Fic: When Fears Are Realized (4/?)
Title: When Fears Are Realized (4/?)
Characters / Pairings: Vague Kurt/Blaine. Burt, Carole, Finn.
Rating: R (to be safe)
Spoilers: Vague spoilers for 2.15
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
Summary: Burt's worried and Kurt doesn't understand why. Then Blaine shows up on their doorstep.
A/N: I feel like I say this about all my chapters, but I really don't like this one. *shrugs* I hope to have the next chapter of Taking the Time out by the end of the week. Sorry for the delay, things have been quite hectic.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Burt promises to check on Blaine and sends Kurt off to bed before making sure the doors and windows are locked. He flicks off the lights off downstairs and heads for the guest room. He cracks open the door a bit, wincing when it creaks and making a mental note to oil the hinges in the morning. Tiptoeing into the room, he makes his way to Blaine’s beside, frowning down at the flushed face and harsh breaths.
Blaine was in the throes of an obviously fitful sleep. He’d kicked the covers down to tangle around his ankles and the thin t-shirt he wore was soaked through with sweat. Burt reaches out a hand, running his work-roughened fingers through the curls plastered to Blaine’s forehead and frowning at the heat rolling from the boy’s skin. Stepping back a bit, he takes another lingering look at the distressed face before leaving the room.
It takes him a few minutes to find a clean washrag but he quickly douses it in water and grabs a bowl and some ice before heading back to the guest room. In the time he’s been gone Blaine’s managed to flip himself onto his stomach, causing the sheets to tangle even further around his legs. Burt gently places the bowl and washrag onto the bedside table and sets about unraveling the cloth from Blaine’s legs. Wincing as a particularly vicious knot snags around Blaine’s ankle, he waits for the boy to wake but is relieved when he does nothing more than snuffle into the pillow beneath him.
Finally untangling the boy from the sheets, he shakes them out before draping them over the body on the bed and grabbing the washrag. Studying Blaine for a moment, he wonders if he should risk rolling the boy onto his back so that he can lay the cloth along his forehead and then decides that it’s probably the best thing to do. Blaine stirs a little as he’s jostled into position and his eyes open briefly before slowly falling shut. Burt sighs and dips the rag into the now slightly melted ice before ringing it out. He places the wet cloth across Blaine’s forehead, letting it cool the fevered skin and settles himself into an armchair for what’s going to turn out to be a long night.
Burt manages to drift off sometime in the early hours of the morning and is roused a few hours later by Carole’s incessant prodding at his shoulder. He blinks up at her, eyes bleary and neck stiff before remembering where he is and just why he’s sleeping in a chair. Casting his gaze to the bed he slowly extracts himself from his curled position and sets about drenching the now dried washrag and replacing it. Carole walks up behind him, placing a hand on one of Blaine’s flushed cheeks and furrowing her brow at the warmth radiating from him.
“When did this start?” she asks softly.
“Late last night,” he answers. “I came in to check on him before bed and found him like this.”
She tuts softly, pulling the sheets away slightly and gasping at the vivid bruises surrounding the boy’s neck.
In the light of the morning Burt can see what the shadows of the night covered up. Rings of blue and purple stand out where flawless skin should be. Bending down to get a closer look, Burt clenches his fists as he makes out two deep purple, almost black in color, bruises at the base of Blaine’s throat, just where Mr. Anderson’s thumbs would have settled during the attack.
“I’ll go get some more ice,” Carole says, leaving the room. She returns a few minutes later with an ice pack in one hand and a thermometer in the other. She sets the ice next to Blaine on the bed and slips the thermometer into his mouth. Blaine rouses at the intrusion, eyes fluttering open to stare blankly at the ceiling. He twists his mouth around the plastic between his lips and reaches a hand up to remove it. Carole intercepts him and he shifts his gaze to her, confused.
“Wuh,” he mumbles.
Carole shushes him and runs a hand over his forehead and up into his hair. His eyes close at the gesture and he relaxes back into the pillows. He takes a deep breath through his nose and surges forward as his body is wracked by a coughing fit. Carole grabs the thermometer from him, glancing down at it as she rubs soothingly at his back.
Burt stands in the corner, feeling utterly useless as he watches Blaine’s chest heave with deep, hacking coughs.
“Burt,” Carole calls to him. She’s holding out the thermometer, eyes worried. Burt takes the device from her looking down at the number displayed on the small screen. 102.8. His eyebrows raise as he takes in the digits and he looks back at Carole, silently asking her what to do.
“That’s uh... That’s really high,” he says.
“It is.” Carole sighs, still rubbing Blaine’s back. The coughs have ceased for the moment, but he’s still heaving, trying to catch back the breath he lost.
“What do we do?” Burt asks, coming to stand behind her.
“We need to bring it down. Can you grab the tylenol from the bathroom and a glass of water? That’ll help.” Burt does as he’s asked and is back in just a few moments. Carole’s managed to arrange Blaine into a semi-sitting position and he’s got the covers pulled back up over his chest. Burt has the sudden thought that he looks small, smaller than he’s ever looked, holed up in that bed with pillows scattered around him.
He hands Carole the pills and the glass and watches as Blaine’s able to down them with just a few sips of water.
“Thanks,” he says as he hands the glass back to Carole. It comes out scratchy and breaks halfway through the word and he reaches up a hand to rub at his throat, wincing when he comes into contact with the bruises.
Carole bats his hand away from his neck and wraps the ice pack she brought with her in the now discarded washrag and paces it gently on the bruised skin. Blaine flinches a little when the cold seeps into his skin but doesn’t try to remove it. He watches Carole blearily as she smoothes out the wrinkles in the comforter and fusses over him.
“Why don’t you try to get some more sleep, okay? It might make you feel better,” she runs her fingers through his curls a couple more times, pushing the hair back and away from his forehead as his eyes drift shut and his breathing evens out.
Burt walks up behind her, placing a gentle hand on one of her shoulders and guiding her away from the sleeping boy and out the door. He leaves the door cracked open, hoping that they’ll be able to hear if Blaine calls out for anything. They walk downstairs, surprised to find Finn slouched over at the table and Kurt in the kitchen cooking breakfast. Both boys are still in their pajamas though, so Carole quickly takes over for Kurt and pushes him out of the kitchen, telling him to go take a shower and get ready for school.
“School? I...” His protest dies when his dad gives him a pointed look and waves him in the direction of the stairs. Kurt goes grudgingly, and is back in record time.
“Dad,” he says, entering the kitchen. His hair is still wet and plastered to his forehead, but he is wearing his uniform.
“Don’t bother, Kurt,” Burt says. “You missed school yesterday. Blaine will be fine without for the day. You’re going.”
“Where is Blaine?” Finn asks around a mouthful of toast. Carole gives him a pointed look and he swallows before grinning at her sheepishly. “Sorry.”
“Blaine is still asleep. We didn’t see any need in waking him up early if he wasn’t going to school.” By mutual agreement they’d decided not to tell the boys about Blaine’s illness. Both knew that there was no way they’d be able to get Kurt to leave his bedside if he knew the other boy was sick.
Breakfast passed quickly and soon the two boys were headed to their respective schools. Burt and Carole shared a sigh of relief as silence settled throughout the house.
If only they knew how quickly silence could be shattered.
***
Kurt all but fell out of the Navigator in his haste to get inside. The day had dragged on and he’d done nothing but stare at his phone and think about how Blaine wasn’t there. He grabbed his bag from the passenger seat and strode up the walkway to his front door. He stepped through the threshold and into the living room, pausing when he caught sight of his parents and Blaine. Closing the door softly behind him, he drops his bag next to it and toes off his shoes before going to sit beside Blaine on their couch.
The older boy was wrapped in the comforter from the bed in the guest room. Tissues littered the space around him and box rested close to his hip. Kurt took in the blank eyes and emotionless face before turning to look at his parents. Burt sat in an armchair at the opposite end of the couch from where Blaine sat, Carole resting lightly on the arm. He had a folder clutched in his hands and was staring at Blaine, concern etched onto his features.
“What’s going on?” asks Kurt, settling into the cushions. “What’s that?”
His parents look at each other but neither say anything.
“Dad?”
“They’re adoption papers. My parents disowned me.” The voice comes from his left, and Kurt turns his head to stare at Blaine.
“Well,” he says, grimacing. “Not really. A minor can’t legally be disowned in the United States.”
“What?” Kurt asks, shocked. He turns back to his dad, but Burt’s looking down at the folder and won’t meet Kurt’s eyes. He turns back to Blaine. “What does that mean?”
Blaine finally turns his head, looking at Kurt with such detachment that Kurt wants to wave a hand in front of his friend’s face just to make sure that Blaine can actually still see him.
“It means my parents signed away their parental rights. I’m officially a ward of the state.”
“No,” Kurt breathes.
“I have until the end of the week to find someone who’s willing to take over parental rights. If I can’t then I’ll end up in the foster system.”
“No!” This time Kurt yells it and whips around to face his dad who’s still staring at the folder in his hands. “Dad!”
“Kurt,” Burt says, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes. He’s interrupted by Blaine standing, comforter falling around him in waves.
“I’m not feeling very well. Can I go lie down?” He asks quietly, staring down at his feet. Carole stands from her perch and wraps an arm around his shoulders, gently leading him up the stairs.
Kurt watches him go, gut twisting at the utter horror that has become his friend’s life. He stares until he can no longer see Blaine and Carole and then turns back around to find his dad watching him.
“Dad.” Kurt says, a plea in his voice and eyes.
“Kurt,” Burt sighs. He looks at his son for a long moment before dropping the folder and crossing to the couch and gathering Kurt in his arms. He can feel the tremors coursing throughout his son’s body and the wetness of his tears soaking into his shirt. He closes his eyes, hugging Kurt closer and whispering into his hair.
“I don’t know what to do.”
Part Five
Characters / Pairings: Vague Kurt/Blaine. Burt, Carole, Finn.
Rating: R (to be safe)
Spoilers: Vague spoilers for 2.15
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
Summary: Burt's worried and Kurt doesn't understand why. Then Blaine shows up on their doorstep.
A/N: I feel like I say this about all my chapters, but I really don't like this one. *shrugs* I hope to have the next chapter of Taking the Time out by the end of the week. Sorry for the delay, things have been quite hectic.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Burt promises to check on Blaine and sends Kurt off to bed before making sure the doors and windows are locked. He flicks off the lights off downstairs and heads for the guest room. He cracks open the door a bit, wincing when it creaks and making a mental note to oil the hinges in the morning. Tiptoeing into the room, he makes his way to Blaine’s beside, frowning down at the flushed face and harsh breaths.
Blaine was in the throes of an obviously fitful sleep. He’d kicked the covers down to tangle around his ankles and the thin t-shirt he wore was soaked through with sweat. Burt reaches out a hand, running his work-roughened fingers through the curls plastered to Blaine’s forehead and frowning at the heat rolling from the boy’s skin. Stepping back a bit, he takes another lingering look at the distressed face before leaving the room.
It takes him a few minutes to find a clean washrag but he quickly douses it in water and grabs a bowl and some ice before heading back to the guest room. In the time he’s been gone Blaine’s managed to flip himself onto his stomach, causing the sheets to tangle even further around his legs. Burt gently places the bowl and washrag onto the bedside table and sets about unraveling the cloth from Blaine’s legs. Wincing as a particularly vicious knot snags around Blaine’s ankle, he waits for the boy to wake but is relieved when he does nothing more than snuffle into the pillow beneath him.
Finally untangling the boy from the sheets, he shakes them out before draping them over the body on the bed and grabbing the washrag. Studying Blaine for a moment, he wonders if he should risk rolling the boy onto his back so that he can lay the cloth along his forehead and then decides that it’s probably the best thing to do. Blaine stirs a little as he’s jostled into position and his eyes open briefly before slowly falling shut. Burt sighs and dips the rag into the now slightly melted ice before ringing it out. He places the wet cloth across Blaine’s forehead, letting it cool the fevered skin and settles himself into an armchair for what’s going to turn out to be a long night.
Burt manages to drift off sometime in the early hours of the morning and is roused a few hours later by Carole’s incessant prodding at his shoulder. He blinks up at her, eyes bleary and neck stiff before remembering where he is and just why he’s sleeping in a chair. Casting his gaze to the bed he slowly extracts himself from his curled position and sets about drenching the now dried washrag and replacing it. Carole walks up behind him, placing a hand on one of Blaine’s flushed cheeks and furrowing her brow at the warmth radiating from him.
“When did this start?” she asks softly.
“Late last night,” he answers. “I came in to check on him before bed and found him like this.”
She tuts softly, pulling the sheets away slightly and gasping at the vivid bruises surrounding the boy’s neck.
In the light of the morning Burt can see what the shadows of the night covered up. Rings of blue and purple stand out where flawless skin should be. Bending down to get a closer look, Burt clenches his fists as he makes out two deep purple, almost black in color, bruises at the base of Blaine’s throat, just where Mr. Anderson’s thumbs would have settled during the attack.
“I’ll go get some more ice,” Carole says, leaving the room. She returns a few minutes later with an ice pack in one hand and a thermometer in the other. She sets the ice next to Blaine on the bed and slips the thermometer into his mouth. Blaine rouses at the intrusion, eyes fluttering open to stare blankly at the ceiling. He twists his mouth around the plastic between his lips and reaches a hand up to remove it. Carole intercepts him and he shifts his gaze to her, confused.
“Wuh,” he mumbles.
Carole shushes him and runs a hand over his forehead and up into his hair. His eyes close at the gesture and he relaxes back into the pillows. He takes a deep breath through his nose and surges forward as his body is wracked by a coughing fit. Carole grabs the thermometer from him, glancing down at it as she rubs soothingly at his back.
Burt stands in the corner, feeling utterly useless as he watches Blaine’s chest heave with deep, hacking coughs.
“Burt,” Carole calls to him. She’s holding out the thermometer, eyes worried. Burt takes the device from her looking down at the number displayed on the small screen. 102.8. His eyebrows raise as he takes in the digits and he looks back at Carole, silently asking her what to do.
“That’s uh... That’s really high,” he says.
“It is.” Carole sighs, still rubbing Blaine’s back. The coughs have ceased for the moment, but he’s still heaving, trying to catch back the breath he lost.
“What do we do?” Burt asks, coming to stand behind her.
“We need to bring it down. Can you grab the tylenol from the bathroom and a glass of water? That’ll help.” Burt does as he’s asked and is back in just a few moments. Carole’s managed to arrange Blaine into a semi-sitting position and he’s got the covers pulled back up over his chest. Burt has the sudden thought that he looks small, smaller than he’s ever looked, holed up in that bed with pillows scattered around him.
He hands Carole the pills and the glass and watches as Blaine’s able to down them with just a few sips of water.
“Thanks,” he says as he hands the glass back to Carole. It comes out scratchy and breaks halfway through the word and he reaches up a hand to rub at his throat, wincing when he comes into contact with the bruises.
Carole bats his hand away from his neck and wraps the ice pack she brought with her in the now discarded washrag and paces it gently on the bruised skin. Blaine flinches a little when the cold seeps into his skin but doesn’t try to remove it. He watches Carole blearily as she smoothes out the wrinkles in the comforter and fusses over him.
“Why don’t you try to get some more sleep, okay? It might make you feel better,” she runs her fingers through his curls a couple more times, pushing the hair back and away from his forehead as his eyes drift shut and his breathing evens out.
Burt walks up behind her, placing a gentle hand on one of her shoulders and guiding her away from the sleeping boy and out the door. He leaves the door cracked open, hoping that they’ll be able to hear if Blaine calls out for anything. They walk downstairs, surprised to find Finn slouched over at the table and Kurt in the kitchen cooking breakfast. Both boys are still in their pajamas though, so Carole quickly takes over for Kurt and pushes him out of the kitchen, telling him to go take a shower and get ready for school.
“School? I...” His protest dies when his dad gives him a pointed look and waves him in the direction of the stairs. Kurt goes grudgingly, and is back in record time.
“Dad,” he says, entering the kitchen. His hair is still wet and plastered to his forehead, but he is wearing his uniform.
“Don’t bother, Kurt,” Burt says. “You missed school yesterday. Blaine will be fine without for the day. You’re going.”
“Where is Blaine?” Finn asks around a mouthful of toast. Carole gives him a pointed look and he swallows before grinning at her sheepishly. “Sorry.”
“Blaine is still asleep. We didn’t see any need in waking him up early if he wasn’t going to school.” By mutual agreement they’d decided not to tell the boys about Blaine’s illness. Both knew that there was no way they’d be able to get Kurt to leave his bedside if he knew the other boy was sick.
Breakfast passed quickly and soon the two boys were headed to their respective schools. Burt and Carole shared a sigh of relief as silence settled throughout the house.
If only they knew how quickly silence could be shattered.
***
Kurt all but fell out of the Navigator in his haste to get inside. The day had dragged on and he’d done nothing but stare at his phone and think about how Blaine wasn’t there. He grabbed his bag from the passenger seat and strode up the walkway to his front door. He stepped through the threshold and into the living room, pausing when he caught sight of his parents and Blaine. Closing the door softly behind him, he drops his bag next to it and toes off his shoes before going to sit beside Blaine on their couch.
The older boy was wrapped in the comforter from the bed in the guest room. Tissues littered the space around him and box rested close to his hip. Kurt took in the blank eyes and emotionless face before turning to look at his parents. Burt sat in an armchair at the opposite end of the couch from where Blaine sat, Carole resting lightly on the arm. He had a folder clutched in his hands and was staring at Blaine, concern etched onto his features.
“What’s going on?” asks Kurt, settling into the cushions. “What’s that?”
His parents look at each other but neither say anything.
“Dad?”
“They’re adoption papers. My parents disowned me.” The voice comes from his left, and Kurt turns his head to stare at Blaine.
“Well,” he says, grimacing. “Not really. A minor can’t legally be disowned in the United States.”
“What?” Kurt asks, shocked. He turns back to his dad, but Burt’s looking down at the folder and won’t meet Kurt’s eyes. He turns back to Blaine. “What does that mean?”
Blaine finally turns his head, looking at Kurt with such detachment that Kurt wants to wave a hand in front of his friend’s face just to make sure that Blaine can actually still see him.
“It means my parents signed away their parental rights. I’m officially a ward of the state.”
“No,” Kurt breathes.
“I have until the end of the week to find someone who’s willing to take over parental rights. If I can’t then I’ll end up in the foster system.”
“No!” This time Kurt yells it and whips around to face his dad who’s still staring at the folder in his hands. “Dad!”
“Kurt,” Burt says, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes. He’s interrupted by Blaine standing, comforter falling around him in waves.
“I’m not feeling very well. Can I go lie down?” He asks quietly, staring down at his feet. Carole stands from her perch and wraps an arm around his shoulders, gently leading him up the stairs.
Kurt watches him go, gut twisting at the utter horror that has become his friend’s life. He stares until he can no longer see Blaine and Carole and then turns back around to find his dad watching him.
“Dad.” Kurt says, a plea in his voice and eyes.
“Kurt,” Burt sighs. He looks at his son for a long moment before dropping the folder and crossing to the couch and gathering Kurt in his arms. He can feel the tremors coursing throughout his son’s body and the wetness of his tears soaking into his shirt. He closes his eyes, hugging Kurt closer and whispering into his hair.
“I don’t know what to do.”
Part Five