and Harry – the other guy who was supposed to be there this week – his daughter's just had a baby so he's gone all the way to Louisiana to see them. It'll just be you and Burt… and maybe some customers will come in towards the afternoon, but Burt won't let any harm come to you, honey, I promise."
As if on cue, the sound of Burt descending the stairs filled the house, and he entered the kitchen with a cough, dressed in his usual overalls. He kissed Carole on the cheek by way of good morning and greeted everyone else quietly before coughing again.
"You okay, honey?" Carol asked him, placing a bowl of cereal in front of him. "You're coughing a lot this morning, and you seemed a bit restless getting to sleep last night."
Kurt glanced up and saw that Burt had quite a pale complexion.
"Dad?"
Burt snorted at the attention he was receiving and raised his hand to silence their concerns. "I'm fine. Just coming down with something, is all. Harry had a cold last week and it's finally getting to me."
Carole frowned, serving juices to each person. "Harry probably shouldn't have gone to see a new-born if he's sick." She reproached.
Burt smiled slightly at his fiancé's blatant servicing of nursing etiquette, "As long as he doesn't get too close, it'll be fine. Besides, you couldn't expect the guy to just stay at home, could you? How often does a person become a grandfather for the first time? It's an important moment every dad waits for." He smirked at Kurt as he took his first bite of cereal. "Mind you, it's hard to imagine your kids becoming parents."
Kurt almost choked on his orange juice.
"Dad!" he spluttered. "I'm gay!"
Burt seemed to enjoy how uncomfortable his son looked, because he certainly didn't let up. "So? Doesn't mean you can't have kids. There's always adoption –"
"Or egg donors-" Carole offered with a smile.
Kurt groaned, hiding his face in his hands, "Not you too! I'm seventeen! I've never even had a boyfriend. Leave me alone." He whined.
Only Burt noticed the small, well-overdue smile working its way onto Blaine's face. He grinned at him before continuing conversationally.
"And I for one would love to see what heir you would give us." This time, nobody noticed Blaine's smile disappear, to be replaced by a blanched face and an expression of complete despair. "Man, would I live till I have grey hair to see that moment."
Blaine reached out for his orange juice to take a small sip, whilst Finn considered Burt confusedly, "But Burt, you haven't got any hair."
Kurt stifled a giggle, and even Burt smiled a little, but Carole peered down at her son with a devious glint in her eyes.
"Neither did you, Finnegan, when you were a baby. And in penance for being so rude, how about I show the whole family exactly how little hair you had in your baby photos?"
Utter mortification claimed Finn's face, and he rose from his chair to step in front of his mother so fast that his chair toppled over behind him. The noise made Blaine jerk back violently and Kurt inclined his head just in time to see the glass slip from the younger boy's trembling hand. Kurt had never been more thankful for the quick reflexes he learnt in defence of slushy attacks, as he deftly caught the glass before it went crashing onto the table, sloshing only a minimum amount of juice.
As if realising the damage he could have caused, Blaine shrank as small as humanly possible, his face draining of all colour, his expression a mixture of fear and dread. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but no sound seemed willing to come out.
"Blaine, it's okay, I've got it." Kurt quickly assured, setting the glass down carefully. "No harm done."
Tears began to gather in Blaine's panicky eyes. He released a small strangled squeak within in his throat, as if he was battling with himself not to openly panic, "I… I'm sorry. I'm s-so sorry. I…"
Carole was quick to reinforce Kurt's reassurances, "It's fine, honey. You were just startled. Like Kurt said, there's no harm done."
"B-But I n-nearly… I n-nearly b-broke-" Blaine stammered in alarm.
"It wouldn't have mattered if you did, honey," Carole insisted softly, whilst Finn shuffled his feet guiltily beside her, having discerned his part in Blaine's sudden distress.
"B-But I-"
"No buts, bud." Burt placated firmly. "Things get broken all the time. Accidents happen. We wouldn't have cared. And anyway, an accident didn't happen – there was just a bit of spilled juice. No one's mad. We still love you. There's no need to get upset, okay?"
Blaine's breathing faltered, and he risked a glance around at each of the family members, as if waiting for one of them to lash out. Kurt noticed that Blaine's arm was tense, hovering by his side, as if preparing to shield himself from any blows that came his way. If Kurt had anything to do with it, he knew that he would strive to ensure that no one hit his best friend ever again. Once Blaine finally seemed to comprehend that the family posed no danger, he seemed reassured enough to lower his arm back into his lap, though the tension remained.
"Okay?" Burt pressed softly.
However gentle his dad's tone was, Kurt saw Blaine flinch at the fact that he was being pushed for an answer. How often had Jonathan behaved in such a way? He was sure that Mr Anderson wouldn't have been nearly as gentle as Burt. The word 'interrogative' came to mind.
"Y-Yes, sir." Blaine managed to choke out, his eyes wide and traumatised; once again unable to focus on anyone else's.
Out of the corner of his own eye, Kurt saw Carole shoo an extremely awkward-looking Finn from the room. The jock had never seemed more relieved to vacate a room before, even after the incident over the summer when he and Rachel were caught making out on the couch.
Burt frowned thoughtfully, a hint of hurt in his face. He coughed, studied Blaine's limp, defeated posture, and if possible, said in an even gentler voice:
"Buddy, since when have you ever called me 'sir'?" He asked kindly. "Believe me, I've not been given a knighthood and I'm not some majorly important person on TV, and I'm not out there running the country. I own a tyre shop in Lima, Ohio. You don't need to call me 'sir'. You always used to call me Burt, and that's just fine. I won't be offended if you call me that again, okay?"
"Y-Yes, Burt." Blaine answered promptly, and Kurt almost flinched himself because it still sounded like a title. He had sometimes noticed Blaine doing it with him too, adding Kurt's name to the end of a sentence, almost as if a servant was responding to a master, or a soldier was addressing his superior. Three guesses where Blaine picked up that survival strategy, Kurt thought.
Burt smiled sadly, because Blaine still didn't seem able to meet his gaze. So he just nodded and gently ruffled the boy's curls.
"Okay, then." He stood up, and Carole took that as her cue to move forwards and collect the breakfast things. Kurt noted how her eyes lingered over Blaine's barely-touched cereal, but she made no comment as she whisked the bowl away, probably to avoid distressing Blaine again. "Blaine, please could you go and put your shoes and coat on, we've got to be getting off soon."
Blaine nodded meekly and with his head low, he hastily left the room to obey Burt's request. Kurt couldn't help but think he looked like he was going to his own hanging, rather than just accompanying Burt to the tyre shop. The remaining three watched him go with infinite sadness. The second Blaine was out of the kitchen and up the stairs, Burt released a somewhat shaky breath.
"Burt, are you okay?" Carole asked, rubbing his arm tenderly as she passed on her way to clear up the spilled orange juice with a dish cloth.
"I'm fine." The mechanic answered gruffly. "S'pose I just sometimes wonder what happened to the little boy I knew."
Kurt bit his lip, but said nothing. There didn't seem much point because it would just mean admitting that he constantly desired to know the same thing. Only it felt like an act of obscene betrayal wanting the old, strong, light-hearted Blaine back, when this older, more fragile boy depended on him so much.
"He's jumpier than usual." Burt observed, helping Carole stick the dishes under the faucet in the sink.
"He's anxious about going outside, honey. It'll be the first time he's been in the centre of town since the attack."
"He'll be safe and sound with me." Burt reasoned, though Kurt didn't know who he was trying to justify this to, considering that Blaine wasn't in the room. The rest of them knew that already. It was just the absent fifteen-year-old that doubted it.
"But, honey, I don't think he can quite understand that. That boy hasn't known safe and sound in a very, very long time."
Burt switched off the ignition and the two of them sat in silence for a minute, staring at the rusting grey shutters of the tyre shop. It had been a relatively efficient journey, with little traffic, though the atmosphere had been thick with awkwardness. Blaine had seen Burt inhale sharply several times, as if thinking of initiating conversation, but then his breath tapered off into nothing and he softly exhaled instead, thinking better of it. Blaine didn't blame him. He knew he was a huge burden to the family, and that nobody really knew what to say to him; how to talk to him. He didn't know what to say either, and he knew that if he did speak, he would inevitably say something stupid that would anger someone, so he just kept quiet. That had always been the best route: keep his head down and say nothing. It beatings were not as frequent that way.
He had been trying with all his might to conceal the nightmares and the crying (he tried so, so hard not to cry all the time); to be neither seen nor heard, but it was difficult because the Hummel-Hudson's were so very different from his father. They seemed so kind and sociable and orderly. There was no being locked in his room whilst the family ate, and Kurt was always asking him if he wanted to watch a movie or go for a walk down the street, and though it hurt more and more every time to walk past that house, he had never been able to say 'no' to Kurt. When Blaine had begun to get a little better, he had asked Carole if he could do chores to earn his keep instead of just selfishly taking. She had refused, gently quelling his pleas of working. He knew deep down that this was an act of kindness, but he couldn't help but feel useless. Seeing the daily workings and behaviours of the family was like someone scrubbing out everything he had ever known and telling him he had been doing it terribly wrong all this time, and that confused and frightened him.
He had deserved the humiliation this morning of Burt correcting how he called him, in front of Kurt and Carole. He should have known. He should have remembered, but it was so hard to distinguish what different people wanted him to call them. At home… at school, it had always been 'sir', and the bullies beat him infinitely more if he spoke their names. His ribs had learnt that lesson for him. It was all getting to be a blur of confusion. He didn't know whose word to take… who to trust anymore. He just wanted to curl up, hide and cause the world no more bother.
Driving through the centre of Lima, Blaine had recognised some more sites he hadn't noted on his way into the town, like the cinema Burt had sometimes taken them to, and the Laundromat he had struggled to walk to each week with his father's heavy suits. He had been forced to close his eyes when remembering that, to block out those mental pictures. He really, really didn't want to remember his father anymore. He just wanted to forget. As if by some cruel twist of fate, when he did re-open his eyes, he had been confronted with the sight of the park. That dark, cold, horrible park where… where… He had had to squeeze his eyes shut once more, every sinew in his brain trying to force those painful images from his head. It hadn't worked. Somewhere amongst that terrible haze, he thought he heard Burt utter a gentle 'nearly there now, bud'. When they pulled up at the tyre shop, he finally opened his eyes and released a shaky breath he hadn't realised he had been holding.
The paintwork around the edge of the shutters and the shop's logo were the same as he recalled, but it was clear it had been re-done over the years, maybe even within the last few months, because the coating was fresh and bright, whereas it was already peeling when Blaine was last there.
"Look much different?" Burt asked him softly, his eyes also raking over the recent paintwork.
Blaine swallowed, not knowing how he was supposed to respond. He settled for a shake of the head and tensed in the hope that Burt wouldn't push for a verbal reply. He didn't.
"No, I don't think it does either. I tried to keep it as similar to the original design as possible because… well… Kurt's mom and I worked on it together when I was first starting out with the business. She was better at art than I was… ended up designing most of the sign and logo."
Blaine felt it was safe enough to nod. He vaguely remembered Burt telling him that back when he was about eight years old, following him around the garage, just as Kurt said. Kurt also said that Burt only pretended to be annoyed, but Blaine could see how his poor antics could have easily frustrated Burt and vowed not to do anything like that again. He risked a glance up at Burt and saw that the man's eyes were glistening slightly, like he was remembering Elizabeth. He always had that watery look in his eyes when he did. It had been six years, but Blaine still remembered that. The teenager knew that he was unlovable, but he hoped that he knew a little about what it was to love, and he was sure, just from looking into Burt's grief-stricken eyes when Elizabeth died, of how much he loved her. And he had kept the business logo the same, as a dedication to her, even if he now felt ready enough to move on and love Carole too.
He was startled from his thoughts when Burt suddenly pulled at the door handle, signalling that he was getting out.
"Let's take a look, shall we?"
Blaine took this as permission to also get out, and he fiddled to undo the unfamiliar seatbelt before stepping from the truck and closing the door behind him. Burt was already opening the shutters, switching on the necessary lights. The space was larger than he remembered, but everything was basically in the same place as before, except that there were new, fancy stock shelves in one corner and a refurbished office in the other. He spotted the old tool bench where he and Kurt used to sit watching Burt work, and he bit his lip, quickly turning away.
"Not too shabby, huh?" Burt commented light-heartedly, and Blaine shook his head honestly. The place looked well kept and organized. The stacks of files and documents visible through the office window showed the dedication of an honest, hard-working man, who still believed in keeping the books up to date by hand, rather than keeping incriminating blackmail about customers on various computer systems. Blaine flinched and mentally scolded himself for thinking about him again. There was no flash, leopard print furniture or squeaky wooden floorboards – just stained grey floors, a battered old couch and a distinct smell of oily machinery, but it felt good. It felt like a safe space. He allowed himself to release another small wavering breath.
Burt coughed again, a puffing as he raced around setting everything up, arriving within minutes back at Blaine's side with an itinerary for the day.
"So there's not too much to do today. I have to service an elderly lady's car but other than that, it'll just be paper work, so you can just sit out here with me, or you can go into the office if you want. I haven't got a TV, but I've got a radio in there. I'm sure I could find you some music to listen to."
Blaine listened silently, feeling a little overwhelmed by the lengths Burt was going to, to make him feel safe and comfortable. As if noticing his indecision, Burt flicked his itinerary chart closed and looked down at him kindly.
"All I know is that Carole will give me hell if I don't sit you down and let you rest, so as long as you're off your feet, feel free to choose whatever you want to do."
Blaine blinked and swallowed his fear. Usually, when he was given a choice, there was some hidden agenda, or more often than not, it was a choice between two equally agonising things, like the pain of hunger or the chill of the bitter cold nipping at him when being locked inside the basement for two days straight. Sometimes a choice was given and yet both things still happened. His father found it funny to do this. However, glancing up into Burt's eyes (eyes that held the same compassion as Kurt's), Blaine desperately wanted to believe that nothing like that would happen with this man; that genuine kindness still existed. Neither of the choices seemed bad or punishing. But he still couldn't bring himself to respond. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, hoping a decision would blurt its way out automatically. It didn't.
"Tell you what," Burt spoke up gruffly. "How about you stick with me over here until I'm done and then when I'm doing paperwork, you can go on into the office and have a lie down on the couch or something."
Blaine nodded mutely, grateful for the reprieve. Burt directed him to a rather rickety old stool, and he sat there, watching Burt work for some time, with an awful sense of déjà vu, though doing his best to keep quiet and not cause trouble. He silently observed Burt as he quickly and skilfully jacked what he presumed to be this elderly lady's Chevy up some way, before sliding underneath to tinker and test. Blaine could hear Burt coughing again, though the sound was muted against the heavy car.
After some minutes, he heard the mechanic mutter agitatedly about not being able to see 'a damn thing', because something was clogged up, and the slither of light filtering in underneath the car was not enough to get a clear view. Wincing slightly at the darker tone in Burt's voice, even though he knew it was not directed at him, Blaine gripped the underside of his stool and glanced around him to see if he could find anything which could help the struggling mechanic. His eyes locked onto a large torch, discarded on the top of a series of metallic shelves, a small distance away. He swallowed heavily, another major internal debate raging in his head as to whether or not he should fetch the item. Intuition had been essential to survival on the streets, though he hated everything he had had to do to live. But he also knew that intuition had never ended well for him at home, and he couldn't bear it if Burt got mad at him for touching something he shouldn't. His father hated Blaine touching anything with his filthy hands.
Blaine glanced back at Burt who was still struggling and mumbling underneath the jacked up car. The boy squeezed his eyes shut and decided to take a chance based on how patient Burt had been with him so far. It took him a little while to get his words out, because he was still quite shy and self-conscious around Burt (especially after the hysterical way he behaved in the hospital), but he eventually succeeded.
"B… B-Burt?" He stammered tentatively, remembering their conversation that morning.
The man didn't appear to hear him amidst his tinkering, so Blaine cleared his throat and spoke again, flinching when he realised this might be classed as mithering, and he promised himself he wouldn't. However, this time, Burt responded.
"Yeah, bud? Sorry for the ramblings. I'll try and keep 'em down."
"N-No… it's… it's just… there's a torch over there. W… W-Would you… sh-should I… b-bring it over… so you can…"
There was a small pause as Burt's battle with the car fell silent, before he answered, "That'd be great, bud. Could you fetch it, turn it on and just place it on its tripod, underneath here?"
Blaine nodded before realising that the man couldn't see him, so he gave a small, "Okay" before doing as Burt instructed. He heard the mechanic give a little grunt of satisfaction:
"Ah, that's loads better! Thanks, bud."
He knew that Burt was probably being a little overenthusiastic to ease some of Blaine's nerves. But it worked. Blaine sat back on the stool feeling a little less tense than he did before.
After that, the time sped by pretty quickly. Burt would even occasionally ask for certain tools that rested near to where Blaine sat, and Blaine, vaguely remembering each name and characteristic from his rather more animated conversations with Burt years ago, was able to pick them out and hand them to the mechanic. At one point, he got it wrong and he felt the familiar sensation of panic that flooded his veins when he got something badly wrong at home, but Burt didn't yell, or remove his belt, or start throwing heavy duty tools at his head. He was calm and patient, and interspersed with coughing, directed him to the correct implement.
When the old lady eventually arrived to collect her car, Burt allowed Blaine to hide away in the office, because although he didn't really fear old ladies too much, he was worried that because she was a loyal customer of the shop – a business only run by Burt, a few workers, and his family, she might notice him and ask him questions about himself. And he just wasn't ready to answer such questions yet. Not even if Kurt asked them.
So he watched Burt and the elderly lady converse from the office window, frowning when he noticed the mechanic rubbing his chest a few times. But the man didn't look to be in particular discomfort apart from the slight grimace he made at one point. Other than that, he accepted his payment, laughed with the lady about something before giving her a friendly nod and helping her into her newly polished Chevy. Always courteous, the kind man waved her off before heading for the office.
Blaine gnawed his lip anxiously when he saw Burt stop and rub his chest again. He had hoped that maybe before, Burt had just had an aggravating itch, but seeing the way the man was now panting heavily, almost doubling over, he was seriously beginning to doubt that. His stomach churned painfully when Burt's panting began to intermingle regularly with coughing. However, this was not like the spluttering he had been experiencing on and off all day, but a deep, chesty, agonising cough that sounded like his guts were being hauled out.
"Burt." He whispered fearfully.
Blaine rose uncertainly from his seat and walked to the office doorway. He got there just in time to see the adult who held most dear, crumpling heavily to the hard, cold, floor, clutching his heart like he was trying to contain it before it erupted from his chest. Blaine froze in complete unequivocal terror, unable to move as Burt's eyes rolled back into his head and his tongue lolled to the left of his mouth. With his tongue no longer acting as a barrier, warm saliva began to trickle down his chin. The panting had turned to accelerated wheezing before Blaine was able to kick his brain into gear and propel his feet forwards. Carole had discouraged strenuous exercise, but it was sheer adrenaline that pumped him forwards, so that he was running faster than he ever had before, even more so than that night.
"BURT!" He screamed, tearing over and collapsing at the man's side. "BURT!"
This time, no matter how many times he repeated the man's name, desperately vying for his attention, he didn't respond. His eyes had closed, shutting Blaine out completely. The fifteen year old began to cry when the mechanic's chest seized up, no longer expanding and contracting. He wasn't breathing and Blaine didn't know why, or what to do. He didn't know what to do! He had to do something and he didn't know how!
"BURT!" He yelled for all he was worth, not caring that his throat burned. "Please, Burt! Please!"
He didn't know what he was pleading for. For the man to just wake up? For him not to die? For him to not leave behind beautiful, beautiful Kurt who depended on him so completely? Or Carole? Or Finn? Or… or him? He had only just got Kurt and Burt back!
Blaine seized the front of the mechanic's overalls and shook the mechanic like a mad man, hoping against hope that he would miraculously just start breathing again.
"Burt! Please, please, please!" He begged, tears cascading down cheeks that were already stained red with the exertion of screaming his lungs out. "PLEASE!"
Helpless, he whipped his head round and looked wildly for anyone passing outside; anyone who could help because he was useless and stupid and he couldn't let this wonderful man die!
"HELP!" He pleaded, even though he knew that most likely, nobody would come to their aid. Nobody ever came. "PLEASE, HELP!"
But it was in vain. He was left alone, crying out for help whilst cradling a dying Burt Hummel on the cold, dirty garage floor.
As he expected, nobody came.
So yeah... please review! I have noticed that this story has lost a number of reviewers since its early chapters. Would people prefer the chapters to be shorter because I have noticed most fics have shorter, more easy-going chapter lengths, and several people have commented that this is quite a heavy story. Or is it because of the gaps in between updates? Please let me know what you think about the chapter as I find all comments useful. This time, I'm not going to leave any spoilers for the next chapter!