Waiting for a Happy Ending - Part One A
Title: Waiting for a Happy Ending
Author: firefly_ca
Pairing,Character(s): Kurt/Blaine, with appearances by Stevie and the Evans family, the Andersons (OCs until Ryan responds the demands of the fanbase and casts a hybrid mutant John Barrowman/Robert Downey Junior as Blaine's father), and large swaths of Glee clubbers (New Directions and Warblers)
Rating: NC-17 for disturbing themes, scenes, etc.
Word Count: TBD - Part One is about 16K
Spoilers: All of S2, a few of the trickier elements of S3 (Blaine's grade/age discrepencies, I'm looking at you)
Summary: AU. Blaine Anderson lived under another name for almost nine years with an abusive man he was forced to pretend was his father. He always thought his own family had given up on him, but now that he's found out the majority of his life was spent believing a lie, he has to try to reconcile the life he had with the life that was taken away from him. Sequel to Looking for a Happy Ending
Note: Huge thanks to my betas LoonyLevicorpus and fingerstowords for taking the fic and trying to help me avoid stupid typos and things that make no sense this time around. Any mistakes you find are all from last-minute edits I made before I posted. Because sometimes I can't leave good enough alone.
AN: Police Process, you guys. I don't know what it is or how it works. So anything that Detective Warren says that is along the lines of "Respect my knowledge because I am a trained professional and I fight crime every day" is pure bullshit. I have no idea if any of it is accurate or not. Sorry in advance if it pulls anyone out of the story when she says or does something and you're like, "Hey, that's not how it worked when I was placed in a convent under Witness Protection after that one time I saw my mobster boyfriend murder an associate in Reno had my house broken into."
Some Day
For most people it would be strange to walk into a room knowing that everyone knows your life story. Everyone knows about Blaine Anderson, even though he usually wishes they didn't. He's married to someone who's quickly becoming a fashion icon - a moderately successful Broadway actor who's somehow become better known for what he wears leaving the theatre at the end of the night than the performance he puts on inside. Blaine's never seen so many style blogs pay so much attention to a man before, especially because they genuinely seem to like a lot of what Kurt ends up wearing. It's gotten him so much free publicity he's started to land bigger roles, and has even been approached to audition for TV shows, once it was established that he wasn't popular because he was one of those Train Wreck celebrities. Blaine still hasn't worked out how that ended up coming about, but he supposes all the friends in high places don't hurt. Kurt's biggest fans have always had a lot of influence. Kurt Hummel is an inspiration to kids who feel like they don't fit. When the world said it didn't have a place for him, Kurt made his own. Lately the media seems to have latched onto the idea that Kurt is some sort of living embodiment of the Gay American Dream: work hard, dream big, love glitter, and you can achieve anything.
People do not think this about Blaine Anderson. For Blaine they reserve looks of slightly uncomfortable acceptance and hushed reverence as they speak with him and try not to ask about decades old news stories they heard growing up. They don't see him as a successful adult with a passion for children's rights and an advocate for the adoption of "problem" children; to them he's still a little boy whose face still shows up in undying email forwards, that pray for the safe return of missing children years after the searches have stopped. Sometimes he feels like giving up and not going to any more fundraisers to make speeches about kids in need only to spend the evenings being whispered about behind napkins while he pretends not to hear:
"Oh my God, this must be so hard for him. He's so brave."
"I remember once when I ran off in a mall and my mother spent the next 2 weeks telling me I would become the next Blaine Anderson if I didn't stay in her line of sight at all times."
"You've heard about how he met his husband right? You have to wonder...obviously they're in love and I'm happy for them, but...how healthy do you think a relationship can be when it began in the middle of something like that?"
"Do you think he's really even gay? I know that's a terrible thing to say, but how can you not ask? Maybe it's just easier to pretend."
On some level, Blaine knows that the whispers that refuse to die are partially his fault. He married someone in the spotlight, and he doesn't shy away from it himself. He likes feeling like he's making a difference and helping others, so he willingly offers his name to things that need to be noticed. But sometimes he wishes helping others didn't keep him locked in the past as much as it does.
Sometimes he wishes he was more than just the seven-year-old who vanished, more than just the 16-year-old who came back. For as much as people like to speculate and horrify themselves thinking about those 9 years, Blaine wishes a few more understood that he's more than a sequence of events discussed in hushed voices so that small ears can't hear, and a childish face on the evening news.
Blaine Anderson is not a victim. Blaine Anderson is not a hero. Blaine Anderson is not a sociopath doing whatever it takes to keep his name in lights, a surprisingly popular theory.
"Blaine is Blaine," Kurt shrugs once when an interviewer asks yet again about how the relationship works. "I accept him for who he is and not the person people talk about. He does the same for me. It's working out well for us."
Blaine Anderson is more than his circumstances. His life didn't stop when he ran away from Tom Brenner, that's when it started.
***
For Now
The first few days with his parents are confusing, disorienting, and completely terrifying. There are several times Blaine catches himself wishing that he had run away when he had the chance. He'd been expecting things to be hard, but he hadn't expected it to be painful as well. And it is painful talking to his parents, and trying to understand them and be close to them. He loves his mom and dad, and even though he's not used to the idea, he can tell that they certainly love him too, but somehow all that does is make everything more painful and confusing, even before they leave the hospital.
It shouldn't have been that big of a deal, but when Detective Carter pokes her head inside Blaine's room not long after his parents arrive and says that Stevie wants to say goodbye before he leaves to go back home, it doesn't take long for Blaine to realize why it was a mistake to let the Andersons find him. Stevie comes tearing into the room and carefully climbs up on the bed next to Blaine. His hands are wrapped with gauze and he has Horton stuffed underneath an arm.
"My mom and dad said you can't live with us because your mom and dad want you back too much to share with anyone else," Stevie says, talking like there's no one else in the room at all. Mr. and Mrs. Evans trail in after him, awkwardly introducing themselves to Blaine's parents. Their words are muffled over the sound of Stevie's chatter.
"We really wanted to thank you in person for everything you did," Mrs. Evans says, when she glances over to see Blaine watching them out of the corner of his eye. "I know you were already talking to Sam earlier but we needed to say it, too. Thank you so much for getting Stevie away from that man."
Blaine shrugs, feeling his face go bright red. He really wishes they didn't feel the need to mention where they've been all this time in front of his parents. It's not that he thinks his mom and dad don't know where he was and what was happening to him, but he really doesn't want to be anywhere near them when people are talking about it.
"Are those your parents?" Stevie asks, staring hard at his mother and father. Blaine confirms this.
"Are you sure you need him?" he asks them. "Because you've never had a teenager before but my mom and dad have one just like him. They already know what to do."
"Stevie!" Mr. Evans snorts, a little embarrassed but mostly just amused. "He's not a hamster, it doesn't work that way, you know that."
Stevie pouts a little, obviously annoyed at the way things are turning out before he tries again. At this rate Blaine would not be surprised to see him grow up to become a used car salesman.
"Do you want a trade?" he asks. "My sister Stacy is 6, she's not here right now because Sam's friend Quinn is looking after her until we get back to Ohio, but she's a good enough sister. You'd probably like her."
This gets him another rebuke from his parents and Blaine is trying not to laugh until his mother smiles sweetly at Stevie and answers,
"Thank you very much for your offer Steven, but don't you think you would miss her? Besides, you may not believe me, but a six-year-old sister is a very good thing to have. Blaine already has one, so we couldn't take away yours."
"What?" Blaine says, very quietly. He feels like someone has punched him.
His mom looks at him and smiles a little nervously as she reaches out to hold his hand.
"We wanted to tell you as soon as possible," she says. "So you had time to get used to the idea? Her name is Cynthia. We're having a neighbour pick her up from school today, but she's going to be so excited to meet you. She's grown up hearing so many stories about you."
"I have a sister?" Blaine says, still trying to sort out what's being said to him. He doesn't know why this is upsetting to him, but it really, really is. Maybe it's because he never knew she existed but she's already so close to the age he was when he left. Maybe it's because she probably knows more about his life than he does. Maybe it's because he feels unnecessary now, like he's been replaced.
"Sisters aren't as good as brothers," Stevie says, consolingly, like this must be why Blaine looks so unnerved. "But I guess they aren't too bad. For girls."
"Stevie," Mrs. Evans says, glancing at the extremely tense family in the room with them. "I think we should go now. You remember what we talked about, right? You can give each other phone numbers so you can talk when Blaine's feeling a little better, but right now he has a lot of catching up to do with his family, okay? It's time to say goodbye."
Stevie pulls his mother's phone from her bag and fumbles with it with his bandaged hands before making a noise of frustration and handing it back again, "You do it, Mom. My hands are too slow."
He looks at Blaine expectantly and asks,
"What's your phone number?"
"I...I don't know," Blaine says, and he feels lost and disoriented all over again. "I don't remember."
His dad clears his throat a little and tells them the number as Mrs. Evans dutifully adds it to her contact list. Blaine grabs the piece of paper with Kurt's number scrawled across it.
"Da - " he starts before catching himself and correcting, "Tom threw my cell phone at a wall before we left Ohio, but if someone has a pen or something, I can write your number down next to this one."
Mr. Evans pulls a pen from his pocket and crosses the room to hand it to Blaine. Blaine takes it and very pointedly does not look at his parents as he writes down the numbers. He doesn't want to see the looks on their faces right now. The tension eases a little when his mom says, quietly,
"You're not too bad at writing with your other hand. Your grandfather was a little ambidextrous, too."
He's been feeling so displaced around them that just the idea that he's got something to connect him to his family still, after all this time, makes his eyes sting a little.
"Okay Stevie," Mr. Evans says as he takes the pen back from Blaine. "Time to go."
Suddenly Stevie is rising up on the bed and wrapping his arms around Blaine's neck, hugging tightly. It's the first time Stevie's ever willingly let himself get so close when he's not trying to hide away from someone. Blaine relaxes a little as he lets himself hug back. Stevie at least will be alright. It's nice to know that's one thing that doesn't feel completely wrong in this.
Stevie holds out Horton when he pulls away.
"You take him," he says. "He's yours."
"Thanks," Blaine says faintly, setting Horton down on the table next to the phone numbers as he waves goodbye to Stevie and his parents. He wishes they weren't going. It's awkward when they're in here, but at least he doesn't have to wallow in all the ways he's not what his parents wanted to find when there's someone else in the room. For a few minutes after the door closes it's just quiet, but then he notices that his mom isn't holding his hand anymore and he looks up.
She's holding onto one of his dad's hands with both of hers and she's looking at him with so much concern it scares Blaine a little. For a second he wonders if they're going to tell him that they've changed their minds and this won't work, but then his eyes snap to his father when he chokes out,
"You kept that?"
His dad looks the way Blaine felt a few minutes ago when he found out he was a brother, so he follows where his dad is looking and sees Horton. He winces a little, because the more he thinks about it, the more he knows the toy could never have come from his parents it was just one more thing Tom used to keep him in line.
"I..." he starts, faltering a little because it's obvious that for whatever reason just looking at the stupid thing is killing his dad. "I guess Stevie took it when we left, because he thought I wanted it. I always thought it was something you bought for me before he took me away."
His dad looks at him, so startled that somehow Blaine feels like he's the one who should be jumping.
"He used to tell me that you all knew each other," Blaine stammers. "And I can sort of remember asking you for it, and then Tom helping me get it because he said that was what you wanted. Which was obviously the biggest lie and I was really stupid for believing him. I...I don't know. Maybe I should just leave it here."
"No," says his mother, abruptly. "Bring it with you. I was always so scared while you were gone that you were alone in the dark and more scared than I was. I like that you had something that helped you remember your family."
There's another knock on the door and Detective Warren comes back in. Blaine fights back the sudden desire he feels to go live with her if she'll have him. He thinks it would be much easier than any of his other options at the moment.
"Sorry to interrupt," she says. "I just wanted to let you know that we're going to start getting ready for the rest of you to leave as well. We're arranging an alternative route out of the hospital for you. The news has gotten a hold of the story and we don't want to throw you out right into the middle of a swarm of camera crews when you leave."
Blaine hadn't been expecting to be leaving the safety of the hospital so soon. He doesn't think he's ready to leave the distractions of all the people coming in and out, acting as buffers between him and these two people who he doesn't know how to talk to without hurting. He doesn't want to leave Detective Warren, or he wishes he was going back with Mr. Hummel. Anything to get him away from all this. And now he has another problem that he has no idea how to fix without making the pain in his parents' eyes worse.
"Detective Warren?" He asks, forcing the words out. "I really need to talk to you about something."
"What is it?" She asks.
Blaine just looks down, running his hand nervously across his cast.
"I sort of need to talk to you about something," he says.
"I see," she says before calmly addressing his mother and father. "That probably works better anyhow. My partner is waiting outside to explain the most discreet way to get to your car, and to give some contact information for the Westerville police department. They'll need to meet with Blaine at least a couple more times to go over everything that's happened while he's been away."
"You're not going to be the one talking to me?" Blaine asks, fear gripping him so tightly he stops registering the hurt looks on his parents' faces as he tries to push them away. Blaine trusts Detective Warren, he feels like he can handle the questions when she's the one asking them. He doesn't know if he can deal with talking to someone new.
Detective Warren is wearing her professional smile again, like she knows exactly what he's worried about and has prepared herself for this part.
"Your case is complicated, Blaine," she says. "What happened to you occurred over several jurisdictions, not just here. I assure you, we are all fully committed to working together on this to make sure Brenner goes to jail, but there's going to be a lot of officers involved, trying to keep everything straight."
"How many people will interview me?" Blaine asks, weakly.
"I imagine they'll try to keep the number down to one or two officers," she says. "It'll be less confusing that way. Likely it's going to be someone from Westerville, since that's where you live."
She pauses briefly, obviously debating how much she should tell him before continuing.
"I have put in a request that I continue to be your contact point, for the interviews if nothing else, but we're pretty far from your home right now. I don't know if it will be approved."
"But you asked?" Blaine says.
"If they give me the go ahead I would be more than happy to find a nice hotel in Westerville to hole up in for a few days."
"Thank you," Blaine says, looking awkwardly at his parents when he calms down enough to register that they haven't even moved yet. Fortunately Warren is on top of that, too.
"Mr. and Mrs. Anderson?" she says. "My partner is just outside in the hallway if you wanted to speak with him."
They leave reluctantly, like they're afraid Blaine will disappear the second they take their eyes off him. As soon as the door shuts Blaine feels himself wilt. He brings a hand up to his eyes and notices he's started shaking a little again.
"Blaine?" Detective Warren questions. "You alright?"
"Not yet, I don't think," he manages. "Thank you. I needed to ask..."
His throat closes up a little and he has to clear it before he tries again.
"It's Jason and Diane, right?"
Detective Warren looks confused for a second and then horrified when she realizes what he's asking.
"Yeah," Blaine says. "That's why I didn't want them in here when I asked. I mean, I was pretty sure, but then they introduced themselves to the Evanses and I couldn't quite make out what they were saying. I was just scared I was wrong. I never would have been able to look at them again if I screwed it up."
"No," Detective Warren says. "You're right. Jason and Diane Anderson."
"Still think I can do this?" Blaine asks, smiling at her sarcastically.
She refuses to rise to the bait and just looks at him dead serious as she says,
"Of course, but I never said it would be easy."
***
Despite how easily he fell into looking after Stevie when they were locked up in a bedroom together, Blaine doesn't have much experience around kids. He supposes if his little sister were scared or hurt or alone and in trouble, he could probably look after her too, but Cynthia is just a regular, slightly hyperactive kid.
It's getting late in the afternoon when they pull up to a house in a nicer Westerville neighbourhood. Blaine thinks there are parts of the place that seem familiar. He looks at the tree in the front yard and has a brief flash of a memory of climbing around in its branches, but it's a young tree, still growing fast, and the branches he remembers are too high off the ground to clamber onto anymore. The house is impressive - comfortably sized and probably very expensive, Blaine realizes, when he looks at the large, immaculately landscaped yard, sunny bay windows on the main floor, and sliding doors leading out onto a balcony on the second. He looks at it hard from the backseat and tries to remember. Small details leap out at him, flashes of some sort of sense memory as he looks at the balcony and remembers the heat on his back as he played on it in the summer, or the smell of the lawn after his dad had taken out the mower.
"It's the same house, isn't it?" he finally says, sensing his parents watching him. He's been silent for most of the trip, speaking only when they ask him a question and answering in as few words as possible. He's not trying to be rude, he's just in so far over his head he's not sure what he should be saying to these people. He wishes he knew how to talk to them but there just aren't words to articulate the feelings he has inside fighting to make their way out. At one point his mother reaches into the backseat and puts her hand on his knee, squeezing tightly. He hesitantly moves away after a few moments, taking her hand into his own before she can pull away. He feels stupid, but there's something about being able to touch her again, to watch her thumb as it runs up and down the back of his hand, that makes his heart race. It makes everything real, like proof that this is really happening and they aren't another dream.
Now his mother pulls away to point at one of the second-story windows.
"Same house. That's your room right there," she says and then his dad is opening his door and climbing out of the car saying,
"It looks like we've already got company. I'll park later."
Blaine doesn't know what he's talking about at first, but then he notices the door to the house next door hanging open and a couple people looking hesitantly out. A small girl is tearing down the steps and running towards him. Her hair is pulled up into a messy ponytail. It's dark and curly, chaotic like his own. Like their mother's, he realizes, but doesn't have time to think about it before there's a small head peering into the backseat, mouth going a mile a minute, like an over-excitable, yappy miniature poodle.
"Is he here? Is that him? Daddy make him come out so I can see?" she's saying and her voice is tiny and enormous all at once, piercing through Blaine's raw nerves. Blaine thinks he might want to stay in the car until she goes away, in case she tries to attack him or something.
"She's very excited about this," his mother says, semi-apologetically but mostly just fondly. "She's wanted to see you her whole life. For a while there you were almost sacred to her."
"Like Jesus?" Blaine asks absently, still looking at the girl dancing around her father's legs, making no move to get out of the car.
"Sacred to a kid," his mother corrects. "More like Santa or Willy Wonka."
"Is she going to hurt me if I don't have presents or candy?" Blaine asks, forgetting for a moment that he doesn't know her well enough to make fun of her daughter, but she just laughs.
"I doubt it," she says. "I think your appeal is mainly as a brother. Of course, I'm not entirely sure what she thinks brothers can do, so if you can't fly or control things with your mind, she may be disappointed."
Blaine smiles at her, pleasantly surprised at how easily she jokes back, and the look on her face makes him think that she's just as pleased with him, but then his sister starts knocking on the door. Or maybe hammering is a better way of putting it, and as his dad leaps forward to save the car his mother shakes her head in exasperation and says,
"We'd better get out before she's stuck paying auto body bills from her allowance until she goes to college."
Blaine takes a breath and slowly crawls out of the car after his parents. The drive has made him stiff and his sides are aching through the pain medication. The little girl - his sister - is now dancing circles around him as well.
"Are you my brother?" she asks, hopping from one foot to another as she cranes her neck unnecessarily to get a better look at his face. "You're Blaine, right? Why don't you look like your pictures? Is it because you've been gone for 60 years? You're really old, right? Like, you're really older than me, but we're still brother and sister. Why are you so old? What happened to your arm? Did the bad man break it? Mom and Dad always say you got taken away by a bad man and if a bad man ever takes me I need to kick and scream and even bite if I have to, because they don't want the bad men to get me. Did you bite anyone? You should have bit someone. People put you back when there's biting. My cat bites sometimes, too. Do you like cats? I love cats, especially my cat. Her name is Mrs. Frisby and she's the best cat in the world, even if she kicks the litter out of the box sometimes."
Blaine mentally amends his assessment of "slightly hyperactive" to just "hyperactive" as his little sister chatters on, not particularly caring if she hears his answers or not. He feels nervous standing out on the sidewalk like this. From their house, the neighbours Cynthia had been staying with are watching uncertainly, like they don't know if they should come say hello or not. Clearly they're conflicted about what the proper etiquette is in this kind of situation. Even worse is the crawling feeling running along the back of his neck, like there are people watching him just out of eyesight - hiding behind curtains and peeking out from bedroom windows. He feels like he's on display and as much as he wants to go inside and hide, he can't just go into the house without some sort of invitation. It's not his home anymore; it's not his to walk into.
Cynthia breaks the spell when she pulls demandingly on Blaine's good hand and says,
"Do you want to go to the park with me?"
"Right now?" Blaine asks.
"Trevor from school says that his big brother takes him to the park and that's all he's good for," she says. "You don't even do that, and I asked Mom why did I even need a brother if he's not going to take me to the park but she said you would when you came home."
She looks at him pointedly.
"You're here now."
"Blaine's been very sick, sweetie," his dad says, finally deciding Cynthia's not going to be calming down any time soon and stepping in to start deflecting her energy away from Blaine, whose head feels like it's starting to spin trying to keep up with her. "He's very tired and he's very sore."
He looks at Blaine cautiously, like he's seeking out confirmation.
"I think maybe your brother would just like to take the pills the doctor gave him and sleep for a while?"
"Is that okay?" Blaine asks, because slipping off into a drug-induced stupor sounds five different kinds of awesome right now.
"And then the park?" Cynthia asks.
Apparently this is a big deal because when her mother says, "Maybe not right away, Cynthia. Soon," Cynthia's face grows dark and she mutters, "a real brother would take me now."
His mom rolls her eyes and starts to herd Cynthia into the house, gently reaching out to Blaine and pushing on his shoulder blades, urging him to come with them. He wonders if it's creepy that a very large part of him wants her to never stop touching him like that. He remembers that Carole is like this too, always touching Kurt and Finn almost unconsciously, and how even Kurt will relax into her touch after a while. Blaine supposes that maybe it's a mother thing.
Blaine registers the interior of the house in disjointed fragments. There's an entryway and living room, a hallway and a door that for some reason he immediately knows leads to a study. There's a stairway lined with pictures he doesn't bother looking at, and another hallway. Blaine hears the sound of a tap running in the kitchen somewhere beneath him, and then his mother is opening the door to a bedroom. He remembers this space - more than he thought he would. The bed still is one for a small child, a twin mattress and a low frame. Blaine can see the marks in the wood that bear the evidence of a removed guardrail. He wonders if he was still there when it was taken off, if he was prone to falling out of the bed up until the time he was taken.
His mother is talking, saying something in an apologetic voice about how the place is still so child-oriented.
"It didn't feel right to move any of it out without you here," she says. "We can work through it when you're feeling a little better."
"I'm sort of tired," Blaine admits and there's movement in the doorway and his dad is coming in with a glass of water and a pill bottle from the hospital, some clothes tucked under his arm.
"They told us you were in pretty rough shape the last few weeks with him," he seems as reluctant to say Tom's name as Blaine is. No one really wants the idea of him inside the house. "We were expecting that you'd want to sleep it off a little."
He holds out the water and pain medication, opening the bottle and shaking out a pill when he looks again at Blaine's immobile arm. He hands Blaine the clothes with an apologetic expression.
"I don't know if these will fit too well," he admits. "They're some old pyjamas of mine, but they should give you some room to manoeuvre with that cast, and there's not really much else for you to wear. We'll have to go shopping with you as soon as you're up to it."
Blaine smiles weakly at him, feeling like he's joining a marathon five hours after the starting gun, and stands there a little awkwardly before asking where the bathroom is. He's too tired to even feel very guilty about how sad his mother looks as she tells him the way. He's asleep almost as soon as his head touches the pillow.
To Part One B
Author: firefly_ca
Pairing,Character(s): Kurt/Blaine, with appearances by Stevie and the Evans family, the Andersons (OCs until Ryan responds the demands of the fanbase and casts a hybrid mutant John Barrowman/Robert Downey Junior as Blaine's father), and large swaths of Glee clubbers (New Directions and Warblers)
Rating: NC-17 for disturbing themes, scenes, etc.
Word Count: TBD - Part One is about 16K
Spoilers: All of S2, a few of the trickier elements of S3 (Blaine's grade/age discrepencies, I'm looking at you)
Summary: AU. Blaine Anderson lived under another name for almost nine years with an abusive man he was forced to pretend was his father. He always thought his own family had given up on him, but now that he's found out the majority of his life was spent believing a lie, he has to try to reconcile the life he had with the life that was taken away from him. Sequel to Looking for a Happy Ending
Note: Huge thanks to my betas LoonyLevicorpus and fingerstowords for taking the fic and trying to help me avoid stupid typos and things that make no sense this time around. Any mistakes you find are all from last-minute edits I made before I posted. Because sometimes I can't leave good enough alone.
AN: Police Process, you guys. I don't know what it is or how it works. So anything that Detective Warren says that is along the lines of "Respect my knowledge because I am a trained professional and I fight crime every day" is pure bullshit. I have no idea if any of it is accurate or not. Sorry in advance if it pulls anyone out of the story when she says or does something and you're like, "Hey, that's not how it worked when I was placed in a convent under Witness Protection after that one time I saw my mobster boyfriend murder an associate in Reno had my house broken into."
Some Day
For most people it would be strange to walk into a room knowing that everyone knows your life story. Everyone knows about Blaine Anderson, even though he usually wishes they didn't. He's married to someone who's quickly becoming a fashion icon - a moderately successful Broadway actor who's somehow become better known for what he wears leaving the theatre at the end of the night than the performance he puts on inside. Blaine's never seen so many style blogs pay so much attention to a man before, especially because they genuinely seem to like a lot of what Kurt ends up wearing. It's gotten him so much free publicity he's started to land bigger roles, and has even been approached to audition for TV shows, once it was established that he wasn't popular because he was one of those Train Wreck celebrities. Blaine still hasn't worked out how that ended up coming about, but he supposes all the friends in high places don't hurt. Kurt's biggest fans have always had a lot of influence. Kurt Hummel is an inspiration to kids who feel like they don't fit. When the world said it didn't have a place for him, Kurt made his own. Lately the media seems to have latched onto the idea that Kurt is some sort of living embodiment of the Gay American Dream: work hard, dream big, love glitter, and you can achieve anything.
People do not think this about Blaine Anderson. For Blaine they reserve looks of slightly uncomfortable acceptance and hushed reverence as they speak with him and try not to ask about decades old news stories they heard growing up. They don't see him as a successful adult with a passion for children's rights and an advocate for the adoption of "problem" children; to them he's still a little boy whose face still shows up in undying email forwards, that pray for the safe return of missing children years after the searches have stopped. Sometimes he feels like giving up and not going to any more fundraisers to make speeches about kids in need only to spend the evenings being whispered about behind napkins while he pretends not to hear:
"Oh my God, this must be so hard for him. He's so brave."
"I remember once when I ran off in a mall and my mother spent the next 2 weeks telling me I would become the next Blaine Anderson if I didn't stay in her line of sight at all times."
"You've heard about how he met his husband right? You have to wonder...obviously they're in love and I'm happy for them, but...how healthy do you think a relationship can be when it began in the middle of something like that?"
"Do you think he's really even gay? I know that's a terrible thing to say, but how can you not ask? Maybe it's just easier to pretend."
On some level, Blaine knows that the whispers that refuse to die are partially his fault. He married someone in the spotlight, and he doesn't shy away from it himself. He likes feeling like he's making a difference and helping others, so he willingly offers his name to things that need to be noticed. But sometimes he wishes helping others didn't keep him locked in the past as much as it does.
Sometimes he wishes he was more than just the seven-year-old who vanished, more than just the 16-year-old who came back. For as much as people like to speculate and horrify themselves thinking about those 9 years, Blaine wishes a few more understood that he's more than a sequence of events discussed in hushed voices so that small ears can't hear, and a childish face on the evening news.
Blaine Anderson is not a victim. Blaine Anderson is not a hero. Blaine Anderson is not a sociopath doing whatever it takes to keep his name in lights, a surprisingly popular theory.
"Blaine is Blaine," Kurt shrugs once when an interviewer asks yet again about how the relationship works. "I accept him for who he is and not the person people talk about. He does the same for me. It's working out well for us."
Blaine Anderson is more than his circumstances. His life didn't stop when he ran away from Tom Brenner, that's when it started.
***
For Now
The first few days with his parents are confusing, disorienting, and completely terrifying. There are several times Blaine catches himself wishing that he had run away when he had the chance. He'd been expecting things to be hard, but he hadn't expected it to be painful as well. And it is painful talking to his parents, and trying to understand them and be close to them. He loves his mom and dad, and even though he's not used to the idea, he can tell that they certainly love him too, but somehow all that does is make everything more painful and confusing, even before they leave the hospital.
It shouldn't have been that big of a deal, but when Detective Carter pokes her head inside Blaine's room not long after his parents arrive and says that Stevie wants to say goodbye before he leaves to go back home, it doesn't take long for Blaine to realize why it was a mistake to let the Andersons find him. Stevie comes tearing into the room and carefully climbs up on the bed next to Blaine. His hands are wrapped with gauze and he has Horton stuffed underneath an arm.
"My mom and dad said you can't live with us because your mom and dad want you back too much to share with anyone else," Stevie says, talking like there's no one else in the room at all. Mr. and Mrs. Evans trail in after him, awkwardly introducing themselves to Blaine's parents. Their words are muffled over the sound of Stevie's chatter.
"We really wanted to thank you in person for everything you did," Mrs. Evans says, when she glances over to see Blaine watching them out of the corner of his eye. "I know you were already talking to Sam earlier but we needed to say it, too. Thank you so much for getting Stevie away from that man."
Blaine shrugs, feeling his face go bright red. He really wishes they didn't feel the need to mention where they've been all this time in front of his parents. It's not that he thinks his mom and dad don't know where he was and what was happening to him, but he really doesn't want to be anywhere near them when people are talking about it.
"Are those your parents?" Stevie asks, staring hard at his mother and father. Blaine confirms this.
"Are you sure you need him?" he asks them. "Because you've never had a teenager before but my mom and dad have one just like him. They already know what to do."
"Stevie!" Mr. Evans snorts, a little embarrassed but mostly just amused. "He's not a hamster, it doesn't work that way, you know that."
Stevie pouts a little, obviously annoyed at the way things are turning out before he tries again. At this rate Blaine would not be surprised to see him grow up to become a used car salesman.
"Do you want a trade?" he asks. "My sister Stacy is 6, she's not here right now because Sam's friend Quinn is looking after her until we get back to Ohio, but she's a good enough sister. You'd probably like her."
This gets him another rebuke from his parents and Blaine is trying not to laugh until his mother smiles sweetly at Stevie and answers,
"Thank you very much for your offer Steven, but don't you think you would miss her? Besides, you may not believe me, but a six-year-old sister is a very good thing to have. Blaine already has one, so we couldn't take away yours."
"What?" Blaine says, very quietly. He feels like someone has punched him.
His mom looks at him and smiles a little nervously as she reaches out to hold his hand.
"We wanted to tell you as soon as possible," she says. "So you had time to get used to the idea? Her name is Cynthia. We're having a neighbour pick her up from school today, but she's going to be so excited to meet you. She's grown up hearing so many stories about you."
"I have a sister?" Blaine says, still trying to sort out what's being said to him. He doesn't know why this is upsetting to him, but it really, really is. Maybe it's because he never knew she existed but she's already so close to the age he was when he left. Maybe it's because she probably knows more about his life than he does. Maybe it's because he feels unnecessary now, like he's been replaced.
"Sisters aren't as good as brothers," Stevie says, consolingly, like this must be why Blaine looks so unnerved. "But I guess they aren't too bad. For girls."
"Stevie," Mrs. Evans says, glancing at the extremely tense family in the room with them. "I think we should go now. You remember what we talked about, right? You can give each other phone numbers so you can talk when Blaine's feeling a little better, but right now he has a lot of catching up to do with his family, okay? It's time to say goodbye."
Stevie pulls his mother's phone from her bag and fumbles with it with his bandaged hands before making a noise of frustration and handing it back again, "You do it, Mom. My hands are too slow."
He looks at Blaine expectantly and asks,
"What's your phone number?"
"I...I don't know," Blaine says, and he feels lost and disoriented all over again. "I don't remember."
His dad clears his throat a little and tells them the number as Mrs. Evans dutifully adds it to her contact list. Blaine grabs the piece of paper with Kurt's number scrawled across it.
"Da - " he starts before catching himself and correcting, "Tom threw my cell phone at a wall before we left Ohio, but if someone has a pen or something, I can write your number down next to this one."
Mr. Evans pulls a pen from his pocket and crosses the room to hand it to Blaine. Blaine takes it and very pointedly does not look at his parents as he writes down the numbers. He doesn't want to see the looks on their faces right now. The tension eases a little when his mom says, quietly,
"You're not too bad at writing with your other hand. Your grandfather was a little ambidextrous, too."
He's been feeling so displaced around them that just the idea that he's got something to connect him to his family still, after all this time, makes his eyes sting a little.
"Okay Stevie," Mr. Evans says as he takes the pen back from Blaine. "Time to go."
Suddenly Stevie is rising up on the bed and wrapping his arms around Blaine's neck, hugging tightly. It's the first time Stevie's ever willingly let himself get so close when he's not trying to hide away from someone. Blaine relaxes a little as he lets himself hug back. Stevie at least will be alright. It's nice to know that's one thing that doesn't feel completely wrong in this.
Stevie holds out Horton when he pulls away.
"You take him," he says. "He's yours."
"Thanks," Blaine says faintly, setting Horton down on the table next to the phone numbers as he waves goodbye to Stevie and his parents. He wishes they weren't going. It's awkward when they're in here, but at least he doesn't have to wallow in all the ways he's not what his parents wanted to find when there's someone else in the room. For a few minutes after the door closes it's just quiet, but then he notices that his mom isn't holding his hand anymore and he looks up.
She's holding onto one of his dad's hands with both of hers and she's looking at him with so much concern it scares Blaine a little. For a second he wonders if they're going to tell him that they've changed their minds and this won't work, but then his eyes snap to his father when he chokes out,
"You kept that?"
His dad looks the way Blaine felt a few minutes ago when he found out he was a brother, so he follows where his dad is looking and sees Horton. He winces a little, because the more he thinks about it, the more he knows the toy could never have come from his parents it was just one more thing Tom used to keep him in line.
"I..." he starts, faltering a little because it's obvious that for whatever reason just looking at the stupid thing is killing his dad. "I guess Stevie took it when we left, because he thought I wanted it. I always thought it was something you bought for me before he took me away."
His dad looks at him, so startled that somehow Blaine feels like he's the one who should be jumping.
"He used to tell me that you all knew each other," Blaine stammers. "And I can sort of remember asking you for it, and then Tom helping me get it because he said that was what you wanted. Which was obviously the biggest lie and I was really stupid for believing him. I...I don't know. Maybe I should just leave it here."
"No," says his mother, abruptly. "Bring it with you. I was always so scared while you were gone that you were alone in the dark and more scared than I was. I like that you had something that helped you remember your family."
There's another knock on the door and Detective Warren comes back in. Blaine fights back the sudden desire he feels to go live with her if she'll have him. He thinks it would be much easier than any of his other options at the moment.
"Sorry to interrupt," she says. "I just wanted to let you know that we're going to start getting ready for the rest of you to leave as well. We're arranging an alternative route out of the hospital for you. The news has gotten a hold of the story and we don't want to throw you out right into the middle of a swarm of camera crews when you leave."
Blaine hadn't been expecting to be leaving the safety of the hospital so soon. He doesn't think he's ready to leave the distractions of all the people coming in and out, acting as buffers between him and these two people who he doesn't know how to talk to without hurting. He doesn't want to leave Detective Warren, or he wishes he was going back with Mr. Hummel. Anything to get him away from all this. And now he has another problem that he has no idea how to fix without making the pain in his parents' eyes worse.
"Detective Warren?" He asks, forcing the words out. "I really need to talk to you about something."
"What is it?" She asks.
Blaine just looks down, running his hand nervously across his cast.
"I sort of need to talk to you about something," he says.
"I see," she says before calmly addressing his mother and father. "That probably works better anyhow. My partner is waiting outside to explain the most discreet way to get to your car, and to give some contact information for the Westerville police department. They'll need to meet with Blaine at least a couple more times to go over everything that's happened while he's been away."
"You're not going to be the one talking to me?" Blaine asks, fear gripping him so tightly he stops registering the hurt looks on his parents' faces as he tries to push them away. Blaine trusts Detective Warren, he feels like he can handle the questions when she's the one asking them. He doesn't know if he can deal with talking to someone new.
Detective Warren is wearing her professional smile again, like she knows exactly what he's worried about and has prepared herself for this part.
"Your case is complicated, Blaine," she says. "What happened to you occurred over several jurisdictions, not just here. I assure you, we are all fully committed to working together on this to make sure Brenner goes to jail, but there's going to be a lot of officers involved, trying to keep everything straight."
"How many people will interview me?" Blaine asks, weakly.
"I imagine they'll try to keep the number down to one or two officers," she says. "It'll be less confusing that way. Likely it's going to be someone from Westerville, since that's where you live."
She pauses briefly, obviously debating how much she should tell him before continuing.
"I have put in a request that I continue to be your contact point, for the interviews if nothing else, but we're pretty far from your home right now. I don't know if it will be approved."
"But you asked?" Blaine says.
"If they give me the go ahead I would be more than happy to find a nice hotel in Westerville to hole up in for a few days."
"Thank you," Blaine says, looking awkwardly at his parents when he calms down enough to register that they haven't even moved yet. Fortunately Warren is on top of that, too.
"Mr. and Mrs. Anderson?" she says. "My partner is just outside in the hallway if you wanted to speak with him."
They leave reluctantly, like they're afraid Blaine will disappear the second they take their eyes off him. As soon as the door shuts Blaine feels himself wilt. He brings a hand up to his eyes and notices he's started shaking a little again.
"Blaine?" Detective Warren questions. "You alright?"
"Not yet, I don't think," he manages. "Thank you. I needed to ask..."
His throat closes up a little and he has to clear it before he tries again.
"It's Jason and Diane, right?"
Detective Warren looks confused for a second and then horrified when she realizes what he's asking.
"Yeah," Blaine says. "That's why I didn't want them in here when I asked. I mean, I was pretty sure, but then they introduced themselves to the Evanses and I couldn't quite make out what they were saying. I was just scared I was wrong. I never would have been able to look at them again if I screwed it up."
"No," Detective Warren says. "You're right. Jason and Diane Anderson."
"Still think I can do this?" Blaine asks, smiling at her sarcastically.
She refuses to rise to the bait and just looks at him dead serious as she says,
"Of course, but I never said it would be easy."
***
Despite how easily he fell into looking after Stevie when they were locked up in a bedroom together, Blaine doesn't have much experience around kids. He supposes if his little sister were scared or hurt or alone and in trouble, he could probably look after her too, but Cynthia is just a regular, slightly hyperactive kid.
It's getting late in the afternoon when they pull up to a house in a nicer Westerville neighbourhood. Blaine thinks there are parts of the place that seem familiar. He looks at the tree in the front yard and has a brief flash of a memory of climbing around in its branches, but it's a young tree, still growing fast, and the branches he remembers are too high off the ground to clamber onto anymore. The house is impressive - comfortably sized and probably very expensive, Blaine realizes, when he looks at the large, immaculately landscaped yard, sunny bay windows on the main floor, and sliding doors leading out onto a balcony on the second. He looks at it hard from the backseat and tries to remember. Small details leap out at him, flashes of some sort of sense memory as he looks at the balcony and remembers the heat on his back as he played on it in the summer, or the smell of the lawn after his dad had taken out the mower.
"It's the same house, isn't it?" he finally says, sensing his parents watching him. He's been silent for most of the trip, speaking only when they ask him a question and answering in as few words as possible. He's not trying to be rude, he's just in so far over his head he's not sure what he should be saying to these people. He wishes he knew how to talk to them but there just aren't words to articulate the feelings he has inside fighting to make their way out. At one point his mother reaches into the backseat and puts her hand on his knee, squeezing tightly. He hesitantly moves away after a few moments, taking her hand into his own before she can pull away. He feels stupid, but there's something about being able to touch her again, to watch her thumb as it runs up and down the back of his hand, that makes his heart race. It makes everything real, like proof that this is really happening and they aren't another dream.
Now his mother pulls away to point at one of the second-story windows.
"Same house. That's your room right there," she says and then his dad is opening his door and climbing out of the car saying,
"It looks like we've already got company. I'll park later."
Blaine doesn't know what he's talking about at first, but then he notices the door to the house next door hanging open and a couple people looking hesitantly out. A small girl is tearing down the steps and running towards him. Her hair is pulled up into a messy ponytail. It's dark and curly, chaotic like his own. Like their mother's, he realizes, but doesn't have time to think about it before there's a small head peering into the backseat, mouth going a mile a minute, like an over-excitable, yappy miniature poodle.
"Is he here? Is that him? Daddy make him come out so I can see?" she's saying and her voice is tiny and enormous all at once, piercing through Blaine's raw nerves. Blaine thinks he might want to stay in the car until she goes away, in case she tries to attack him or something.
"She's very excited about this," his mother says, semi-apologetically but mostly just fondly. "She's wanted to see you her whole life. For a while there you were almost sacred to her."
"Like Jesus?" Blaine asks absently, still looking at the girl dancing around her father's legs, making no move to get out of the car.
"Sacred to a kid," his mother corrects. "More like Santa or Willy Wonka."
"Is she going to hurt me if I don't have presents or candy?" Blaine asks, forgetting for a moment that he doesn't know her well enough to make fun of her daughter, but she just laughs.
"I doubt it," she says. "I think your appeal is mainly as a brother. Of course, I'm not entirely sure what she thinks brothers can do, so if you can't fly or control things with your mind, she may be disappointed."
Blaine smiles at her, pleasantly surprised at how easily she jokes back, and the look on her face makes him think that she's just as pleased with him, but then his sister starts knocking on the door. Or maybe hammering is a better way of putting it, and as his dad leaps forward to save the car his mother shakes her head in exasperation and says,
"We'd better get out before she's stuck paying auto body bills from her allowance until she goes to college."
Blaine takes a breath and slowly crawls out of the car after his parents. The drive has made him stiff and his sides are aching through the pain medication. The little girl - his sister - is now dancing circles around him as well.
"Are you my brother?" she asks, hopping from one foot to another as she cranes her neck unnecessarily to get a better look at his face. "You're Blaine, right? Why don't you look like your pictures? Is it because you've been gone for 60 years? You're really old, right? Like, you're really older than me, but we're still brother and sister. Why are you so old? What happened to your arm? Did the bad man break it? Mom and Dad always say you got taken away by a bad man and if a bad man ever takes me I need to kick and scream and even bite if I have to, because they don't want the bad men to get me. Did you bite anyone? You should have bit someone. People put you back when there's biting. My cat bites sometimes, too. Do you like cats? I love cats, especially my cat. Her name is Mrs. Frisby and she's the best cat in the world, even if she kicks the litter out of the box sometimes."
Blaine mentally amends his assessment of "slightly hyperactive" to just "hyperactive" as his little sister chatters on, not particularly caring if she hears his answers or not. He feels nervous standing out on the sidewalk like this. From their house, the neighbours Cynthia had been staying with are watching uncertainly, like they don't know if they should come say hello or not. Clearly they're conflicted about what the proper etiquette is in this kind of situation. Even worse is the crawling feeling running along the back of his neck, like there are people watching him just out of eyesight - hiding behind curtains and peeking out from bedroom windows. He feels like he's on display and as much as he wants to go inside and hide, he can't just go into the house without some sort of invitation. It's not his home anymore; it's not his to walk into.
Cynthia breaks the spell when she pulls demandingly on Blaine's good hand and says,
"Do you want to go to the park with me?"
"Right now?" Blaine asks.
"Trevor from school says that his big brother takes him to the park and that's all he's good for," she says. "You don't even do that, and I asked Mom why did I even need a brother if he's not going to take me to the park but she said you would when you came home."
She looks at him pointedly.
"You're here now."
"Blaine's been very sick, sweetie," his dad says, finally deciding Cynthia's not going to be calming down any time soon and stepping in to start deflecting her energy away from Blaine, whose head feels like it's starting to spin trying to keep up with her. "He's very tired and he's very sore."
He looks at Blaine cautiously, like he's seeking out confirmation.
"I think maybe your brother would just like to take the pills the doctor gave him and sleep for a while?"
"Is that okay?" Blaine asks, because slipping off into a drug-induced stupor sounds five different kinds of awesome right now.
"And then the park?" Cynthia asks.
Apparently this is a big deal because when her mother says, "Maybe not right away, Cynthia. Soon," Cynthia's face grows dark and she mutters, "a real brother would take me now."
His mom rolls her eyes and starts to herd Cynthia into the house, gently reaching out to Blaine and pushing on his shoulder blades, urging him to come with them. He wonders if it's creepy that a very large part of him wants her to never stop touching him like that. He remembers that Carole is like this too, always touching Kurt and Finn almost unconsciously, and how even Kurt will relax into her touch after a while. Blaine supposes that maybe it's a mother thing.
Blaine registers the interior of the house in disjointed fragments. There's an entryway and living room, a hallway and a door that for some reason he immediately knows leads to a study. There's a stairway lined with pictures he doesn't bother looking at, and another hallway. Blaine hears the sound of a tap running in the kitchen somewhere beneath him, and then his mother is opening the door to a bedroom. He remembers this space - more than he thought he would. The bed still is one for a small child, a twin mattress and a low frame. Blaine can see the marks in the wood that bear the evidence of a removed guardrail. He wonders if he was still there when it was taken off, if he was prone to falling out of the bed up until the time he was taken.
His mother is talking, saying something in an apologetic voice about how the place is still so child-oriented.
"It didn't feel right to move any of it out without you here," she says. "We can work through it when you're feeling a little better."
"I'm sort of tired," Blaine admits and there's movement in the doorway and his dad is coming in with a glass of water and a pill bottle from the hospital, some clothes tucked under his arm.
"They told us you were in pretty rough shape the last few weeks with him," he seems as reluctant to say Tom's name as Blaine is. No one really wants the idea of him inside the house. "We were expecting that you'd want to sleep it off a little."
He holds out the water and pain medication, opening the bottle and shaking out a pill when he looks again at Blaine's immobile arm. He hands Blaine the clothes with an apologetic expression.
"I don't know if these will fit too well," he admits. "They're some old pyjamas of mine, but they should give you some room to manoeuvre with that cast, and there's not really much else for you to wear. We'll have to go shopping with you as soon as you're up to it."
Blaine smiles weakly at him, feeling like he's joining a marathon five hours after the starting gun, and stands there a little awkwardly before asking where the bathroom is. He's too tired to even feel very guilty about how sad his mother looks as she tells him the way. He's asleep almost as soon as his head touches the pillow.
To Part One B