Apologies for being about five days late - I have been quite ill again, so it took me twice as long to motivate myself to write and edit. Still, here is the next chapter, from Blaine's perspective, chronicling his thoughts and his reasons for his apparent change in behaviour. Despite her sad condition in the first half of this chapter, I have to say that I really quite like writing for Elizabeth, and have done in previous chapters too. In my head, she's maternal, but I also think she's nobody's fool, and that on top of kindness and passion, Kurt probably got his ability to tell it how it is from her, as well.
Thank you to the five people who reviewed the last chapter, and for the favourites and follows. Hope you all like the chapter!
Blaine trudged softly down the hospital corridor, hurt, utterly miserable and feeling more alone than ever. His wrist still burnt from that morning. His father had exploded when Blaine accidentally overcooked his breakfast, and in retribution, had dragged him upstairs with an iron-clad grip on his wrist and locked him in his room. Yet Blaine had still found the courage to escape, climbing out of the unlocked window and descending the branches of a nearby tree, despite his pathological fear of both his father and heights – to be there for Kurt.
Since Elizabeth's health had rapidly declined, his poor best friend had become inconsolable , though Blaine had done his best to look after him; from simply being there, to assuring him that he loved him and that no matter what, he wasn't ever going to be alone. So knowing that Burt and Kurt were spending the day at the hospital today, as they did every weekend, and remembering that Kurt had begged him to go with him, the choice of whether or not to escape wasn't that difficult a deliberation for Blaine. He would risk a beating courtesy of his father over abandoning Kurt any day. It was more than worth the risk. Or at least, he had thought so.
When an overwhelmed Kurt had burst into tears the second they set foot on the cancer unit, Blaine had rushed to hug his friend. However, he was left devastated when Burt held him back, telling him to go and sit with Elizabeth instead whilst he talked to and took care of his son. 'My son' were his exact words, making it quite clear to Blaine that he wasn't wanted in such a familial moment.
Blaine had often suspected that Burt didn't really like him that much. He sometimes rolled his eyes when Kurt or Elizabeth invited Blaine to stay to Friday Night Dinner after an evening of playing outside with Kurt. And even though Burt smiled at him a lot more than he used to, and had once told him that he was welcome in their house any time, Blaine still sensed that the man held reservations about him. The thought of Burt hating him on top of his own father hurt, especially considering that he actually really liked and respected the mechanic.
For years he had admired Kurt and Burt's relationship. For two completely contrasting individuals living under the same roof, it was blatant how fond they were of each other – even if Elizabeth and Kurt were more open about their affections than Burt. Blaine had observed the somewhat gruff, yet gentle, tender nature Burt had around Kurt, and longed for his father to love him that way. However, though he was only seven-years-old, and still clung to some naïve, childish ideals, he had already given up all hope of this ever happening. He just wasn't loveable. But he desperately wanted to love. He wanted to love all of the Hummels', especially Kurt. But after Burt sent him away just a few minutes before, he was struck with the thought – and not for the first time – that maybe they just didn't want him to.
Rubbing his sore wrist, he continued his trek down the corridor, by now knowing the route off by heart. He had been to the hospital with Burt and Kurt often enough – perhaps that was why he had been sent away, he suddenly worried. Perhaps he had been crowding them, and up until that point Burt had just been too nice to admit that he was sick of him, and didn't want non-family members there. Blaine sighed unhappily. He hadn't meant to upset anybody.
He was so immersed in his thoughts that he was barely looking where he was going, and accidentally collided headfirst into a large woman clad in a long, flowing, flowery dress. Glancing up, he acknowledged the pallet of bold, vibrant colours mixed into the dress: bright yellows and oranges and reds. The colours made him feel almost warm, and just that little bit better… until the woman squinted down and glared at him like he was some disgusting mess she had scraped off the bottom of her shoe. It was a look he got all the time at home. He visibly shrank.
"Sorry, ma'am." He murmured.
The woman's nostrils flared disapprovingly, but she didn't say a word. Instead she offered a curt nod in mild acceptance of the apology, before shuffling off down the corridor. He heaved another sigh and trudged a little further until he found Elizabeth's ward. Ensuring that the sleeves of his sweatshirt were pulled down fully to conceal not only wrists but also his hands for good measure, he entered the room.
He deliberately didn't glance up at the other cancer patients when passing silently through the ward. Kurt had made a similar error yesterday, and upon seeing how frail and sick they all looked, had erupted into another bout of tears. So instead, Blaine concentrated on counting the numbers hanging on the end of each bed, knowing that Elizabeth's was the fifth on the left. He had barely come within eyesight of said bed, when a weak yet familiar voice travelled across to him.
"Blaine, sweetheart, what are you doing here all alone?"
Blaine looked up into the tired face of Elizabeth Hummel. She was vastly thinner than she used to be – virtually skeletal. Her skin was sallow and sickly-looking, and her hair was tinted a different shade of brown than her previously chocolate-coloured locks, due to the wig she now wore to cover her bald head – (her lack of hair scared and upset Kurt). But her deep blue eyes were just as warm and kind as ever. They were so like Kurt's; the resemblance was startling even after almost four years of knowing her.
Elizabeth lifted a fragile, bony hand to invite him closer. He complied, hurrying his pace; stumbling over something on the floor by her bed. He glanced down and instantly recognised a pair of shabby purple slippers. He and Kurt had picked them out, together with Burt, as a present for Elizabeth when she went for her first overnight chemotherapy session. She had adored the gift, and had taken them with her to every hospital stay since.
"Woops!" Elizabeth stretched out her hand as Blaine tripped, in spite of not really being able to catch him if he did fall. He didn't mind. It was the thought that counted; the act of caring. And it was an almighty selfless act at that, Blaine realised, as he saw how she winced with just that slight movement. Every little arm lift; every little head tilt seemed to cause her tremendous pain, to the point that she was panting heavily with overexertion. "Careful, sweetie."
Blaine attempted to flash her one of his practiced happy-go-lucky grins to both assure her that he was okay, and to try and cheer her up, because she looked so tired it made his heart physically ache. He crouched down to pick up the offending slippers.
"They probably shouldn't be there, should they?" Elizabeth mused quietly. "We don't want anyone else tripping over them."
"It was my fault." Blaine insisted bashfully. "I wasn't looking where I was going."
Elizabeth simply smiled, "Even so, would you mind putting them on the dresser for me, sweetie?"
Blaine nodded and did as she asked, placing them on the small table beside her bed. He gulped as he noticed that the majority of the dresser top was occupied by pill bottles and cards from numerous well-wishers. It was clear that Elizabeth was sincerely loved by many people. He could see why.
"Thank you, sweetie. You're a good boy."
Blaine shuffled awkwardly and bowed his head. Nobody ever told him that. Only Elizabeth. And after shunned by Burt, he didn't much feel like he had earned the right to be called 'good'.
There was a long pause, during which Blaine could feel Elizabeth's eyes on him. He studiously avoided her inquisitive gaze.
"Why do you look so sad, sweetheart?" She hummed, and he suddenly felt one of her icy, yet exceedingly gentle hands come to rest against his cheek. He blinked back a barrage of threatening tears. He wouldn't cry. Tears weren't allowed. He wasn't allowed to cry. He repeated those words like mantra, over and over again in his head until he complied with them. "What's the matter? What are you doing here all by yourself?"
"I'm not by myself." Blaine answered, finally raising his head to look her in the eye. Her face, though tired and distinctly ill, still held all the qualities of a kind, patient, compassionate mother. He was reminded of the time she had held him in that dark, lonely coat closet during his mommy's wake, when he had been hiding away from his father and his assorted 'business associates'. He hadn't known her so well back then, but she had been the one kind face amongst a scary crowd; a reminder of his mother, and he had instinctively gravitated towards her. "Kurt and Burt are down the hall. Kurt got upset and Burt wanted to talk to him… a-alone." He bit his lip, and tried not to show how hurt he felt. After all, Mr Hummel had every right to speak to the members of his family alone. Blaine was just an intruding guest.
"Ah…"
Elizabeth's face softened further, and she shakily moved her hand up from his cheek to smooth through his hair. This was a difficult task for anyone, due to the copious amount of gel his father ordered him to wear. So it must have been a monumental effort for her to strain her brittle hand through his cemented curls. But not once did she object or let it show.
"Well," She said slowly and softly, as patient as she always was when explaining something to either him or Kurt. "I'm afraid Burt can be a bit of a grumpy-guts when he's scared."
"Scared?"
Blaine had never really thought of the possibility of grown-ups being scared before. He had seen his father angry, and had witnessed Burt's annoyance, and Elizabeth's joy. He had also seen and at times, experienced the wrath of various teachers for failing to do homework, because his father had forced him to complete chores from the minute he got home. However, the concept of adults being scared as well children was… alarming.
"With me not being very well, I think Burt just wants to keep his family close and look after us." Elizabeth explained gently. "He can't really do anything to make me better, and that scares him. But if Kurt's upset, he can try to make him feel just that little bit happier."
Blaine nodded. He wanted Kurt to be happy too. He had always tried to make him so. His best friend deserved all the happiness in the world.
"Although sending you away on your own wasn't exactly very nice of him… or safe for that matter." Elizabeth admonished with a frown.
Blaine didn't mention that he actually felt safer walking through a hallway of complete strangers than he did living in a house with his father. The older Anderson had made it crystal clear that if Blaine told anyone about what went on behind closed doors, he wouldn't live to see his eighth birthday. Or at least, he wouldn't want to. No, Blaine couldn't tell anyone, even Kurt… even Elizabeth who he was sure was highly suspicious of his father.
Blaine smiled feebly, "It's okay, I understand."
"Well tell you what; how about you sit up here with me and give me a cuddle?"
Blaine looked down at the mattress doubtfully. Although he was only small, and could quite easily fit into the compact space between Elizabeth's body and the edge of the mattress, he was afraid that his movements might hurt her. As it was, she grimaced whenever she thought he wasn't looking, and that was just from carding a hand through his sticky hair. How much pain would she be in if he accidentally jostled her whole body? Surely, it would be unbearable.
"It's alright, sweetie." Elizabeth smiled faintly, clearly reading his thoughts. "It won't hurt me if you sit with me." She cupped her hand around her chapped mouth so that the other members of the ward couldn't see, and whispered conspiratorially, "It just might annoy a few nurses. But I think we both know I can shout them down if needs be."
Blaine couldn't help but grin as he recalled the numerous times Elizabeth had stood up to his father, and that was no easy task. Of course, almost every time, Blaine physically paid for it behind closed doors, but he was grateful to the woman for her efforts.
His grin faded when he gave in, clambered up onto the mattress beside her, and saw how she flinched when retracting her previously outstretched arm. Blaine attempted to make himself as small as possible, huddling into a tight ball, so that he wouldn't unwittingly cause her any more discomfort. Rather than allowing her to place her arm around him, thus risking hurting herself again, Blaine slipped his hand into hers. He could feel the individual bones in each of her fingers; her skin looked as if it had been stretched too tightly over her hand. Blaine glanced up and saw that Elizabeth's eyes had closed. Frown lines etched into the forehead of her pallid, gaunt face, and although Blaine knew she put on a brave façade, much like he tried to do with all of them, he suspected she was really in agony.
"Elizabeth?" He felt awful for speaking when she seemed to struggle to even open her eyes. But after she did, she gave him another wan smile to spur him onwards. "Does… does the cancer h-hurt all the time? Are… Are you always in pain?"
The fatigued woman paused, looking to be in considerable thought.
"No." She replied after a while. "No, not really. The doctors here are really good and they've given me all kinds of medicines so that I don't feel the pain so much anymore." She squeezed his hand. "It looks worse than it is, I promise."
Blaine swallowed, not knowing if his next question was going to upset her. But he needed to know. He needed to prepare himself this time. By hearing the words from the horse's mouth, maybe it wouldn't hurt so much.
"Are you…" He asked in a strangled whisper, his eyes downcast and dreading. "Are you going to… d-die… like my mommy did?"
Elizabeth closed her eyes again briefly and detached her hand from Blaine's. She started to run it back through his hair in a way that almost always soothed him. It was a technique that both Kurt and Elizabeth had cottoned on to. However, in that moment, Blaine wasn't sure there was anything that would placate or comfort him in the face of the expected response. He had known the answer to his question for a while, ever since Burt escorted a teary and defeated Elizabeth home one day, stating that the chemotherapy hadn't and wouldn't ever work. Also the doctors surely called these last few days in hospital 'end-of-life-care' for a reason.
Nobody had had the heart to tell Kurt yet. And Blaine suddenly hated himself, because perhaps that was what Burt had needed to talk to Kurt about so privately and so urgently. Kurt had been even more overwrought than usual that morning. Perhaps Burt had finally told him the news Blaine hadn't had the courage to, the previous night, or even that morning? It would explain why Kurt had barely spoken two words to Blaine during the car journey. He had much more pressing things on his mind.
"Yeah, baby." Elizabeth rasped quietly, her hand finally stilling in his hair. Blaine tensed and as far as possible, curled himself into an even tighter ball, hunching his knees right up to his chin. He felt like one of those hedgehogs they had studied in school; creatures who rolled into a ball to protect themselves when confronted with danger – except Blaine folded in on himself when he was sad or scared. "Yeah, I am. And soon, probably."
Blaine sucked in a shuddering breath, but was proud that he managed to bar the tears threatening from falling. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't cry!
"I…" He began, pausing momentarily to figure out what exactly he was trying to say. This kind, loving, vivacious woman had become the key maternal presence in his life after his own mother died. He didn't want to let her go. And he especially didn't want Kurt and Burt to lose her. Kurt needed her so much. "I don't want you to die." He whimpered, momentarily squeezing his eyes shut to will the waterworks away.
"Oh, sweetheart." Elizabeth murmured wretchedly, gently pulling his head down to meet her lips. She pressed a sweet kiss to his hairline. "Believe me, I don't want to either. I mean I've reconciled myself with what's going to happen– that is, I've got used to the idea –" she added, seeing Blaine's fleeting confusion. "But I don't want to leave my family yet, especially when Kurt and… and you are so young, and Burt, even as a grown man, can barely cook anything beyond toast. And I want to see Kurt become a grown man too, and… and it just feels so soon. There's so, so much I'm going to miss out on."
Blaine didn't have the heart to raise even a glimmer of a smile at the implication that Elizabeth saw him as a member of the family, because her sentiments were so sad. Tears were welling in her expressive blue eyes, and it just made it harder to keep holding back his own. He didn't want her to miss Kurt growing up, or seeing Burt cook properly for the first time, either. She didn't deserve this. She didn't. Why did she have to die? It wasn't fair! It just wasn't fair!
"But," She continued softly, pulling him back so that she could meet his eyes. "it's time. As hard as it will be for all of us, I think… soon… it'll be time for me to go."
"No!" Blaine wailed before he could stop himself, his resolve momentarily flying out the window.
Elizabeth sighed, the exhaling breath coming out as more of a wheeze than anything else.
"Blaine." Was all she said.
Her tone sounded fond, despairing and mournful all at once – if that was even possible.
"It hurt when mommy died." Blaine pleaded. "I don't want to hurt again." He looked up at her earnestly through his dark lashes. "And I really, really, really don't want Kurt to hurt like I did."
A tear dribbled down Elizabeth's cheek, but her smile didn't waver, and she kept her eyes steadfastly on him.
"I don't want Kurt to hurt either. I know how upset he'll be." She resumed her tender stroking through his gelled prison. "And I'm so sad that this is going to be something he remembers for the rest of his life, just like you'll never forget your mommy dying."
Blaine nodded, his lip trembling dangerously.
"-But I'm hoping that it'll hurt a little less… that things'll get just that little bit better for both him and Burt… and you, with each day."
Blaine nodded yet again. He could understand that. Even though he was only four at the time, he could recall how painful it was in the immediacy of his mother's death; he would cry himself to sleep, battered and bruised, each night. He never forgot his mommy, especially when his father drunkenly degraded her to Blaine's face each day, even though Blaine hardly understood half the obscenities the man spewed. Yet the sting of loss had alleviated just a tiny bit over the last three years. And that was because of his friendship with Kurt, and his subsequent re-acquaintance with Elizabeth. But Blaine didn't have a mommy he could offer Kurt in consolation for losing his own. He couldn't repay the debt. All he had was himself, and he often doubted whether that was good enough.
"Would you promise me something, sweetie?" She asked quietly when a few minutes had passed and Blaine didn't move to say anything more.
Blaine nodded sincerely. He knew that he would never deny this family anything.
"You look after my boys, okay?" Elizabeth told him seriously, yet with an infinite tenderness that Blaine had only ever seen before in Kurt. "You stick by them, and make sure they stick by you. And no matter how grumpy Burt gets – like today – don't let him drive you away. 'Cause he cares about you, even if he's not very good at showing it yet. He takes a while to warm up to people, does Burt." She smiled wanly. "So please stick by them, okay? Especially Kurt."
"I love Kurt. More than anything." Blaine mumbled, only realising seconds later what he had said.
He blushed wildly, and tried to hide his face in his knees, wishing that he hadn't admitted that aloud. The last time he had accidentally said that was in front of his father, who had been demeaning Kurt after seeing him partake in a tea party with Elizabeth in the Hummels' front garden. That had been a Friday evening. He had been locked in his room all weekend with no source of escape and especially, no food. Blaine had been so hungry when he arrived at school on Monday morning that he almost fainted in class. Nobody noticed, and Kurt was in the class above him so he never even knew. Blaine certainly didn't tell him. His friend had his own worries.
"I know you do."
Elizabeth's answer took him by surprise. He glanced up at her apprehensively, though he only saw that same warm smile.
"I know you do, sweetheart." She ran her forefinger down his cheek and he had to grit his teeth so that he didn't weep. He cursed himself for allowing easy tears to appear behind his eyes. "I've always known." Elizabeth sighed. "You know, before you… bounded into our lives, Kurt… Kurt didn't have any friends… I would pick him up from school every day, and without fail he would be there crying, hungry because some of the bigger boys had stolen his lunch money, or because people in his class had been calling him names. And I know that still goes on – and I've lost count of how many times Burt and I have seen the principal about it – but… but with you… when he found you he became so, so much happier. He's so happy when he's with you. All we hear when you go home is Blaine this, and Blaine that. You make him want to smile and be himself, and that's one of the best gifts anyone can ever give."
Blaine blushed again, because although he felt the same, and was indeed happier than he had ever been when he was around Kurt, he just wasn't used to such acclaim. It gave him a weird sensation in his stomach that he wasn't sure was good or bad. The tears were becoming increasingly difficult to hold in.
"I'll look after Kurt, I promise." He croaked solemnly. "And Burt. I swear I'll always look after both of them."
"Thank you, baby. That makes me feel a lot better." Elizabeth smiled softly, though there was a hint of something else in her eye. Something akin to concern. "But make sure that you let them look after you too, okay? That's very important. In fact, please promise me that you will."
Blaine gulped and the instant he felt a tear push past the boundaries of his eyelid, he squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn't sure that he could promise that. He wasn't convinced that anyone could look after or protect him. In order for that to happen he would have to actually tell them about what his father did to him; about the belt and the cigarette burns and being locked in his room for long periods of time. And then, what if his father discovered he had told? His father was an angry, impregnable force not to be reckoned with. Blaine was anxious that he would hurt not only him in the backlash, but Kurt and his family too. He couldn't and wouldn't let that happen. Blaine scrunched up his face and released a shuddery breath, unsure how to deal with such a dilemma. He so desperately wanted to promise Elizabeth that he would accept help, but that would mean potentially endangering Kurt and Burt.
"Blaine?"
He felt Elizabeth's frail yet gentle hands pulling him to her so that his head forehead came to rest against her side. A voice in the back of Blaine's mind urged him to move away because he might be hurting her, but the comfort, the touch felt so good.
"Blaine, what's the matter, sweetie?" He heard her croon, though he still didn't open his eyes. He knew the tears would be visible if he did. He wouldn't cry! He wasn't allowed to cry! Don't cry, he thought frantically to himself!
"I'm not crying." He choked loudly to himself, hoping that a rise in volume might get the message across to his brain.
"What?"
Elizabeth's startled response shocked him into opening his eyes, and he gathered her confused face.
"I'm not crying!" He repeated, his voice crescendoing, and a few of the occupants of other beds turned to stare at him. "I'm not allowed to cry. I know I'm not allowed to cry."
He was saying it more to himself at this point, but Elizabeth, as always, wasn't going to let something go when he was visibly distressed. And he had tried so hard to be strong for her and Kurt and Burt!
"Oh, baby, of course you're allowed to cry. If you're upset, you're always allowed to cry. You've been such a strong, big boy for Kurt recently, and with everything going on at the moment, I think maybe we forget that you're affected by this just as much as he is. But Kurt's not here now. You can cry if you need to. I won't tell him, I promise."
Blaine shook his head stubbornly.
"I'm not allowed to cry." He forced out again, angry with himself when the tears came thick and fast. "I have to look after Kurt… and Burt and you, and I can't do that if I cry."
There was a small pause followed by a soft exhale from Elizabeth, "Blaine, don't take what I said so seriously that you upset yourself, sweetie. I just don't want any of you to feel alone. It's selfish of me, really. But God knows, you're allowed to cry. Whoever told you that you weren't?"
Blaine didn't want to reply, but the silence was damning. While Elizabeth's body was slowly breaking, her mind was still as astute as ever, and it only took a few seconds for realisation to dawn.
"Oh, baby." She whispered, squeezing him to her gently. "Did your father tell you that?"
Blaine swallowed back the bitter taste in his mouth, and after a moment's hesitation, nodded. Surely it was safe to reveal that much? He would be receiving a painful belting that night when he got home anyway, for escaping during a punishment. He might as well risk telling her that smidgeon of information.
"He… he says that strong men don't cry. And… and I need to be strong to look after everybody… I need to be. So I have to do what he says: don't cry… just don't cry…"
Don't cry.
Don't cry.
Blaine tossed and turned under his huge cream comforter, repeating the words over and over in his head, intent on resaying them until his emotions took notice. But it was difficult when he could hear Kurt in the room next door, sobbing his heart out into his pillow. His best friend released an audible hiccough, pausing in his tears for only a split second before they returned, louder and more forceful than ever. Blaine clamped his eyes shut and willed his own tears away with every bit of self-control he had.
"Don't cry." He whispered to himself vehemently. "Don't cry. Please don't cry."
He wasn't even sure who he was talking to anymore – himself or Kurt. Perhaps it was both. But then again, Kurt had actually earned the right to cry. After all, it was his father lying comatose in a hospital bed. Blaine didn't deserve to cry at all – not when this was all his fault. Not when he had broken his promise to Elizabeth, not once, but twice now.
He hadn't meant to. No, he absolutely treasured Kurt and Burt and had sworn to himself to look after them long before Elizabeth even thought to ask. He had made that promise to himself the day Kurt broke down because Elizabeth had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Except that made it ten times worse when he failed to keep it, because then not only did he let Elizabeth, Kurt and Burt down, but he also let himself down, proving once more that he was just a 'useless, good-for-nothing-faggot' like his father claimed. Blaine wouldn't blame Kurt if he never wanted to see him again after tonight. To have let him down once by leaving him all alone in Lima was appalling, but to have practically killed his father, that… that was unforgivable.
During his first few weeks in the Hudmel household, when he had still been feverish with exhaustion and haunted by the immediate aftermath of… of the attack, Kurt had held him each night, consoling and hushing him with kind but incorrect promises that what had happened to him wasn't his fault. When Carole had discovered that he had wet the bed that time, she too had rejected the idea that Blaine was at fault, and the time he passed out after meeting Finn – Kurt again assured him that he wasn't to blame. This family kept refuting his apologies; denying that he was to blame for things, but Blaine couldn't possibly see how they could disagree this time. This time it really was all his fault.
The fifteen-year-old barely registered the moment his body finally surrendered and started shaking with suppressed sobs. All he could think about was how Doctor Ellis had pretty much proved Blaine's role in signing Burt's death warrant. Stress induced, he had said. Many heart attacks could be triggered by significant stress, and Blaine knew that his return to Lima had brought nothing but stress, pain and expense to the Hummel-Hudson clan.
Kurt and Burt in particular had gone out of their way to make him feel welcome; to heal and help him return to normal, despite the fact that he didn't even know who the normal Blaine was anymore. Was he the cheeky, vibrant kid who used to dedicate his time to cheering Kurt up, or was that just a front? Was he the quiet, trampled, downtrodden freshman who had entered a high school of a thousand and twenty two, only to leave on his first day with what felt like a thousand and twenty one enemies? He didn't know who he was supposed to be anymore, and he had seen how much stress that put on Burt; how much the broken Blaine upset him. That was why in recent days he had tried to conceal his crying (he couldn't seem to stop, but he could hide it). But his attempts had come too late. He had stressed Burt out to the point of a heart attack!
Blaine might have had a chance at redeeming the damage he had done, but he had been too late in calling for help after Burt's collapse. The dear man must have been laying there for at least a couple of minutes, whilst all Blaine did was faff and panic so that by the time the woman on the phone instructed him in how to perform CPR, it was already too late. Blaine was so, so lucky that the EMTs arrived when they did, otherwise Burt would probably have died there and then. Blaine actually thought he had. It hadn't been until a vaguely familiar blonde-haired nurse sat him down in the waiting room, informing him that one of the best cardiologists in the state was working on Burt, that he realised that the mechanic was still fighting for life.
Yet Blaine had assessed from Doctor Ellis's grave expression that there was little hope of Burt pulling through this. He was comatose in a hospital bed because of Blaine, and he was probably going to die because of Blaine. Kurt would lose his father and become an orphan, Carole would lose her fiancé, and Blaine would lose the adult who he loved most in the world. And it was all his doing!
Blaine rolled over, planting his face within the depths of his pillow in a bid to stifle the sounds of his slowly crescendoing sobs. However, seconds later, he gagged painfully as he felt a huge twinge sparking up in his healing arm, and he realised that he had accidentally lain down on top of it. Sniffling and easing it out from under him, a difficult task to perform when the arm was so heavy with the weight of the still very existent cast, Blaine carefully rested it on top of the comforter. It was a phantom pain that he couldn't recall feeling in weeks. Carole had ordered him to rest it and refrain from moving it as much as possible, and consequently he had felt little but the heaviness of the arm. The vigorous movements involved in CPR certainly didn't comply with Carole's prescription, but the sheer panic-fuelled adrenaline coursing through him at the time, meant that he hadn't even felt the slightest pain. Now, hours later, all he felt was a dull ache, heightened momentarily to a flicker of agony by rolling onto his arm. However, Blaine couldn't help but briefly welcome the pain. He deserved it. He deserved it because he always ended up killing those who tried to love him – first his mother, and now Burt.
Blaine had no doubt in his mind that had he not escaped; had he stayed within his father's grasps, he would have died that night. The air had been completely expelled from his body. He had been inches away from choking, and one reflex in a fit of panic had allowed him to cheat death and run. But what if… what if he was supposed to die that night? What if in penance for his actions, some above Godly presence was sentencing Burt to death instead of him?
One thing was for certain, Blaine may have narrowly avoided death that night, but in returning to Lima, he had inadvertently hurt Burt… may yet even have killed him! And he didn't mean to! He really, really didn't. He would rather have died in that dingy, box room in San Francisco than accidentally bring about Burt's demise! The mechanic was a good man; the best man he knew. He didn't deserve to die. Not now, not ever!
The day after his mother's funeral, whilst Blaine was sprawled on the ground, sore and bloody in retribution for the incident with Elizabeth at the wake, his father had gleefully told him all about death. Or at least – that was the first time. There had been many, many times since that Jonathan had reiterated his views on death during his maledictions of Blaine and his future.
According to him, there was Heaven and Hell for the soul and as his father constantly taunted, Blaine was almost certainly destined for the latter. However, the body was either burnt to ashes, or buried under metres of shovelled earth; left to decompose and disfigure, and be eaten alive by insects. And Blaine couldn't bear the thought of that happening to Burt. It was dark and cold outside – he had learnt that on the streets. But how much colder and darker and scarier would it be, being abandoned down there in the rotten earth? Burt had been the first kind face he recognised when he came around in the hospital; he could still feel the ghost of his embrace, rocking him and consoling him with promises that it was okay to cry (just like Elizabeth did all those years ago). It hurt to think that those arms would never hug him again. Or Kurt, especially. Kurt needed him. It would surely break Kurt to have both of his parents buried in the horrible cold ground. And it would break Blaine too.
Using his good hand, he brought his pillow up to smother his face, blocking out the sounds of Kurt's wracking sobs. It also served as an implement to further muffle his own weeping, which was growing progressively louder with each frenzied thought. The pillow didn't drown out the sounds from the next room entirely though, and as Kurt choked on yet another cry, Blaine itched to comfort him in some way. Without Burt there, he knew it was his responsibility to look after Kurt. But he wasn't sure if he would be welcome.
After a traumatic ride home, chauffeured by Finn as he was the only one with his mind clear enough to drive, they were back at the Hudmel house. And without Burt, it all felt so, so wrong.
It had been a nightmare parting from the hospital, as poor Kurt had refused point blank to leave his dad, even when Ellis had eventually returned after ten long hours to inform them that visiting hours were long since over. A loud argument had thus ensued, during which Kurt had demanded an explanation as to why they were being turfed out when he and Burt had been allowed to stay with Blaine the day he was brought in. Meanwhile, Blaine was once more reminded of his horribly rude and overly-dependent behaviour that night, and had looked away in shame.
Ellis had been quick to insist that that the circumstances were completely different – Blaine hadn't been in a critical condition in the ICU, and he was also a minor, permitting some sort of familial presence. Kurt had battled and battled with not only Ellis but several nurses as well, all of whom told him to go home and rest because there was nothing he could really do at this stage – it was Burt's battle. Kurt eventually even tried bargaining with them, stating that he would stay in the waiting room all night; he just couldn't leave his dad alone whilst his life was hanging precariously in the balance. In the end, Carole used the 'what-would-Burt-say' card, telling him, probably correctly, that Burt would want him to return home and gain some sleep, or at least, a fairly rested body. Kurt had eventually submitted, though extremely reluctantly, and with the declaration that he would be back first thing in the morning.
He cold-shouldered more or less everybody from that point forward. Everybody except Blaine. And Blaine just couldn't work out why, especially as he had barely been able to communicate with Kurt since his devastated entrance in the waiting room. Also, he hadn't even had the courage to be able to look at Burt when it was his and Finn's turn to sit with him. The heart monitor terrified him; a frightful reminder of what he had done and what could potentially happen, and so he had spent more or less a full hour staring intensely at the foot of the bed.
When Carole suggested tiredly that both Kurt and Finn should attend school as normal tomorrow because Burt wouldn't want them to lose out on their studies – Kurt in particular, as he had already missed so much school, said teenager had launched into yet another tirade. The sheer ferocity of it alarmed Blaine (though he tried not to show it) because he had never seen Kurt so angry before. Back when they were younger, Kurt had always been soft-spoken… vulnerable… tearful when afflicted. Now… well… now he seemed to be quite irate. However the same stunning, fiery passion was still present in those beautiful blue eyes; that had never changed.
Ultimately, Kurt bartered that he would go to the latter half of school, as long as he could spend the morning sitting with Burt. Carole accepted these terms, figuring that it was the best she was going to get, especially as she understood the boy's desperation to be by Burt's side at all times in the event of any change – good or bad. She also asked Blaine to accompany Kurt in the morning, so that he could sit with Burt during the day. Her shifts apparently not disappearing just because her fiancé was in the hospital, Carole promised to check on both of them during her breaks. Blaine agreed immediately, willing to do anything to make things just that little bit easier on them; to at least attempt to make up for what he had done. Poor Carole looked to be at the end of her tether, even though she exuded strength and stability, and like a mother hen, bustled to and fro when they got back, ensuring that all coats and bags were put away tidily.
It was mutually decided that no one had any appetite for dinner, except Finn, who had already eaten at the hospital. Blaine himself felt nauseous at the mere thought of food. Thus, everybody had headed straight to their respective rooms, Kurt at the front of the queue. It was made clear that he was in no mood to speak to anyone. He had slammed the door pretty viciously, and from the squeak of protesting springs Blaine heard from outside whilst contemplating whether or not to do something… anything – perhaps knock, or enter and comfort him – the older boy had thrown himself head first onto the bed to cry.
Everything seemed chaotic and misplaced without Burt; a vast empty canyon in desperate need of being filled. Carole didn't seem to know what to do with herself after she had finished tidying, showering and brushing her teeth. So after a gentle goodnight to each teenager, she shut herself in her bedroom – hers and Burt's joint bedroom. Finn silently did the same, leaving Blaine alone to hover on the landing outside Kurt's door, anguishing over his best friend's cries. Eventually realising that his presence wasn't wanted, Blaine had entered his own designated room.
So now he lay in the enormous bed, curled into a tight ball; trying to eradicate his tears, as he had done nine years ago in the hospital with Elizabeth. Just the previous night, he had been frantic with nerves over going to work with Burt; worried about how angry the man might get with him if he put a foot out of line, or said or did something wrong. There had also been the nagging fright over passing the place where the… the attack happened. He had been selfishly vulnerable, allowing Kurt and everybody else to try and console him, not knowing that the reality of the day would be much worse. That Blaine would end up doing something more awful than he could ever have imagined.
The most he could do was try and restore that old defensive, mask. That was, if he even still had it in him. He knew he was a shell of his former self; he barely even clung to any hope anymore – and the faint glimmers of light were shrinking ever smaller at the thought of a world without Burt. But he would try. He would always try for Kurt, and Kurt needed that Blaine. Broken Blaine was the one who had caused all this damage, so that person would have to disappear (at least on the exterior) and revert to old, comforting, confident Blaine, even if he felt like he was slowly crumbling inside. He and his problems weren't important. Kurt was.
He had been so wrapped up in tormenting thoughts that he didn't hear the crying from next door stop. In fact, it was only as he felt the tears finally dwindle that he became conscious of the sniffs coming from outside his door; the creak of the corridor underfoot. Somebody was outside his room. Even though rationally he knew that nothing could probably physically hurt him in the sanctuary of the Hudmel home, every sinew of his body became instantly wrought and tense, his breathing quickening at an alarming rate. Blaine swallowed, grainy, terrifying images assaulting his memory one after the other like a playback reel in an old black and white movie theatre. He had experienced these moments all too often; knew what could happen all too well. But it couldn't be. Not here. It couldn't be.
"Blaine?"
Blaine practically gasped in relief when the sound of a high, angelic voice drifted through the door. The remainder of his tears streaked quickly down his cheeks, falling onto the bedclothes to create dark, spotted little patterns. Thankfully, they weren't visible in the darkness of the room. A knock and another sniff sounded before Blaine came to his senses and hastily tried to remove all evidence of the offending tears.
"Blaine, are… are you awake?"
Kurt's voice was rough, almost strangled with the effort of keeping his own tears at bay. Blaine's heart broke all over again for his best friend.
"Yes." He whispered back.
There was a fleeting moment of hesitation before the door opened. Light flooded in, and Blaine might have glanced away from the sudden stark brightness if it weren't for the red-eyed, utterly miserable boy standing there. But he felt that if he even blinked, Kurt would lose his courage; change his mind and return to his own room to cry it out alone. And Blaine wouldn't let him down like that. He maintained eye contact.
Kurt hovered uncertainly in the doorway, looking so much younger than he had the last few weeks, or even when he was passionately arguing with Carole, earlier. In fact, he reminded Blaine of elementary school Kurt, who craved Blaine's reassurances when he was distressed. That made it slightly easier to give him a small smile, even though smiling wasn't something Blaine found easy in recent years.
"Blaine," Kurt swallowed hoarsely, running a hand self-consciously through his mussed-up hair. "Can I… would it be… o-okay to… could I-?"
The older boy's eyes strayed shyly to the bedclothes, and Blaine immediately understood what his friend needed.
Had it been anyone else, he would have been terrified. Perhaps there wouldn't have been any point in refusing because nobody ever listened to his pleas, but he would have at least known that he didn't want to… that he wasn't comfortable sharing a bed with anyone else. But this was Kurt – he wouldn't hurt him. They had done this countless times when they were younger, and Kurt had held him repeatedly to help soothe the nightmares away when he was first brought back from the hospital. It was the very least he could do.
Blaine nodded silently, drawing back the covers and holding them open to invite Kurt to join him. It took Kurt barely two seconds to shut the door behind him, scuttle over, and crawl under the covers next to him. Kurt instantly found Blaine's hand in the darkness and burrowed his head into the younger boy's shoulder.
"Thank you." Kurt choked out.
They lay there in silence for another few seconds, before Blaine felt a wetness seeping into his pyjama-clad shoulder, and he recognised the familiar tremble of Kurt's body. Slowly, though with the realisation that some habits didn't die easily, because the knowledge of what to do once again came quite easily, Blaine rolled inwards towards his best friend and drew both arms around him. He used his good hand to stroke up and down Kurt's quivering back, and in response, the older boy moulded himself into Blaine's side. This time the silence was filled with the sound of Kurt's resumed weeping, and Blaine had to clench his teeth in a valiant effort to prevent his own emotions from getting the better of him again. They couldn't both cry. If Kurt was upset, Blaine had to balance things out by being strong. So he schooled his face to the only mask he could convey well right now – impassiveness.
"What a-am I going t-t-to d-do, Blaine?" Kurt cried aloud after a while. "He's my d-d-daddy. He's… I c-can't lose him too. I c-can't."
Blaine's heart ached for his best friend, but at the same time, he had to swallow down the bile that suddenly rose to his throat. This was all his doing. He had hurt Burt. He had put Burt's life in jeopardy. He had ended up upsetting Kurt.
Blaine couldn't even think of any words that could comfort his friend. What could he possibly say?
"I know." He whispered, in the end.
"But he's going to fight." Kurt declared in a slightly stronger voice. The phrase sounded well-rehearsed, as if the teen had been repeating this point to himself, on loop in his head. "He's going to fight, I know he is. When he found out about the bullying… after… after you left… he told me time and time again that… that… that the Hummels' aren't quitters. And I know… I just know that he won't quit. Not without a fight."
Blaine nodded without even realising. Regardless of how the heart attack was caused, it was the outcome that was important. And if Blaine knew anything about the wonderful Burt Hummel, it was that he was fiercely loyal and that he loved his son with all his heart. He wouldn't leave Kurt alone without a fight. At least, Blaine prayed he wouldn't.
"He'll fight for you, Kurt." Blaine said quietly. "I know he will. I… I don't know a lot of things… but I do know that Burt loves you and… and I… I think he'll fight to… to r-recover a-and come back to you if he can."
Kurt sniffed and exhaled shakily, nodding into Blaine's shoulder. They lay there for long minutes, Kurt's cries slowly allaying into soft little whimpers. With a quiet hiccough, Kurt slowly lifted his upper body up from the mattress, and balancing his weight on his elbow, he studied Blaine. Apprehensive over Kurt's piercing gaze, Blaine felt his arms fall limp by his sides, and he tensed, dropping his eyes to the comforter. Even though it was pitch black and all either of them could see were the vague outlines of each other, Blaine felt as if Kurt could see into his very soul; analyse every horrible memory, every fractured piece of courage – every shard of guilt he carried around with him. He permitted himself to release a small shaky breath, just to force himself to breathe again. People staring at him frightened him; had done for some time.
He felt Kurt raise a soft hand to cup his cheek, and Blaine closed his eyes at the touch. This was all horribly, horribly familiar.
"Your cheek's damp." Kurt murmured, effectively drawing Blaine back to the present; back to the realisation that this was just Kurt, beautiful Kurt. This wasn't San Francisco. "Have you been crying too?"
Blaine didn't want to admit to such a thing, but he had never, ever been able to lie to Kurt. For almost three years he was able to hide from him what went on behind closed doors at his father's house, but then Kurt hadn't asked him an outright question about it – so he hadn't had to lie. Blaine nodded.
"I'm sorry." Kurt whispered suddenly, moulding himself back to the younger boy's side and enfolding him in his arms tightly. The fifteen-year-old reciprocated the embrace. "I'm so sorry. I've been so selfish these last few hours."
Blaine frowned, unable to comprehend the comment for a moment. No, that wasn't right. That just wasn't right. Blaine was the selfish one. Kurt was still kind and compassionate and unafraid to show his fears and… and he was just Kurt.
"No, you've not." Blaine answered softly, though with as much force as he could muster. "No, Kurt, you're not selfish. You're the… you're the most… p-perfect…" He blushed and looked away. "You're the least selfish person I know."
Kurt snorted.
"I've been crying into your shoulder on and off for the last… like… eleven hours, without even checking to see how you're feeling… and you're still… you're still hurting from everything else… to see… on top of all that…" Blaine wasn't quite aware of when he had opened his eyes, but he must have because he was able to close them again briefly. "You were there in the shop with him. You… you watched him collapse."
"And he's your dad." Blaine tried desperately to get his point across. He couldn't bear to hear Kurt putting himself second to Blaine. Blaine didn't matter. Why did nobody else here seem to believe that when that fact was beaten into him several times a day back in San Francisco? "Kurt, he's your dad. You have… e-every right to b-be upset."
"So do you!" Kurt replied vehemently, and Blaine couldn't help but flinch at the ferocity in his voice; the same passion he had had when arguing with Carole about school. "You're just as much a part of this family as I am." Blaine swallowed and shook his head, not daring to believe such a thing. "You're perfectly justified in crying – you watched him have a heart attack, for goodness sakes."
Throughout his speech, Kurt became more and more worked up until tears were sparkling in his beautiful eyes again. The little droplets were so clear even in the darkness and Blaine wanted to reach up and wipe them away, hating that whatever he did, he always seemed to end up hurting the person he loved most.
"I… I owe you everything." Kurt squeaked suddenly.
"No." Blaine whispered miserably. This wasn't right. It just wasn't. He didn't deserve this kindness… this undeserved praise. "Kurt, I'm the one who owes you everything… you and Burt… and Carole, and Finn-"
"I owe you my dad's life."
Blaine wanted to start crying again as well, but he had made that promise to himself. Why was everyone saying that he had saved Burt's life? Why were they ignoring what he had done… or how slow he had been to call for help? It didn't make sense.
"When you and Finn were sitting with dad, Carole told me what you did when he collapsed. You called the ambulance. And you did CPR to keep him alive until the EMTs got there." Kurt snuggled deeper into Blaine's shoulder, oblivious to Blaine's distress. "You probably saved my dad's life, Blaine. He wouldn't have even made it to the hospital if it wasn't for you."
Blaine shook his head. He wouldn't have even been in the hospital it if it wasn't for me, the younger boy thought. But he didn't even have the courage to say that aloud to Kurt. So instead he whispered in as sturdy a voice as he could manage:
"I was too slow. I p-panicked. I was too late calling for help."
"No you weren't." Kurt sniffed. "Don't even try to deny this one, Blaine Anderson. You're a hero. And you're... you're the best friend anyone could ever ask for."
A single tear broke free despite Blaine's resolve, and he was thankful and Kurt has burrowed so far into his shoulder that he couldn't possibly notice.
"Thank you." Kurt murmured against him. The sound of the boy's angelic voice reverberated through Blaine's body.
He took a deep breath.
"It's… it's okay."
But it wasn't okay. Not really. Apart from the feel of Kurt in his arms, things weren't okay. He was being forced to take credit for an achievement that wasn't his. Doctor Ellis had saved Burt, not Blaine.
There was more silence. Blaine had just about concluded that Kurt had finally drifted off, when his companion spoke again.
"You held me like this the night my mom found out she had cancer."
Blaine nodded, "I remember." He whispered, those memories all too clear.
"And the night she died." Kurt continued reflectively. "Dad was too distraught to know what to do with himself when we got back from the hospital. He didn't even tell you to go home. He just sat there on the couch, staring at… nothing, and when I asked if he was going to tuck me in like he usually did… I think even though I was… devastated… I still wanted at least some degree of normalcy, but… he didn't respond."
Blaine nodded again. That had been the first moment when Blaine had actually been able to fully see the truth in Elizabeth's words from that morning in the hospital. He hadn't seen an omniscient, well-put-together adult, but a newly grieving widow, frightened of the reality of existing and parenting without the woman he adored.
"So you took my hand, led me upstairs, and made me get ready for bed, because we both knew that if my mom was there she would have had both our heads for sleeping in our clothes, and not brushing our teeth." He released a small, humourless watery chuckle and glanced down. "Which is exactly what I'm doing now, and… and I don't even care how gross it is. Not tonight."
The younger boy tried to produce a small smile. His younger self might even have playfully chastised his friend, but he couldn't. Not now, and certainly not tonight.
"And then you tried to tuck me in like mom and dad did." Blaine flushed ashamedly at the memory of the seven year old him fumbling through the nightly routine without really knowing what he was doing, or how to deal himself with the fact that Elizabeth wasn't ever coming back. "But I grabbed on to you and refused to let go, so in the end you held me as I cried myself to sleep." Kurt snorted tearfully. "And again, that's kind of what we're doing now. It's like history repeating itself, only this time it's my dad at death's door."
"Kurt," Blaine murmured heartbrokenly. "Please, please don't think like that." Only fleetingly did he admit to himself that he was being extremely hypocritical in denying Kurt the right to have morose thoughts when he himself was full to the brim with them. "You were right when you said that Burt's not a quitter. We both know he's not. He'll fight. He will."
"I know he will. I just… I just…" Kurt stuttered, and within seconds he was weeping again. Blaine's hold around him tightened, and before he even became aware of what he was doing, he had pressed a tender kiss to the older boy's hand in the blind hope of consoling him. "God, I'm s-sorry for c-c-crying all over you when y-you're… you're hurting t-t-too." He blubbered.
Blaine didn't even think about what he said next; didn't even see the continued hypocrisy, bearing in mind he had been trying for the last few hours to hide his own tears. He didn't make the connection between his father's jeers about real men not crying, and the sobbing boy beside him. Instead, he simply channelled what he knew the two adults he looked up to would have said. They were the same words both had said to him at one time or another: Burt, when he woke up in the hospital five weeks ago, and Elizabeth that morning, eight days before she died.
"Please don't apologise. You're allowed to cry. You're always allowed to cry. I won't ever think badly of you for that."
Kurt gave the briefest of nods, before tucking his face into the crook of Blaine's neck and nestling against him for another extended bout of silence.
"Don't you leave me." The older boy begged tiredly, his damp eyelashes fanning Blaine's skin as his eyes finally fluttered closed in exhaustion. "Please, don't you ever leave me."
Blaine swallowed. He had broken that promise before. But he hadn't meant to, and unless the Hudmels' sent him away now, he knew that he never wanted to leave Kurt again.
"I… I won't." He murmured back, wanting to believe in that declaration more than anything. "I'll stay for… for as long as you want me."
No more was said after that, and only a short time later, Blaine heard familiar deep, rhythmic breathing emanating from his friend, indicating that he had finally succumbed to a fitful sleep. However, though Blaine was so fatigued he felt like he could nap for a week, he didn't allow himself the luxury of sleep. He knew that the nightmares would return in bulk; probably worse than ever after the day's events, and that was the last thing he wanted Kurt to witness when he was in such a state. So instead, he cradled the older boy in his arms and acting on his own words to Kurt, finally allowed silent tears to fall.
So Blaine is quite repetitive in berating himself over what happened with Burt in this chapter. He's still confused and frightened, and genuinely feels as if he's responsible, because he's been solely indoctrinated into believing he's to blame for every little thing, for six long years. However, he also wants to be strong; someone Kurt can depend on. Kurt, though he may seem a little too dependent, is tired, scared and emotional - he wants to continue to be there for Blaine, but at the same time, he's latching onto the key person who consoled him through his mother's illness. Things are mounting up for both teenagers, and in subsequent chapters will lead to changes, drama and confessions for both.
I know this is quite a long, angst-ridden story, but I hope people still want to stick with it. It won't always be monotonous in its angst; there will be some elements of fluff in the future. But for now, things are just really bad for these characters, and they're trying to muddle through. I'll try and get the next chapter up within at least two weeks again. Until then, please review and let me know your thoughts on the chapter, or even the story in general. All the best xx