The World is No Longer Mysterious: Part 2/5
Part 2
January 1999
Kurt throws himself onto his Mama’s bed, clutching his book to his chest. She smiles at him, strokes back his hair. “Peter Pan again, Kurt?”
“Mm,” Kurt curls into her side and slips his thumb into his mouth, “It’s my favourite,” he explains, slightly muffled.
“Okay, sweetie,” she says, pinching his cheek, “Got a little crush on Wendy?”
Kurt wrinkles his nose and pulls his thumb away, wiping it on his pajama shirt. “No. I like Peter much more.”
Her hands falter. “Really?”
“Of course. Mama, do you think he’d take me away to Neverland if I asked nicely?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. But you’d have to leave me and Daddy behind, and that wouldn’t be fun.”
Kurt just shrugs and pokes the book cover once, jiggling his legs under the covers. “Read it, read it from the start.”
“Okay, Kurt. From the very beginning. Peter Pan, by James M. Barrie. Chapter one, Peter breaks through...”
Kurt leans his head on Mama’s chest, slips his thumb back into his mouth as she reads. He lifts his hand to play with the charm on her wrist, turns it in his fingers. It’s a star, a star in a circle with what looks like a sun around it, made of cold metal. He folds it into his fingers.
The window rattles softly and the room seems to grow colder. Kurt huddles closer, tugs the covers up a little and fiddles with the knot of the charm, tugging it until it unravels. He wraps it around his fingers, smiling as the charm falls neatly into the palm of his hand. He yawns, the warm tone of his Mama’s voice making him sleepy. The window rattles, louder.
Mama’s voice stops and he sits up a little, blinking. “Mama?”
“Shh, sweetie,” she says softly, “You hold onto that, okay?”
“Mmkay,” he rolls over to watch her open the window, glancing outside carefully.
And then she goes flying back across the room with a scream.
Immediately Kurt scrambles out of his bed and runs towards her, the charm still clutched in his hand. She pushes him away, shaking her head. “Hide in the cupboard, sweetheart,” she whispers, “Go, go hide, go.”
He dashes across the floor, opens the door to the wardrobe and slips inside, shutting it behind him. He peers through the slats, gripping them tight, and waits.
A hand grips the windowsill, and then another, and a man hauls himself up into the room. When he lifts his head, his eyes are black. Kurt puts a hand over his mouth and tells himself he won’t scream.
“I would like my payment,” it says.
Mama shakes her head. “You have it.”
“I would like. My. Payment.”
“You have it. I told you -“
The paintings on the walls come crashing to the floor, and broken glass sprays everywhere. Kurt flinches.
“Give it to me. Give me my payment.”
“I don’t have him! He’s with his father, he’s not here.”
“Give me your firstborn or I will burn this house to the ground.”
“He’s not here.”
“Then explain to me why there is a children’s book on the bed, children’s slippers on the floor and - hm, yes, the distinct smell of a little girl.”
“Boy.”
“I don’t care. Give it to me.”
Mama shakes her head. “He’s not here, he went out.”
Kurt nearly screams when fire erupts in the man’s hand, billowing red and angry, almost snapping at the air. Mama’s eyes flash towards the cupboard and the man laughs.
“So predictable, you little humans. So...boring, even.” He turns, and starts to walk towards Kurt’s hiding place, smiling. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
The doors go flying off the hinges and Kurt can’t help it, he screams, pushing himself further away from the man until what feels like a hand closes around his wrist and pulls him out.
“Leave him alone!” Mama cries, but she doesn’t try to get up and help him. Terrified, Kurt tries to pull his hand away, his shoulder aching as his toes barely brush the ground.
“Mama,” he cries, “Mama, make him stop, I don’t -“
“Shut up,” the man says dismissively, and Kurt’s mouth snaps shut. He whimpers as the man cups his chin and looks deep in his eyes.
“I do hate the ones who snivel,” he says dismissively, and with a snap of his wrist Kurt is being thrown across the room, hitting the wall next to the bed with a smack. He crumples to the floor and his left wrist takes all of his weight. He nearly screams but his throat jams, and the man is in front of him again.
“Didn’t I say,” he hisses, “That I hate the ones who snivel?”
Kurt blinks hard, feels tears slip down his face all the same. The man smiles, catching a tear on his finger. “Look at this, he’s crying. They all do, I suppose, after all. See, you stupid bitch? This could all have been avoided if you’d just let me take him. His neck would be broken and we’d all be on our merry little way!”
“No,” Mama is still sitting against the wall, and Kurt doesn’t understand. Why isn’t she coming to help him? Why isn’t she saving him?
“No? For fucks sake, I am quickly losing my patience with you, woman. I was thinking about playing with you, making you watch, but I’m done with your pathetic attempts to persuade me and your snivelling son.”
“Please, just leave him, just take me, take me -“
But the man doesn’t listen, instead opens his mouth and a thick black smoke streams out. Kurt screams, turning his face away and then the man drops him and stumbles back.
“You fucking cunt,” he snarls, “What have you done to him? What the fuck have you done? Give me my fucking payment!”
He lifts his arm and Mama’s arm twists and she screams and Kurt hides his face with his right arm, the jam in his throat finally unsticking. He sobs into his arm as Mama screams and screams, begging softly for Daddy to come back and save them.
“Wake up, sweetheart,” the man says, and then he picks Kurt up by the back of his pajama shirt and turning him in midair and at the sight of his Mama Kurt starts screaming and won’t stop.
Mama’s lying in the middle of the floor with her arms outstretched, and there’s blood everywhere, all over her chest and her face and then Kurt realises it’s not blood, it’s her insides. Mama’s insides are everywhere.
“This is what happens,” the man snarls, “When you cross me. This is what happens. You see now, don’t you? You caused this. I wanted you, and I got her, so now we’re equal. But you made this happen.”
Kurt drops the charm and lifts his hands to cover his face, terrified of the inhuman expression on the man’s face.
The man watches it as it falls and he smiles suddenly. “Oh, of course. Of course.”
And then the blackness is rushing out of his mouth and into Kurt’s once more, and Kurt starts screaming again as it forces itself down his throat, lashing out wildly and trying to push the man away, and the door bursts open.
“Kurt -“
Kurt falls to the floor and his fingers close around the charm again and the blackness stops, curling into nothingness in the air. His dad yells “What the hell are you doing to my son?”
“Daddy -“ Kurt chokes, his throat feels like it’s full of syrup. The man disappears so suddenly, it’s like he was never even there.
“Oh, jesus,” Daddy says, and he stumbles back, “Lizzie. Oh god, Lizzie, no, no, fuck.”
“Daddy,” Kurt says, and reaches out for him, “Daddy, he hurt me -“
“Oh god, buddy, okay. I’m here, Kurt, I gotcha. I gotcha,” he lifts Kurt off the floor, jogs his sore arm and strokes his hair back when he wails. “Okay, Kurt, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”
“Mama, we have to -“
“We can’t do any more for Mama now, Kurt,” Daddy says roughly, “C’mon, kiddo, it’s okay. It’s okay.”
Kurt hides his face in Daddy’s shirt as he carries him away, but he can’t stop seeing Mama sprawled out on the floor.
**
9th February, 2011
Blaine is pretty sure his life has taken a turn for the better. He’s finally settling in at McKinley, his place in the Glee club finalised by joining them for their big performance during the half-time of the football game. Mike, Sam and he have bonded over a deep love for Mario Kart, Marvel and bad comedy movies. He’s one of the few juniors in the club, so he’s developed a friendship with Artie mostly based on an intense hate for Trig and Spanish. Tina occasionally strikes up a conversation with him during English, and he’s joined Finn, Puck and the rest of the guys for videogame marathons at least four or five times.
After a long conversation with Trent over pizza, his acquaintanceship with Kurt had been cultivated into a tentative friendship sustained by snarky late-night text messages from Kurt and the cutest, fluffiest animal pictures available from Blaine. Sometimes Kurt will start a conversation at their lockers, sometimes he won’t.
They don’t bring up the poltergeist incident.
Despite all of this, Blaine is having a particularly bad day. He’d spent most of the night before rehearsing his part in the orchestra for their assembly that day, and even had left his Spanish homework for it - Mr. Schuester never collected their worksheets anyway (from what Blaine could see, he spent most of his time pining over Miss Pillsbury).
But now he’d got to school to find that the assembly had been cancelled because Figgins had come down with something. Thoroughly frustrated, he’d gone to Spanish where, for once, Mr. Schuester had decided to be competent and collect the homework. He’d given Blaine a pitying sort of look and told him he was lucky he didn’t give detentions on Fridays, and had then looked at him like he was supposed to be thankful or something.
So now Blaine glares at the floor and reshuffles his papers in his arms, thankful that the corridors are empty. If he had to deal with bumping into insensitive teenagers right now on top of everything else he might punch something.
Finally reaching Glee, he shoulders through the door with a muttered apology, ducking his head to avoid eye contact only to find someone sitting in his usual seat at the back.
“Hi,” Kurt says, smirking around his busted lip.
“Wha -“ Blaine glances at Finn, who’s smiling smugly in the front row.
“Believe me, I don’t know what I’m doing here, either,” Kurt shifts seats and catches Blaine’s pile of papers as they start to fall.
“What happened?” Blaine whispers, nodding at his lip, and Kurt shakes his head. “I got into a disagreement with this meathead. He took three weeks of detention, I took Glee Club.”
“Good choice.”
Kurt gives him a crooked smile. “I’d like to think so too.”
“Blaine, Kurt,” Mr Schue says loudly, “I appreciate your enthusiasm to make friends but we need to focus on the theme for this week, love. Now, I want you guys to pick your partners and sing to them what you think is the world’s best love song!”
Blaine shifts uncomfortably, casts a hopeful look at Tina even though she and Mike are sharing the heartiest of heart eyes. He turns back to the front and pouts.
“Oh, Jesus,” Kurt mumbles, “Is he serious?”
Blaine grins at him. “Oh yes. He is.”
Rachel hops to her feet eagerly. “In light of recent events -“ and she looks at Finn, but now Blaine knows the story behind that so it makes sense, “I feel like I have the ultimate song for this assignment prepared. Mr Schue, if I may -?”
He nods, and Rachel smoothes out her skirt and trots up to the front, talking quickly to the band. “This song really embodies the depth my love can reach, and I feel like the movie from which it comes - starring my idol, Barbra Streisand - also reflects the start of my climb towards being a Broadway star.”
“Oh dear,” Kurt says, “Is she going to sing?”
The harp starts up and Blaine sits up. “Oh, I love this song. Shhh, listen.”
“I’m going to throw up,” Kurt sits up quickly, “I wonder if I can switch to detention?”
Blaine shushes him hastily, his eyes fixed on Rachel as she sings. Kurt eyes him. “I figured you’d be pretty good, you know, since you did that thing for the football match? But I was obviously wrong. You’re run by her, and she’s run by an idiotic infatuation with my stupid step-brother.”
He slumps back in his chair, pouting. Blaine is hit with the overwhelming urge to kiss him.
Rachel belts out the second verse, screwing her face up, and Kurt rolls his eyes. “She has missed the entire point of the movie. Jeez, if this is supposed to reflect her relationship with Finn, I pity him.”
Mercedes twists in her seat and glares at him, and Blaine helpfully puts a hand over his mouth.
The song draws towards its end and Kurt starts jogging his foot against Blaine’s chair. Without thinking, Blaine puts his hand on Kurt’s thigh, stopping him.
As the last note fills the room Kurt sits pulls his leg away, still grumbling to himself. Rachel gives a little bow and the club claps, Blaine calling out a little “Bravo!” as she takes a seat.
“That was really great, Rachel,” Finn says, and Rachel visibly preens, folding her skirt underneath her as she sits down, “Could I make an announcement, Mr. Schue?”
Mr Schue looks a little confused. “Uh, sure. Go ahead.”
“Thanks,” Finn bobs his head in a thank-you and walks up to the front of the room.
“Here we go,” Kurt mutters, folding his arms.
“So,” Finn starts, “As you know, this is the first week we’ve had with no slushies.”
Mercedes arches an eyebrow. “Finn, it’s only Wednesday.”
Finn ignores her, “And I’d like to take credit for that. You know, for leading the football team to a conference championship victory.”
“Wasn’t it Puck...?” Tina mumbles, and Mercedes nods beside her.
“The fact is, I’m the closest thing this Glee club has to a celebrity, and just like a famous athlete, I want to give to a charity,” he pauses for effect and Blaine’s mind whizzes. The homeless centre? The orphanage? The animal rescue centre?”
“You guys.”
“Oh, for god’s sake,” Kurt mutters, running a hand through his hair and looking for his bag. Blaine frowns as the club makes varied disappointed noises.
“So, I’m setting up a kissing booth. It’s a dollar a smooch, and -“
“I’m outta here,” Kurt says, shouldering his bag and stepping down the risers. Mr Schue stops him. “Whoa, Kurt, you’re part of the group, now. You have to hear him out.”
“I agree with Kurt, Mr Schue,” Mercedes says, “Finn doesn’t want to help us, he just wants an excuse to kiss a bunch of girls.”
Blaine glances between Mercedes and Finn as Santana says something about man boobs and Finn snaps back, and Kurt uses the distraction to shrug his arm out of Mr Schue’s grip although he pauses in the doorway, seeming to revel in the brewing argument.
Blaine tears his attention away from him just long enough to hear Mr Schue be told he has an addiction to vests (which seems pretty true, Blaine can’t remember seeing him without one) and wincing when Rachel finishes her admittedly rather long rant and Santana storms out, knocking Kurt aside with her shoulder. From the corner of his eye he can see Mike glance at him and pull a face, and when Blaine catches his eye, he shrugs and smiles.
**
Kurt comes back to Glee on Thursday, climbs the risers and flops into the seat next to Blaine.
“Couldn’t stay away?” Blaine grins, and Kurt rolls his eyes. “Something about your specific brand of crazy is very appealing to me. Plus, it’s fun to watch Berry humiliate herself constantly in her futile pursuit of Finn.”
Blaine shakes his head. “Maybe we’ll even get you to sing a song some day, huh?”
“I doubt it, Anderson,” Kurt says, spinning a pen between his fingers, “I really doubt it.”
**
"Hey, dude," Finn tells Blaine as he opens the door, "Come on in. Mom's making popcorn, could you bring it down? The others will be here in a second and then we can get started on our songs for this week."
"Hello, Mrs. Hudson," Blaine calls as he toes off his shoes and Finn disappears up into his room, "How are you?"
"Hello, Blaine," Carole appears with a book in her hands, smiling, "I'm fine, thank you very much. How are you?"
"I'm great, thanks," Blaine follows her into the kitchen and leans against the counter, "Finn sent me to get popcorn?"
"Oh, yes, it's just in the microwave. How's Glee Club? Finn never wants to talk when he gets home."
"Well, um -" your other son has joined and he spends all his time just watching me and god it sends shivers down my spine, my hands shake and I blush and can't concentrate he's so hot "- it's okay. Rachel's kind of bitter at the moment. She sings a lot."
"I heard Kurt called her out."
"Oh, yeah. He got tired of listening to her sing Is It Over Yet."
"I love that kid," she laughs, "He takes bullshit from nobody."
She opens the microwave door, opens the pack of popcorn and pour it into a bowl. "Here you go. Tell Finn supper's at six - are you staying?"
"I'd love to, if that's okay."
"I'll lay a place for you."
"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson." Blaine picks up the bowl and tucks the pack of pita chips against his hip and makes his way down the stairs.
Kurt and Finn are arguing when he gets in, and he keeps his head down and places his armful of food on the table opposite the TV. Kurt is standing, shoulders high and defensive as Finn sits on his bed and rolls his eyes, and Blaine finds himself staring at the tense line of those shoulders, how broad they are, and his knees go weak as he remembers how it felt to grab onto them to support himself.
"-don't see why it's such a big deal, anyway."
"Because," Kurt snarls, body wound tight like a cat about to spring, "Because, you imbecile, I have grades to worry about and papers to write and a GPA to keep, unlike you!"
He paces, runs a hand through his hair, pausing in front of Blaine. "I need this room to study, genius, have your stupid video game marathon upstairs, Jesus!"
"Dude, why do you even bother? Everyone knows you're just going to stay here anyway," Finn snaps, and Kurt's knuckles go white with how tight they're curled.
"Fuck you, Finn. You don't know anything."
"I know you're just as much of a Lima Loser as Puck, and that you're not going to get any further than your dad's shop -"
"Says the guy who's failing seven classes! Oh yeah, you're definitely going to get somewhere, you're a regular fucking Einstein!" Kurt near screams, and Blaine shifts a little, wondering if it'll come to blows. He hopes not, he's not strong enough to restrain either of them.
"Yeah, well at least my parents care about what I do!" Finn stands, leaning into Kurt's face.
"Finn," Blaine says, moving closer, "Finn, don't."
Kurt's face is tight with fury, eyes blazing, he looks like he wouldn't even think about killing someone.
"Yeah, that's right," Finn sneers, ignoring Blaine "Your dad's given up on you. He knows you're a dead end. At least I know my dad would be proud of me. Not like -"
"Finn -"
"Not like your mom, bet she had such high hopes for you too -"
Kurt lets out a wordless scream of rage, pulling back his fist, and Finn flinches, but before Kurt can lash out Blaine grabs his arm and tugs it down. Kurt breathes sharp and furious through his nose, wrenching his wrist out of Blaine's grip and then storms out, grabbing his jacket from the chair by the stairwell as he passes.
Blaine stands there for a moment, looks between Finn - still shocked statue-still - and the stairs, and then runs after Kurt.
The front door slams halfway up the stairs and Blaine slips on the floor, snagging his shoes with his fingertips and shutting the door behind him, and runs up the street after Kurt, calling his name.
"Kurt! Kurt!"
He's further than Blaine had thought he would be, and Blaine's getting breathless when he catches up, and skitters in front of him.
"Move," Kurt snaps, shoving past, and Blaine follows him, "Fuck off, don't follow me. I don't need Finn's leavings."
"I'm your friend," Blaine says, shrugging helplessly, "I - Finn was wrong, okay, are you okay?"
Kurt chokes out "Didn't even hear the argument and you're taking my side -" and turns left towards the park.
"I -" Blaine slumps his shoulders and knocks his shoes together, which draws Kurt's attention. "Not even wearing shoes. Jesus, Anderson."
Blaine opens the gate for him and Kurt breezes past, walks for the swings and sits down, kicking his boots out in front of him. Blaine hops barefoot over the wood chips and sits next to him. "You're crying."
"Congrats, your contacts are working today," Kurt says bitterly, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve. Blaine fumbles in his pocket, pulling out his neatly-folded handkerchief, and when Kurt unfolds it he sees the embroidered B.W.A in the corner.
"William," Blaine supplies, "My second name."
"Like the prince?"
"Like the prince," Blaine says.
Kurt laughs. "You're going to make a girl very happy one day, Mr Anderson."
Blaine's heart lodges in his throat, but he has to say it. "A boy."
"Pardon?"
"A boy. I'll make. A boy. Happy. Some day."
Kurt smiles knowingly. "I know."
Blaine blinks. "You - you do?"
"Yep. Saw you checking out that guy's ass. What's his name. Sam?"
Blaine blushes. "Oh, uh. Yeah."
Kurt dabs at his eyes. "I don't blame you. That's one fine piece of ass."
Blaine laughs, then. "Yes. Yes, it is."
His moment of elation only lasts a second until he realises what Kurt has said. Is he really that obvious? Have other people noticed? Will Kurt tell other people? He wouldn’t, Blaine trusts him not to, Kurt would know that Blaine’s not ready for that.He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready for that, and he knows what the people at school are like. If they find out, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. He doesn’t know what they’ll do to him.
What if Kurt is gay? Blaine chances a glance at him and follows his line of vision across the park to - oh. To a girl wearing a large pair of sunglasses and holding a clutch, mincing along the sidewalk in a ludicrously large pair of heels and an incredibly short skirt, paired with an shirt that dips incredibly low. Kurt’s eyebrows are raised in an expression that’s either incredulity or lust.
Maybe not, then.
Kurt drags his eyes away from the girl and sighs heavily. “I should probably head back, or Finn will have to come looking and then he’ll apologise and it’ll be incredibly awkward.”
“Okay,” Blaine offers his hand and Kurt eyes it for a moment and then takes it, hauling himself upright.
**
Around five minutes later, Blaine meets Burt Hummel for the very first time.
He’s an intimidating man, well built and glowering as Blaine wipes his feet at the door and toes off his shoes.
“Blaine Anderson,” Blaine says, “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“So,” Burt says, “You’re the guy my son’s been spending all his evenings with, then?”
Blaine nearly asks him what on earth he’s talking about, because he’s pretty sure he’d remember if he’d been spending an extended amount of time with Kurt in the evenings, and then he gets it. Kurt’s been using him as cover. And yeah, maybe Blaine’s heart swells a little bit at that, because that means - that means Kurt trusts him, or at least likes him a tiny bit.
He switches his gaze to Kurt, standing behind his father. Kurt shrugs and mouths sorry, wincing theatrically.
“Yes!” Blaine says brightly, “I’m teaching him violin, actually.”
Burt’s eyebrows rise up his forehead. “Teaching Kurt violin?”
“Yep,” he smiles, “We’ve just finished Twinkle Twinkle.”
Behind Burt, Kurt drops his face into his hand.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hummel, but I’ve got to talk to Finn,” Blaine shuffles away, bobbing his head, and then makes a beeline for the stairs.
“What was that?” he laughs, turning to Kurt who’s following right behind him, “Completely out of the blue, I mean, whoa.”
“Sorry,” Kurt mumbles, “You weren’t supposed to know.”
“Hey, it doesn’t matter,” Blaine grins, “And now I’ll actually have to teach you Twinkle Twinkle.”
“Wonderful,” Kurt rolls his eyes, “I can’t wait.”
**
24th February 2011
“Hey, Blaine! Wait up a second.”
Blaine pauses, turning to see Puck jogging after him, waving. “Bro, I heard you talking to Mike after Glee. Your house is empty this weekend?”
“Well, yeah. Just me and my brother.”
Puck grins. “So what do you say, I’ll bring the chicks and you bring the alcohol?”
Blaine blinks. “I’m not having a party. I have a show-jumping thing in a few weeks that I have to practice for, plus Sam, Mike and I are having a movie night on Saturday.”
“Got that right, brother,” Sam says, slinging his arm around Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine grins up at him, hoping Sam will defend his decisions.
Puck shakes his head. “Dude, everyone’s hosted a party for me. You gotta do it.”
Blaine shrugs his shoulders uncomfortably. “I... I don’t know. I don’t know if my brother...”
“Hey, your brother’s totally cool, Blaine. If you just tell him I’m sure he’ll be fine with it,” Sam pats Blaine on the arm.
“Just tell him you’re having a party, and you need him out of the house for the night. That’s what I say to my mom,” Puck shrugs, “Easy as pie, man.”
Sam nods. “Yeah, it’ll be awesome! I know this guy who can get me those cool coloured drinks on discount.” He and Puck fist-bump.
Blaine wrinkles his nose. “Puck, I really don’t think -“
“C’mon, Anderson, you gotta let me. You gotta.”
Sam nods hopefully, grinning.
Blaine groans. “Okay, fine. I’ll ask him.”
**
“Hey, Coop,” Blaine calls as he slides his shoes into the shoe rack, “I’m back.”
“Hey, squirt,” Cooper yells, and Mouse comes skittering out into the hallway and noses his way between Blaine’s knees, tail wagging excitedly. Blaine ruffles his fur and pads through into the den, leaning against the doorway. “How was your day?”
“Fine,” Cooper waves a hand, “Got an email from Dad. He says he and Mom are fine, the new job is fine, everything is fine, and he hates his boss. Business as usual. Also, Chelsea called, she said that she’s changing Archie’s food again and not to give him oats next time you’re at the stables because he’s getting fat again.”
Blaine laughs. “As usual. Uh, Coop, could I ask you something?”
“Sure, bro, you know there are condoms in my closet, you don’t have to -“
“It’s not about sex!”
“Okay, okay,” Cooper lifts his hands in a gesture of surrender, “Sorry. What is it?”
Blaine takes a deep breath, bounces on his toes a little. “Uh, would it be okay if...this weekend, if...”
“Yeah? Spit it out, Blaine, I’ve got an article to write here.”
“If you could buy some more instant noodles?” Blaine blurts, “Um, I ate all of them for lunch this past week.”
Cooper blinks. “Er. Okay?”
“Yes. So. I’m going to go and change,” Blaine nods, smiles his best this-is-awkward-so-I’ll-leave smile and dashes up the stairs.
He throws his bag onto the armchair and strips off his sweater vest, dumping it in the laundry basket and swapping out his polo for a soft old t-shirt. Turning to face the mirror, he takes a deep breath and rehearses under his breath.
“Cooper, I’m having a party and I need you to go out of the house for the night.”
Blaine swallows hard, closes his eyes and repeats it. “Cooper, I’m having a party and I need you to go out of the house for the night. No, I need you to spend some time away? To...to...”
“You need alcohol, or...?”
Blaine spins, stumbling back against the mirror, and Cooper waves casually. “Who’s the party for? Can I stay?”
Blaine puts his hand over his heart. “You scared me.”
“Is it for your Glee Club? I can get you alcohol, and stuff. If you want it.”
“Cooper, I swear, I don’t -“
“Like, tequila, or what? Rum? Vodka? I have a friend, you know, who can get that shit for you.”
“Coop! I -“
Cooper pulls out his phone. “I’ll make a list. Tequila, rum, vodka, beer. That’s the basics. What else d’you want?”
Blaine shrugs. “I don’t...I don’t know?”
“I’ll handle it,” Coop waves a hand, “Tell whoever it is to go ahead, it’s a-okay.”
“I -“
“No problem, squirt,” Cooper grins and salutes, twirling off the door and down the hallway. Distantly, Blaine hears him mutter “Not a cool brother. Eat your words, Neil.”
**
25th February, 2011
As a middle-schooler ‘Truth or Dare’ was the bane of Blaine’s life. Someone would ask him, ‘Truth or Dare?’ and truth would always be his answer. The dares back then were far too scary for him, and without fail he’d get ‘Who do you like?’, ‘Do you like Maisy?’, ‘Do you like Anna?’, ‘Do you like me?’ and he’d have to stutter and blush his way through an answer.
‘Truth or Dare’ as a sophomore is much easier. Especially when you’re drunk.
Blaine leans into Tina, giggling helplessly as Sam “break dances” across the floor, writhing and squirming with his arms flapping. He’s pleasantly buzzed, warm and happy with his drink dangling from his fingertips. The bottle spins.
“Hey, Blaine!”
“Blaine, Blaine, truth or dare?”
Blaine almost automatically says truth and then he stops, smiles. “You know what, I’ll take a dare.”
Santana cheers, finally, and Rachel claps her hands. “Okay, Blaine, I dare you to...”
“Kiss Rachel!” someone yells, and Blaine frowns. “No, no, no.”
“No?” Rachel says, eyes suddenly sharp and angry, and Blaine backtracks. “It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you, like, you’re not unattractive, I guess, but, like, I don’t? Because...” he waves his hands, trying to articulate, “Like, I want to kiss Kurt? More than you?”
Kurt startles upright from where he’d been slouching against the couch, eyes wide. “Huh?”
“What?” Puck says, “Dude, are you gay?”
Blaine snaps his fingers. “Exactly. I am...flamingly homosexual.”
There’s a moment of shocked silence and Blaine can vaguely see over the top of his drink that everyone’s sort of staring at him.
“I did not see that coming,” Mercedes says. Rachel pouts. “Fine, then. Make out with Kurt, then.”
“But isn’t the point of ‘Truth or Dare’ to do something you wouldn’t usually do?” Quinn points out. She folds her arms and frowns when nobody listens to her.
“Don’t I get a choice in this?” Kurt asks, but Rachel presses a finger to his lips.
“Sure, okay,” Blaine shrugs, tries to get up and falls back on his ass. Stunned, he laughs. “I’m drunk.”
“You’re a lightweight, that’s what you are,” Santana bangs her glass down, “Do it. Make out. Gay action is better than normal action.”
Kurt sighs. “Get over here, Anderson.”
Blaine gets onto his hands and knees, knocks the bottle aside with his knee as he crawls over to Kurt, who’s looking slightly world-weary and folding his legs underneath him. “Let’s get this over and done with.”
“Okay,” Blaine says, eyes fixed on Kurt’s lips, “Yes, let’s do this -“ and then Kurt’s palm cups his jaw and pulls him in.
Kurt’s lips are dry, a little chapped, and Blaine grabs his biceps with both hands, gasping slightly. Blaine presses in a bit closer, drops his mouth open and grazes his tongue over Kurt’s lower lip. He tastes like - like the coke he’d been drinking earlier and something else, something lighter, and then Kurt’s mouth opens for him and oh god. Blaine lifts his hands, curls his fingers into Kurt’s hair, moans in the back of his throat and leans in, tilting his head so he can kiss Kurt deeper, tongues sliding together with Kurt’s hands tightening over his hips, and he tries to shuffle forwards over Kurt’s lap, rising up onto his knees when there’s a hand on his shoulder.
“Okay, time’s up!” Rachel shouts, sounding a little wounded, and their lips part with a wet smooch that Blaine immediately wants to hear again.
“Hey, no, Berry, that was hot,” Santana hooks her fingers into Blaine’s collar, “You just keep on going.”
But Kurt shoves back, runs a hand through his (already messy, Blaine did that, Blaine messed up his hair like that) hair and stands. “I’m not nearly drunk enough for this,” he mutters, and walks away.
“That,” Blaine says, “was an awesome kiss.”
“I second that!” Tina cackles, and Blaine winks at her and tilts his head back to look for Kurt.
“There should be more of that,” Brittany says, nodding, “That was good.”
“Hey, we should play spin the bottle!” Mike calls, and the cheer goes up around the room. “Spin the bottle!”
Blaine doesn’t really pay attention, trying to work out where Kurt has got to. When he realises it’s been ten minutes since Kurt went to get his drink, he climbs unsteadily to his feet and stumbles into the hallway.
“Hey,” he slurs, “Hey, Kurt, hey, you didn’t come back?”
“Nope,” Kurt picks up his bag, “I’m heading home, actually.”
“But,” Blaine has to swap hands to clutch the doorframe, “But the party isn’t over, yet? Why - why are you going?”
“I feel like going home. Do I need to have a reason?”
“Did I do something? Was it the house - was - did I do anything?”
“I’m just,” Kurt shrugs, “I’m tired?”
Blaine swallows hard. “It was me, wasn’t it? Because I kissed you? It was my fault, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t have kissed you, I’m sorry, please don’t go.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t worry, I’ll let myself out.”
“No, Kurt, please,” Blaine has to pause to collect himself, then stumbles after Kurt. The door slams on his foot and he yelps, hopping forwards to sit on the step. “Kurt, don’t go! I promise I’ll never kiss you again, I’ll never - I won’t talk to you, I won’t touch you. Just please don’t go.”
Kurt pauses, a dark shape against the glare of the streetlamp, and then he turns. Blaine sighs in relief and Kurt rubs a hand over his face.
“You can’t - when you look at me like that, you can’t. It’s not fair.”
Blaine just smiles. “You’ll stay?”
“Stop it. Don’t smile at me like that, you idiot. What are you doing out here, you’re wearing a shirt and it’s minus a hundred. Yes, I’ll stay, god.” Kurt grabs Blaine by the arms, yanks him up, “Your foot’s swelling up.”
Blaine glances down. “Ouch.”
“Yep. C’mon, idiot. Get inside.”
Blaine hops all the way back into the kitchen, Kurt’s arm tight around his waist. He has to press his face into Kurt’s shoulder in order to turn himself around, and Kurt smells like the leather of his jacket and something spicy and warm. He sighs, hops back onto a stool and props his foot up as Kurt opens the freezer door and tosses a pack of peas at him. Blaine stares at them dumbly and then says “Ow!” when it slaps him in the chest.
“You’re a dumbass.”
“Sorry,” Blaine leans down to fetch it and topples off his chair.
“Jesus. Sit still.” Kurt rummages in his bag, pulls out a roll of tape and fiddles with it for a second while Blaine rests his head in his hands and tries to shake away the fuzziness.
“’S not fun anymore,” he says, “I wanna be sober.”
“Here,” Kurt bangs down a glass of water, “Drink this. All of it.”
He tapes the peas to Blaine’s foot, mutters “God knows you can’t hold it yourself,” and then Blaine grabs his hand. “Are you mad at me?”
“What? Why?”
“Because I kissed you. Are you mad? Because I think - it would make other guys mad.”
“No, I’m not mad,” Kurt taps the table, “Drink your water. It’s probably best if I go get everyone going.”
“No, Kurt, the party isn’t over yet,” Blaine whines, and Kurt snorts. “You can’t walk, Blaine. Stay there.”
Kurt disappears and Blaine grimaces as he takes a sip of water. Now he’s stopped drinking the bitter aftertaste of alcohol is heavy on his tongue and he coughs, yawns. Kurt comes back through.
“I’ve got Finn escorting people out. I think Puck might crash on your floor, though.”
“’S okay,” Blaine drops his head to rest it on the sideboard, “Ugh. Ugh.”
“This is why I don’t drink,” Kurt mutters, “Too many repercussions.”
People start to trickle through, then, patting Blaine on the back or calling a goodbye, and Blaine waves in the vague direction of the voices and sighs in relief when Kurt says “That’s the last one. C’mon, tiger, let’s go,” and unpeels the tape from Blaine’s foot with one sharp flick of his wrist.
“Rawr,” Blaine says weakly, clinging to Kurt as he’s pulled upright and hobbles up the stairs, peas forgotten by the fruit bowl. Absent-mindedly, Blaine wonders if they’ll be defrosted by the morning or not.
Kurt drops him unceremoniously onto his bed, leans over him and undoes the bow-tie at Blaine’s throat, cursing under his breath. “God, did you tie this when you were drunk?”
“Yeah,” Blaine laughs, “Yeah, that was funny.”
“I’m sure,” he says dryly, unpicking the knot and tugging the tie off. Blaine groans. “I’m drunk.”
“Yep.”
“It’s not fun.”
“You’ve said so.”
“I want to go to sleep.”
“Let me take this off and you can.”
Blaine giggles. “You’re taking off my clothes. It’s like a one night stand!”
“Jesus,” Kurt mutters, flicking the buttons of his shirt open, “You’re way too coherent for a drunk person.”
“It runs in the family,” Blaine rubs his eyes, raises his arms obediently as Kurt pulls off his shirt.
“Okay, get into bed. C’mon.”
“No, stay,” Blaine whines, “Stay stay stay. Stay.”
“Blaine. I’m not your mother.”
“No,” Blaine mumbles, “Because that would suck. You’re my favourite, anyway.”
“Sure.”
Blaine grabs his wrist, tugs him until he sits on the bed. “That’s better,” he mumbles.
“God, just go to sleep,” Kurt says, but he tugs the covers up over Blaine’s shoulders.
Blaine falls asleep with a smile on his face.
**
Kurt extracts his wrist gently from Blaine’s grip, pats him on the head and stands, switching off the light as he leaves. Pausing outside Blaine’s door, he touches the pad of his finger to his lips, smiles and shakes his head fondly.
“Blaine Anderson,” he says, “You are one of a kind.”
He’s halfway down the stairs when the migraine hits.
He doesn’t know what causes it, never knows when it’s coming or when it’ll end. It just appears out of nowhere, like a million ice picks attempting to carve a hole in his skull.
Kurt sits down heavily, resting his head on his knees and trying to breathe through the pain. Nausea rolls in his stomach, making him groan. The noise spikes through his head, and the pain rises and swells, and Kurt sinks his teeth into his lip to hold back his cry of pain.
Forcing himself upright, he clamps his hand on the banister and inches down the stairs, one foot at a time with his eyes cracked open against the light. Hissing through his teeth, he shuffles along the ground and then there’s a noise like a gunshot and his vision goes white with pain. The ground rushes up to catch him.
**
March, 2000
Kurt picks up his teapot and carefully pours a cup of water with flower petals for Sprinkles the toy unicorn. “You’re welcome,” he says kindly, and sets it back on the table.
The plastic is peeling and weather-worn, but if he closes his eyes and thinks really hard he can still remember sitting with Mama and talking about the weather and drinking lemonade. Sniffing, he runs his fist under his nose and fumbles in his pocket for his handkerchief. Too late, he remembers that he snuck it into the washing machine that morning after waking up with it all stiff with tears and snot. Aunt Mildred says he shouldn’t cry any more, he’s seven now. He should be able to go the night without waking up crying or screaming for his Daddy.
Pushing back his chair, Kurt scuffs his feet in the dirt as he walks back into Aunt Mildred’s house, wrinkling his nose at the smell of mould. He hates it here; all his friends are back in Lima instead of smelly old Phoenix. The school is horrible and everyone laughs at his bow-ties and nobody wants to play hopscotch with him, so he plays by himself and eats by himself and walks back to Aunt Mildred’s by himself. But he doesn’t really have a choice ever since his Daddy went away. Aunt Mildred says he’s off chasing geese, but Kurt thinks he’s looking for the man who killed Mama.
The doorbell rings, but Kurt doesn’t answer it. Sometimes it’s the boys from down the road. They call Aunt Mildred batty and a witch and they call him a fag, but he doesn’t know what that means and Aunt Mildred doesn’t let him go to the library and look it up there.
Kurt takes the last packet of tissues and carefully pens “TISHOOZ” onto the shopping list in the crayon he keeps next to the pad of paper. Sometimes Aunt Mildred goes shopping by herself, and she never gets what they need to make dinner, so he makes a list and sometimes, when he’s lucky, she’ll come back with half of what he wanted.
Kurt walks down to his tea party table, picks up Sprinkles and continues to the rickety swing at the bottom of the garden, blowing his nose as quietly as he can. Aunt Mildred takes a nap from two o’ clock to four o’ clock every day, and he’s not to disturb her. The last time he did, she smacked him so hard he had to sit on a cushion at dinner that night.
Kurt pushes himself gently back and forth on the swing, staring up at the sky. Sometimes he imagines Mama swooping down from the clouds and whizzing him away to Disneyland, where they can find Daddy and eat candy floss all day. But then he remembers that Mama’s dead, and Daddy’s not coming back either, and he thinks about something else.
The doorbell is still ringing. Kurt swings higher.
Aunt Mildred starts shouting and Kurt winces. Maybe he should have opened the door after all. He swings far enough to push off the rickety old fence with the tips of his toes.
“ - been all this time? Leaving me with this little snot, like I don’t have better things to do,” she yells, and Kurt drags his toes across the ground to stop the swing, brushing the dirt off the tips of his shoes.
The screen door slams and he flinches, starts swinging again. Usually if he pretends not to hear her she’ll go back to bed.
The grass starts crunching and Kurt tightens his fists on the rope. When she doesn’t go back to bed, he gets smacked, and that’s the worst.
“Uh...Kurt?”
Kurt falls off the swing.
But as soon as he’s on the floor there are a pair of big hands lifting him back up, up against a broad chest and he clings to the familiar fabric of his Daddy’s shirt and buries his face in his neck.
“Hey, kiddo,” Daddy rubs his back, “I missed you.”
“You came back?” Kurt mumbles into his collar, and Daddy lets out a weird, choked noise.
“Of course I did, Kurt. I’ll always come back for you.”
Kurt starts to cry. Big, hitching sobs with his arms wrapped around Daddy’s neck, holding tight like maybe he can stop him leaving again.
Daddy carries him inside, sits him on the sofa and pulls the crumpled tissue from Kurt’s fist to dab his cheeks dry. His hands are clumsy and rougher than Kurt remembers, but his face is still the same, and his eyes. Kurt says “Are you going to go away again?”
“No, kiddo,” Daddy takes Kurt’s hands in his own, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you.”
“You drove away,” Kurt’s bottom lip wobbles, “I saw you. Don’t shake your head, you did so, I saw you do it.”
“No, buddy, I know. I know I drove away, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
Kurt says “It’s okay,” because it is. Daddy left, but he came back, and that’s all that matters.
“I got something for you,” Daddy says, unzipping his duffle bag, and he pulls out a big purple sweater. Kurt’s mouth falls open and he grabs it, curling his knees up to his chest so he can bury his face in it.
Kurt holds Mama’s sweater in his fists. It doesn’t smell like Mama anymore but if he tries his best he can still feel her. Daddy is rifling through his duffle bag, his back wider than Kurt remembers. It’s Daddy’s first day back and Kurt feels like he doesn’t really know him anymore. Daddy has more scars on his hands than he ever did before.
Daddy finds a book and sets it down on the table. Kurt watches him flip through the pages, dust motes flying into the air as the pages rustle.
“This is the one,” Daddy says, pointing at the page, and Kurt thinks he sounds different now, even. He misses his Daddy from before. “Moloch.”
Kurt looks up at Daddy’s expectant eyes. “Moloch,” he repeats, dutifully. He doesn’t understand.
“One day, Kurt, I swear, I will find this demon and make sure he never hurts us again.”
“Okay, Daddy,” Kurt says, and Daddy blinks at him for a little while, ruffles his hair and sighs.
“You grow up too fast, squirt. How old are you now, seven?”
“And a bit,” Kurt supplies. “Almost eight, honest.”
“It makes all the difference,” Daddy agrees.
They leave the next day, Mama’s sweater falling almost to Kurt’s knees as he hauls his wheely suitcase along with Sprinkles tucked under his arm. Daddy turns into a parking lot and then stops, looking around. Kurt spots his old truck, parked in the far corner.
“They left without me,” he says, sounding hurt. Kurt tugs at his sleeve. “Who left, Daddy?”
“Nobody,” he shakes his head, “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got you now, haven’t I, bud?”
“Yeah,” Kurt slips his hand into Daddy’s as they walk towards the truck, “And I’ve got you, and we’ll be together forever.”
“We sure will,” Daddy says, squeezing Kurt’s hand, “We sure will.”
January 1999
Kurt throws himself onto his Mama’s bed, clutching his book to his chest. She smiles at him, strokes back his hair. “Peter Pan again, Kurt?”
“Mm,” Kurt curls into her side and slips his thumb into his mouth, “It’s my favourite,” he explains, slightly muffled.
“Okay, sweetie,” she says, pinching his cheek, “Got a little crush on Wendy?”
Kurt wrinkles his nose and pulls his thumb away, wiping it on his pajama shirt. “No. I like Peter much more.”
Her hands falter. “Really?”
“Of course. Mama, do you think he’d take me away to Neverland if I asked nicely?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. But you’d have to leave me and Daddy behind, and that wouldn’t be fun.”
Kurt just shrugs and pokes the book cover once, jiggling his legs under the covers. “Read it, read it from the start.”
“Okay, Kurt. From the very beginning. Peter Pan, by James M. Barrie. Chapter one, Peter breaks through...”
Kurt leans his head on Mama’s chest, slips his thumb back into his mouth as she reads. He lifts his hand to play with the charm on her wrist, turns it in his fingers. It’s a star, a star in a circle with what looks like a sun around it, made of cold metal. He folds it into his fingers.
The window rattles softly and the room seems to grow colder. Kurt huddles closer, tugs the covers up a little and fiddles with the knot of the charm, tugging it until it unravels. He wraps it around his fingers, smiling as the charm falls neatly into the palm of his hand. He yawns, the warm tone of his Mama’s voice making him sleepy. The window rattles, louder.
Mama’s voice stops and he sits up a little, blinking. “Mama?”
“Shh, sweetie,” she says softly, “You hold onto that, okay?”
“Mmkay,” he rolls over to watch her open the window, glancing outside carefully.
And then she goes flying back across the room with a scream.
Immediately Kurt scrambles out of his bed and runs towards her, the charm still clutched in his hand. She pushes him away, shaking her head. “Hide in the cupboard, sweetheart,” she whispers, “Go, go hide, go.”
He dashes across the floor, opens the door to the wardrobe and slips inside, shutting it behind him. He peers through the slats, gripping them tight, and waits.
A hand grips the windowsill, and then another, and a man hauls himself up into the room. When he lifts his head, his eyes are black. Kurt puts a hand over his mouth and tells himself he won’t scream.
“I would like my payment,” it says.
Mama shakes her head. “You have it.”
“I would like. My. Payment.”
“You have it. I told you -“
The paintings on the walls come crashing to the floor, and broken glass sprays everywhere. Kurt flinches.
“Give it to me. Give me my payment.”
“I don’t have him! He’s with his father, he’s not here.”
“Give me your firstborn or I will burn this house to the ground.”
“He’s not here.”
“Then explain to me why there is a children’s book on the bed, children’s slippers on the floor and - hm, yes, the distinct smell of a little girl.”
“Boy.”
“I don’t care. Give it to me.”
Mama shakes her head. “He’s not here, he went out.”
Kurt nearly screams when fire erupts in the man’s hand, billowing red and angry, almost snapping at the air. Mama’s eyes flash towards the cupboard and the man laughs.
“So predictable, you little humans. So...boring, even.” He turns, and starts to walk towards Kurt’s hiding place, smiling. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
The doors go flying off the hinges and Kurt can’t help it, he screams, pushing himself further away from the man until what feels like a hand closes around his wrist and pulls him out.
“Leave him alone!” Mama cries, but she doesn’t try to get up and help him. Terrified, Kurt tries to pull his hand away, his shoulder aching as his toes barely brush the ground.
“Mama,” he cries, “Mama, make him stop, I don’t -“
“Shut up,” the man says dismissively, and Kurt’s mouth snaps shut. He whimpers as the man cups his chin and looks deep in his eyes.
“I do hate the ones who snivel,” he says dismissively, and with a snap of his wrist Kurt is being thrown across the room, hitting the wall next to the bed with a smack. He crumples to the floor and his left wrist takes all of his weight. He nearly screams but his throat jams, and the man is in front of him again.
“Didn’t I say,” he hisses, “That I hate the ones who snivel?”
Kurt blinks hard, feels tears slip down his face all the same. The man smiles, catching a tear on his finger. “Look at this, he’s crying. They all do, I suppose, after all. See, you stupid bitch? This could all have been avoided if you’d just let me take him. His neck would be broken and we’d all be on our merry little way!”
“No,” Mama is still sitting against the wall, and Kurt doesn’t understand. Why isn’t she coming to help him? Why isn’t she saving him?
“No? For fucks sake, I am quickly losing my patience with you, woman. I was thinking about playing with you, making you watch, but I’m done with your pathetic attempts to persuade me and your snivelling son.”
“Please, just leave him, just take me, take me -“
But the man doesn’t listen, instead opens his mouth and a thick black smoke streams out. Kurt screams, turning his face away and then the man drops him and stumbles back.
“You fucking cunt,” he snarls, “What have you done to him? What the fuck have you done? Give me my fucking payment!”
He lifts his arm and Mama’s arm twists and she screams and Kurt hides his face with his right arm, the jam in his throat finally unsticking. He sobs into his arm as Mama screams and screams, begging softly for Daddy to come back and save them.
“Wake up, sweetheart,” the man says, and then he picks Kurt up by the back of his pajama shirt and turning him in midair and at the sight of his Mama Kurt starts screaming and won’t stop.
Mama’s lying in the middle of the floor with her arms outstretched, and there’s blood everywhere, all over her chest and her face and then Kurt realises it’s not blood, it’s her insides. Mama’s insides are everywhere.
“This is what happens,” the man snarls, “When you cross me. This is what happens. You see now, don’t you? You caused this. I wanted you, and I got her, so now we’re equal. But you made this happen.”
Kurt drops the charm and lifts his hands to cover his face, terrified of the inhuman expression on the man’s face.
The man watches it as it falls and he smiles suddenly. “Oh, of course. Of course.”
And then the blackness is rushing out of his mouth and into Kurt’s once more, and Kurt starts screaming again as it forces itself down his throat, lashing out wildly and trying to push the man away, and the door bursts open.
“Kurt -“
Kurt falls to the floor and his fingers close around the charm again and the blackness stops, curling into nothingness in the air. His dad yells “What the hell are you doing to my son?”
“Daddy -“ Kurt chokes, his throat feels like it’s full of syrup. The man disappears so suddenly, it’s like he was never even there.
“Oh, jesus,” Daddy says, and he stumbles back, “Lizzie. Oh god, Lizzie, no, no, fuck.”
“Daddy,” Kurt says, and reaches out for him, “Daddy, he hurt me -“
“Oh god, buddy, okay. I’m here, Kurt, I gotcha. I gotcha,” he lifts Kurt off the floor, jogs his sore arm and strokes his hair back when he wails. “Okay, Kurt, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”
“Mama, we have to -“
“We can’t do any more for Mama now, Kurt,” Daddy says roughly, “C’mon, kiddo, it’s okay. It’s okay.”
Kurt hides his face in Daddy’s shirt as he carries him away, but he can’t stop seeing Mama sprawled out on the floor.
**
9th February, 2011
Blaine is pretty sure his life has taken a turn for the better. He’s finally settling in at McKinley, his place in the Glee club finalised by joining them for their big performance during the half-time of the football game. Mike, Sam and he have bonded over a deep love for Mario Kart, Marvel and bad comedy movies. He’s one of the few juniors in the club, so he’s developed a friendship with Artie mostly based on an intense hate for Trig and Spanish. Tina occasionally strikes up a conversation with him during English, and he’s joined Finn, Puck and the rest of the guys for videogame marathons at least four or five times.
After a long conversation with Trent over pizza, his acquaintanceship with Kurt had been cultivated into a tentative friendship sustained by snarky late-night text messages from Kurt and the cutest, fluffiest animal pictures available from Blaine. Sometimes Kurt will start a conversation at their lockers, sometimes he won’t.
They don’t bring up the poltergeist incident.
Despite all of this, Blaine is having a particularly bad day. He’d spent most of the night before rehearsing his part in the orchestra for their assembly that day, and even had left his Spanish homework for it - Mr. Schuester never collected their worksheets anyway (from what Blaine could see, he spent most of his time pining over Miss Pillsbury).
But now he’d got to school to find that the assembly had been cancelled because Figgins had come down with something. Thoroughly frustrated, he’d gone to Spanish where, for once, Mr. Schuester had decided to be competent and collect the homework. He’d given Blaine a pitying sort of look and told him he was lucky he didn’t give detentions on Fridays, and had then looked at him like he was supposed to be thankful or something.
So now Blaine glares at the floor and reshuffles his papers in his arms, thankful that the corridors are empty. If he had to deal with bumping into insensitive teenagers right now on top of everything else he might punch something.
Finally reaching Glee, he shoulders through the door with a muttered apology, ducking his head to avoid eye contact only to find someone sitting in his usual seat at the back.
“Hi,” Kurt says, smirking around his busted lip.
“Wha -“ Blaine glances at Finn, who’s smiling smugly in the front row.
“Believe me, I don’t know what I’m doing here, either,” Kurt shifts seats and catches Blaine’s pile of papers as they start to fall.
“What happened?” Blaine whispers, nodding at his lip, and Kurt shakes his head. “I got into a disagreement with this meathead. He took three weeks of detention, I took Glee Club.”
“Good choice.”
Kurt gives him a crooked smile. “I’d like to think so too.”
“Blaine, Kurt,” Mr Schue says loudly, “I appreciate your enthusiasm to make friends but we need to focus on the theme for this week, love. Now, I want you guys to pick your partners and sing to them what you think is the world’s best love song!”
Blaine shifts uncomfortably, casts a hopeful look at Tina even though she and Mike are sharing the heartiest of heart eyes. He turns back to the front and pouts.
“Oh, Jesus,” Kurt mumbles, “Is he serious?”
Blaine grins at him. “Oh yes. He is.”
Rachel hops to her feet eagerly. “In light of recent events -“ and she looks at Finn, but now Blaine knows the story behind that so it makes sense, “I feel like I have the ultimate song for this assignment prepared. Mr Schue, if I may -?”
He nods, and Rachel smoothes out her skirt and trots up to the front, talking quickly to the band. “This song really embodies the depth my love can reach, and I feel like the movie from which it comes - starring my idol, Barbra Streisand - also reflects the start of my climb towards being a Broadway star.”
“Oh dear,” Kurt says, “Is she going to sing?”
The harp starts up and Blaine sits up. “Oh, I love this song. Shhh, listen.”
“I’m going to throw up,” Kurt sits up quickly, “I wonder if I can switch to detention?”
Blaine shushes him hastily, his eyes fixed on Rachel as she sings. Kurt eyes him. “I figured you’d be pretty good, you know, since you did that thing for the football match? But I was obviously wrong. You’re run by her, and she’s run by an idiotic infatuation with my stupid step-brother.”
He slumps back in his chair, pouting. Blaine is hit with the overwhelming urge to kiss him.
Rachel belts out the second verse, screwing her face up, and Kurt rolls his eyes. “She has missed the entire point of the movie. Jeez, if this is supposed to reflect her relationship with Finn, I pity him.”
Mercedes twists in her seat and glares at him, and Blaine helpfully puts a hand over his mouth.
The song draws towards its end and Kurt starts jogging his foot against Blaine’s chair. Without thinking, Blaine puts his hand on Kurt’s thigh, stopping him.
As the last note fills the room Kurt sits pulls his leg away, still grumbling to himself. Rachel gives a little bow and the club claps, Blaine calling out a little “Bravo!” as she takes a seat.
“That was really great, Rachel,” Finn says, and Rachel visibly preens, folding her skirt underneath her as she sits down, “Could I make an announcement, Mr. Schue?”
Mr Schue looks a little confused. “Uh, sure. Go ahead.”
“Thanks,” Finn bobs his head in a thank-you and walks up to the front of the room.
“Here we go,” Kurt mutters, folding his arms.
“So,” Finn starts, “As you know, this is the first week we’ve had with no slushies.”
Mercedes arches an eyebrow. “Finn, it’s only Wednesday.”
Finn ignores her, “And I’d like to take credit for that. You know, for leading the football team to a conference championship victory.”
“Wasn’t it Puck...?” Tina mumbles, and Mercedes nods beside her.
“The fact is, I’m the closest thing this Glee club has to a celebrity, and just like a famous athlete, I want to give to a charity,” he pauses for effect and Blaine’s mind whizzes. The homeless centre? The orphanage? The animal rescue centre?”
“You guys.”
“Oh, for god’s sake,” Kurt mutters, running a hand through his hair and looking for his bag. Blaine frowns as the club makes varied disappointed noises.
“So, I’m setting up a kissing booth. It’s a dollar a smooch, and -“
“I’m outta here,” Kurt says, shouldering his bag and stepping down the risers. Mr Schue stops him. “Whoa, Kurt, you’re part of the group, now. You have to hear him out.”
“I agree with Kurt, Mr Schue,” Mercedes says, “Finn doesn’t want to help us, he just wants an excuse to kiss a bunch of girls.”
Blaine glances between Mercedes and Finn as Santana says something about man boobs and Finn snaps back, and Kurt uses the distraction to shrug his arm out of Mr Schue’s grip although he pauses in the doorway, seeming to revel in the brewing argument.
Blaine tears his attention away from him just long enough to hear Mr Schue be told he has an addiction to vests (which seems pretty true, Blaine can’t remember seeing him without one) and wincing when Rachel finishes her admittedly rather long rant and Santana storms out, knocking Kurt aside with her shoulder. From the corner of his eye he can see Mike glance at him and pull a face, and when Blaine catches his eye, he shrugs and smiles.
**
Kurt comes back to Glee on Thursday, climbs the risers and flops into the seat next to Blaine.
“Couldn’t stay away?” Blaine grins, and Kurt rolls his eyes. “Something about your specific brand of crazy is very appealing to me. Plus, it’s fun to watch Berry humiliate herself constantly in her futile pursuit of Finn.”
Blaine shakes his head. “Maybe we’ll even get you to sing a song some day, huh?”
“I doubt it, Anderson,” Kurt says, spinning a pen between his fingers, “I really doubt it.”
**
"Hey, dude," Finn tells Blaine as he opens the door, "Come on in. Mom's making popcorn, could you bring it down? The others will be here in a second and then we can get started on our songs for this week."
"Hello, Mrs. Hudson," Blaine calls as he toes off his shoes and Finn disappears up into his room, "How are you?"
"Hello, Blaine," Carole appears with a book in her hands, smiling, "I'm fine, thank you very much. How are you?"
"I'm great, thanks," Blaine follows her into the kitchen and leans against the counter, "Finn sent me to get popcorn?"
"Oh, yes, it's just in the microwave. How's Glee Club? Finn never wants to talk when he gets home."
"Well, um -" your other son has joined and he spends all his time just watching me and god it sends shivers down my spine, my hands shake and I blush and can't concentrate he's so hot "- it's okay. Rachel's kind of bitter at the moment. She sings a lot."
"I heard Kurt called her out."
"Oh, yeah. He got tired of listening to her sing Is It Over Yet."
"I love that kid," she laughs, "He takes bullshit from nobody."
She opens the microwave door, opens the pack of popcorn and pour it into a bowl. "Here you go. Tell Finn supper's at six - are you staying?"
"I'd love to, if that's okay."
"I'll lay a place for you."
"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson." Blaine picks up the bowl and tucks the pack of pita chips against his hip and makes his way down the stairs.
Kurt and Finn are arguing when he gets in, and he keeps his head down and places his armful of food on the table opposite the TV. Kurt is standing, shoulders high and defensive as Finn sits on his bed and rolls his eyes, and Blaine finds himself staring at the tense line of those shoulders, how broad they are, and his knees go weak as he remembers how it felt to grab onto them to support himself.
"-don't see why it's such a big deal, anyway."
"Because," Kurt snarls, body wound tight like a cat about to spring, "Because, you imbecile, I have grades to worry about and papers to write and a GPA to keep, unlike you!"
He paces, runs a hand through his hair, pausing in front of Blaine. "I need this room to study, genius, have your stupid video game marathon upstairs, Jesus!"
"Dude, why do you even bother? Everyone knows you're just going to stay here anyway," Finn snaps, and Kurt's knuckles go white with how tight they're curled.
"Fuck you, Finn. You don't know anything."
"I know you're just as much of a Lima Loser as Puck, and that you're not going to get any further than your dad's shop -"
"Says the guy who's failing seven classes! Oh yeah, you're definitely going to get somewhere, you're a regular fucking Einstein!" Kurt near screams, and Blaine shifts a little, wondering if it'll come to blows. He hopes not, he's not strong enough to restrain either of them.
"Yeah, well at least my parents care about what I do!" Finn stands, leaning into Kurt's face.
"Finn," Blaine says, moving closer, "Finn, don't."
Kurt's face is tight with fury, eyes blazing, he looks like he wouldn't even think about killing someone.
"Yeah, that's right," Finn sneers, ignoring Blaine "Your dad's given up on you. He knows you're a dead end. At least I know my dad would be proud of me. Not like -"
"Finn -"
"Not like your mom, bet she had such high hopes for you too -"
Kurt lets out a wordless scream of rage, pulling back his fist, and Finn flinches, but before Kurt can lash out Blaine grabs his arm and tugs it down. Kurt breathes sharp and furious through his nose, wrenching his wrist out of Blaine's grip and then storms out, grabbing his jacket from the chair by the stairwell as he passes.
Blaine stands there for a moment, looks between Finn - still shocked statue-still - and the stairs, and then runs after Kurt.
The front door slams halfway up the stairs and Blaine slips on the floor, snagging his shoes with his fingertips and shutting the door behind him, and runs up the street after Kurt, calling his name.
"Kurt! Kurt!"
He's further than Blaine had thought he would be, and Blaine's getting breathless when he catches up, and skitters in front of him.
"Move," Kurt snaps, shoving past, and Blaine follows him, "Fuck off, don't follow me. I don't need Finn's leavings."
"I'm your friend," Blaine says, shrugging helplessly, "I - Finn was wrong, okay, are you okay?"
Kurt chokes out "Didn't even hear the argument and you're taking my side -" and turns left towards the park.
"I -" Blaine slumps his shoulders and knocks his shoes together, which draws Kurt's attention. "Not even wearing shoes. Jesus, Anderson."
Blaine opens the gate for him and Kurt breezes past, walks for the swings and sits down, kicking his boots out in front of him. Blaine hops barefoot over the wood chips and sits next to him. "You're crying."
"Congrats, your contacts are working today," Kurt says bitterly, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve. Blaine fumbles in his pocket, pulling out his neatly-folded handkerchief, and when Kurt unfolds it he sees the embroidered B.W.A in the corner.
"William," Blaine supplies, "My second name."
"Like the prince?"
"Like the prince," Blaine says.
Kurt laughs. "You're going to make a girl very happy one day, Mr Anderson."
Blaine's heart lodges in his throat, but he has to say it. "A boy."
"Pardon?"
"A boy. I'll make. A boy. Happy. Some day."
Kurt smiles knowingly. "I know."
Blaine blinks. "You - you do?"
"Yep. Saw you checking out that guy's ass. What's his name. Sam?"
Blaine blushes. "Oh, uh. Yeah."
Kurt dabs at his eyes. "I don't blame you. That's one fine piece of ass."
Blaine laughs, then. "Yes. Yes, it is."
His moment of elation only lasts a second until he realises what Kurt has said. Is he really that obvious? Have other people noticed? Will Kurt tell other people? He wouldn’t, Blaine trusts him not to, Kurt would know that Blaine’s not ready for that.He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready for that, and he knows what the people at school are like. If they find out, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. He doesn’t know what they’ll do to him.
What if Kurt is gay? Blaine chances a glance at him and follows his line of vision across the park to - oh. To a girl wearing a large pair of sunglasses and holding a clutch, mincing along the sidewalk in a ludicrously large pair of heels and an incredibly short skirt, paired with an shirt that dips incredibly low. Kurt’s eyebrows are raised in an expression that’s either incredulity or lust.
Maybe not, then.
Kurt drags his eyes away from the girl and sighs heavily. “I should probably head back, or Finn will have to come looking and then he’ll apologise and it’ll be incredibly awkward.”
“Okay,” Blaine offers his hand and Kurt eyes it for a moment and then takes it, hauling himself upright.
**
Around five minutes later, Blaine meets Burt Hummel for the very first time.
He’s an intimidating man, well built and glowering as Blaine wipes his feet at the door and toes off his shoes.
“Blaine Anderson,” Blaine says, “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“So,” Burt says, “You’re the guy my son’s been spending all his evenings with, then?”
Blaine nearly asks him what on earth he’s talking about, because he’s pretty sure he’d remember if he’d been spending an extended amount of time with Kurt in the evenings, and then he gets it. Kurt’s been using him as cover. And yeah, maybe Blaine’s heart swells a little bit at that, because that means - that means Kurt trusts him, or at least likes him a tiny bit.
He switches his gaze to Kurt, standing behind his father. Kurt shrugs and mouths sorry, wincing theatrically.
“Yes!” Blaine says brightly, “I’m teaching him violin, actually.”
Burt’s eyebrows rise up his forehead. “Teaching Kurt violin?”
“Yep,” he smiles, “We’ve just finished Twinkle Twinkle.”
Behind Burt, Kurt drops his face into his hand.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hummel, but I’ve got to talk to Finn,” Blaine shuffles away, bobbing his head, and then makes a beeline for the stairs.
“What was that?” he laughs, turning to Kurt who’s following right behind him, “Completely out of the blue, I mean, whoa.”
“Sorry,” Kurt mumbles, “You weren’t supposed to know.”
“Hey, it doesn’t matter,” Blaine grins, “And now I’ll actually have to teach you Twinkle Twinkle.”
“Wonderful,” Kurt rolls his eyes, “I can’t wait.”
**
24th February 2011
“Hey, Blaine! Wait up a second.”
Blaine pauses, turning to see Puck jogging after him, waving. “Bro, I heard you talking to Mike after Glee. Your house is empty this weekend?”
“Well, yeah. Just me and my brother.”
Puck grins. “So what do you say, I’ll bring the chicks and you bring the alcohol?”
Blaine blinks. “I’m not having a party. I have a show-jumping thing in a few weeks that I have to practice for, plus Sam, Mike and I are having a movie night on Saturday.”
“Got that right, brother,” Sam says, slinging his arm around Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine grins up at him, hoping Sam will defend his decisions.
Puck shakes his head. “Dude, everyone’s hosted a party for me. You gotta do it.”
Blaine shrugs his shoulders uncomfortably. “I... I don’t know. I don’t know if my brother...”
“Hey, your brother’s totally cool, Blaine. If you just tell him I’m sure he’ll be fine with it,” Sam pats Blaine on the arm.
“Just tell him you’re having a party, and you need him out of the house for the night. That’s what I say to my mom,” Puck shrugs, “Easy as pie, man.”
Sam nods. “Yeah, it’ll be awesome! I know this guy who can get me those cool coloured drinks on discount.” He and Puck fist-bump.
Blaine wrinkles his nose. “Puck, I really don’t think -“
“C’mon, Anderson, you gotta let me. You gotta.”
Sam nods hopefully, grinning.
Blaine groans. “Okay, fine. I’ll ask him.”
**
“Hey, Coop,” Blaine calls as he slides his shoes into the shoe rack, “I’m back.”
“Hey, squirt,” Cooper yells, and Mouse comes skittering out into the hallway and noses his way between Blaine’s knees, tail wagging excitedly. Blaine ruffles his fur and pads through into the den, leaning against the doorway. “How was your day?”
“Fine,” Cooper waves a hand, “Got an email from Dad. He says he and Mom are fine, the new job is fine, everything is fine, and he hates his boss. Business as usual. Also, Chelsea called, she said that she’s changing Archie’s food again and not to give him oats next time you’re at the stables because he’s getting fat again.”
Blaine laughs. “As usual. Uh, Coop, could I ask you something?”
“Sure, bro, you know there are condoms in my closet, you don’t have to -“
“It’s not about sex!”
“Okay, okay,” Cooper lifts his hands in a gesture of surrender, “Sorry. What is it?”
Blaine takes a deep breath, bounces on his toes a little. “Uh, would it be okay if...this weekend, if...”
“Yeah? Spit it out, Blaine, I’ve got an article to write here.”
“If you could buy some more instant noodles?” Blaine blurts, “Um, I ate all of them for lunch this past week.”
Cooper blinks. “Er. Okay?”
“Yes. So. I’m going to go and change,” Blaine nods, smiles his best this-is-awkward-so-I’ll-leave smile and dashes up the stairs.
He throws his bag onto the armchair and strips off his sweater vest, dumping it in the laundry basket and swapping out his polo for a soft old t-shirt. Turning to face the mirror, he takes a deep breath and rehearses under his breath.
“Cooper, I’m having a party and I need you to go out of the house for the night.”
Blaine swallows hard, closes his eyes and repeats it. “Cooper, I’m having a party and I need you to go out of the house for the night. No, I need you to spend some time away? To...to...”
“You need alcohol, or...?”
Blaine spins, stumbling back against the mirror, and Cooper waves casually. “Who’s the party for? Can I stay?”
Blaine puts his hand over his heart. “You scared me.”
“Is it for your Glee Club? I can get you alcohol, and stuff. If you want it.”
“Cooper, I swear, I don’t -“
“Like, tequila, or what? Rum? Vodka? I have a friend, you know, who can get that shit for you.”
“Coop! I -“
Cooper pulls out his phone. “I’ll make a list. Tequila, rum, vodka, beer. That’s the basics. What else d’you want?”
Blaine shrugs. “I don’t...I don’t know?”
“I’ll handle it,” Coop waves a hand, “Tell whoever it is to go ahead, it’s a-okay.”
“I -“
“No problem, squirt,” Cooper grins and salutes, twirling off the door and down the hallway. Distantly, Blaine hears him mutter “Not a cool brother. Eat your words, Neil.”
**
25th February, 2011
As a middle-schooler ‘Truth or Dare’ was the bane of Blaine’s life. Someone would ask him, ‘Truth or Dare?’ and truth would always be his answer. The dares back then were far too scary for him, and without fail he’d get ‘Who do you like?’, ‘Do you like Maisy?’, ‘Do you like Anna?’, ‘Do you like me?’ and he’d have to stutter and blush his way through an answer.
‘Truth or Dare’ as a sophomore is much easier. Especially when you’re drunk.
Blaine leans into Tina, giggling helplessly as Sam “break dances” across the floor, writhing and squirming with his arms flapping. He’s pleasantly buzzed, warm and happy with his drink dangling from his fingertips. The bottle spins.
“Hey, Blaine!”
“Blaine, Blaine, truth or dare?”
Blaine almost automatically says truth and then he stops, smiles. “You know what, I’ll take a dare.”
Santana cheers, finally, and Rachel claps her hands. “Okay, Blaine, I dare you to...”
“Kiss Rachel!” someone yells, and Blaine frowns. “No, no, no.”
“No?” Rachel says, eyes suddenly sharp and angry, and Blaine backtracks. “It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you, like, you’re not unattractive, I guess, but, like, I don’t? Because...” he waves his hands, trying to articulate, “Like, I want to kiss Kurt? More than you?”
Kurt startles upright from where he’d been slouching against the couch, eyes wide. “Huh?”
“What?” Puck says, “Dude, are you gay?”
Blaine snaps his fingers. “Exactly. I am...flamingly homosexual.”
There’s a moment of shocked silence and Blaine can vaguely see over the top of his drink that everyone’s sort of staring at him.
“I did not see that coming,” Mercedes says. Rachel pouts. “Fine, then. Make out with Kurt, then.”
“But isn’t the point of ‘Truth or Dare’ to do something you wouldn’t usually do?” Quinn points out. She folds her arms and frowns when nobody listens to her.
“Don’t I get a choice in this?” Kurt asks, but Rachel presses a finger to his lips.
“Sure, okay,” Blaine shrugs, tries to get up and falls back on his ass. Stunned, he laughs. “I’m drunk.”
“You’re a lightweight, that’s what you are,” Santana bangs her glass down, “Do it. Make out. Gay action is better than normal action.”
Kurt sighs. “Get over here, Anderson.”
Blaine gets onto his hands and knees, knocks the bottle aside with his knee as he crawls over to Kurt, who’s looking slightly world-weary and folding his legs underneath him. “Let’s get this over and done with.”
“Okay,” Blaine says, eyes fixed on Kurt’s lips, “Yes, let’s do this -“ and then Kurt’s palm cups his jaw and pulls him in.
Kurt’s lips are dry, a little chapped, and Blaine grabs his biceps with both hands, gasping slightly. Blaine presses in a bit closer, drops his mouth open and grazes his tongue over Kurt’s lower lip. He tastes like - like the coke he’d been drinking earlier and something else, something lighter, and then Kurt’s mouth opens for him and oh god. Blaine lifts his hands, curls his fingers into Kurt’s hair, moans in the back of his throat and leans in, tilting his head so he can kiss Kurt deeper, tongues sliding together with Kurt’s hands tightening over his hips, and he tries to shuffle forwards over Kurt’s lap, rising up onto his knees when there’s a hand on his shoulder.
“Okay, time’s up!” Rachel shouts, sounding a little wounded, and their lips part with a wet smooch that Blaine immediately wants to hear again.
“Hey, no, Berry, that was hot,” Santana hooks her fingers into Blaine’s collar, “You just keep on going.”
But Kurt shoves back, runs a hand through his (already messy, Blaine did that, Blaine messed up his hair like that) hair and stands. “I’m not nearly drunk enough for this,” he mutters, and walks away.
“That,” Blaine says, “was an awesome kiss.”
“I second that!” Tina cackles, and Blaine winks at her and tilts his head back to look for Kurt.
“There should be more of that,” Brittany says, nodding, “That was good.”
“Hey, we should play spin the bottle!” Mike calls, and the cheer goes up around the room. “Spin the bottle!”
Blaine doesn’t really pay attention, trying to work out where Kurt has got to. When he realises it’s been ten minutes since Kurt went to get his drink, he climbs unsteadily to his feet and stumbles into the hallway.
“Hey,” he slurs, “Hey, Kurt, hey, you didn’t come back?”
“Nope,” Kurt picks up his bag, “I’m heading home, actually.”
“But,” Blaine has to swap hands to clutch the doorframe, “But the party isn’t over, yet? Why - why are you going?”
“I feel like going home. Do I need to have a reason?”
“Did I do something? Was it the house - was - did I do anything?”
“I’m just,” Kurt shrugs, “I’m tired?”
Blaine swallows hard. “It was me, wasn’t it? Because I kissed you? It was my fault, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t have kissed you, I’m sorry, please don’t go.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t worry, I’ll let myself out.”
“No, Kurt, please,” Blaine has to pause to collect himself, then stumbles after Kurt. The door slams on his foot and he yelps, hopping forwards to sit on the step. “Kurt, don’t go! I promise I’ll never kiss you again, I’ll never - I won’t talk to you, I won’t touch you. Just please don’t go.”
Kurt pauses, a dark shape against the glare of the streetlamp, and then he turns. Blaine sighs in relief and Kurt rubs a hand over his face.
“You can’t - when you look at me like that, you can’t. It’s not fair.”
Blaine just smiles. “You’ll stay?”
“Stop it. Don’t smile at me like that, you idiot. What are you doing out here, you’re wearing a shirt and it’s minus a hundred. Yes, I’ll stay, god.” Kurt grabs Blaine by the arms, yanks him up, “Your foot’s swelling up.”
Blaine glances down. “Ouch.”
“Yep. C’mon, idiot. Get inside.”
Blaine hops all the way back into the kitchen, Kurt’s arm tight around his waist. He has to press his face into Kurt’s shoulder in order to turn himself around, and Kurt smells like the leather of his jacket and something spicy and warm. He sighs, hops back onto a stool and props his foot up as Kurt opens the freezer door and tosses a pack of peas at him. Blaine stares at them dumbly and then says “Ow!” when it slaps him in the chest.
“You’re a dumbass.”
“Sorry,” Blaine leans down to fetch it and topples off his chair.
“Jesus. Sit still.” Kurt rummages in his bag, pulls out a roll of tape and fiddles with it for a second while Blaine rests his head in his hands and tries to shake away the fuzziness.
“’S not fun anymore,” he says, “I wanna be sober.”
“Here,” Kurt bangs down a glass of water, “Drink this. All of it.”
He tapes the peas to Blaine’s foot, mutters “God knows you can’t hold it yourself,” and then Blaine grabs his hand. “Are you mad at me?”
“What? Why?”
“Because I kissed you. Are you mad? Because I think - it would make other guys mad.”
“No, I’m not mad,” Kurt taps the table, “Drink your water. It’s probably best if I go get everyone going.”
“No, Kurt, the party isn’t over yet,” Blaine whines, and Kurt snorts. “You can’t walk, Blaine. Stay there.”
Kurt disappears and Blaine grimaces as he takes a sip of water. Now he’s stopped drinking the bitter aftertaste of alcohol is heavy on his tongue and he coughs, yawns. Kurt comes back through.
“I’ve got Finn escorting people out. I think Puck might crash on your floor, though.”
“’S okay,” Blaine drops his head to rest it on the sideboard, “Ugh. Ugh.”
“This is why I don’t drink,” Kurt mutters, “Too many repercussions.”
People start to trickle through, then, patting Blaine on the back or calling a goodbye, and Blaine waves in the vague direction of the voices and sighs in relief when Kurt says “That’s the last one. C’mon, tiger, let’s go,” and unpeels the tape from Blaine’s foot with one sharp flick of his wrist.
“Rawr,” Blaine says weakly, clinging to Kurt as he’s pulled upright and hobbles up the stairs, peas forgotten by the fruit bowl. Absent-mindedly, Blaine wonders if they’ll be defrosted by the morning or not.
Kurt drops him unceremoniously onto his bed, leans over him and undoes the bow-tie at Blaine’s throat, cursing under his breath. “God, did you tie this when you were drunk?”
“Yeah,” Blaine laughs, “Yeah, that was funny.”
“I’m sure,” he says dryly, unpicking the knot and tugging the tie off. Blaine groans. “I’m drunk.”
“Yep.”
“It’s not fun.”
“You’ve said so.”
“I want to go to sleep.”
“Let me take this off and you can.”
Blaine giggles. “You’re taking off my clothes. It’s like a one night stand!”
“Jesus,” Kurt mutters, flicking the buttons of his shirt open, “You’re way too coherent for a drunk person.”
“It runs in the family,” Blaine rubs his eyes, raises his arms obediently as Kurt pulls off his shirt.
“Okay, get into bed. C’mon.”
“No, stay,” Blaine whines, “Stay stay stay. Stay.”
“Blaine. I’m not your mother.”
“No,” Blaine mumbles, “Because that would suck. You’re my favourite, anyway.”
“Sure.”
Blaine grabs his wrist, tugs him until he sits on the bed. “That’s better,” he mumbles.
“God, just go to sleep,” Kurt says, but he tugs the covers up over Blaine’s shoulders.
Blaine falls asleep with a smile on his face.
**
Kurt extracts his wrist gently from Blaine’s grip, pats him on the head and stands, switching off the light as he leaves. Pausing outside Blaine’s door, he touches the pad of his finger to his lips, smiles and shakes his head fondly.
“Blaine Anderson,” he says, “You are one of a kind.”
He’s halfway down the stairs when the migraine hits.
He doesn’t know what causes it, never knows when it’s coming or when it’ll end. It just appears out of nowhere, like a million ice picks attempting to carve a hole in his skull.
Kurt sits down heavily, resting his head on his knees and trying to breathe through the pain. Nausea rolls in his stomach, making him groan. The noise spikes through his head, and the pain rises and swells, and Kurt sinks his teeth into his lip to hold back his cry of pain.
Forcing himself upright, he clamps his hand on the banister and inches down the stairs, one foot at a time with his eyes cracked open against the light. Hissing through his teeth, he shuffles along the ground and then there’s a noise like a gunshot and his vision goes white with pain. The ground rushes up to catch him.
**
March, 2000
Kurt picks up his teapot and carefully pours a cup of water with flower petals for Sprinkles the toy unicorn. “You’re welcome,” he says kindly, and sets it back on the table.
The plastic is peeling and weather-worn, but if he closes his eyes and thinks really hard he can still remember sitting with Mama and talking about the weather and drinking lemonade. Sniffing, he runs his fist under his nose and fumbles in his pocket for his handkerchief. Too late, he remembers that he snuck it into the washing machine that morning after waking up with it all stiff with tears and snot. Aunt Mildred says he shouldn’t cry any more, he’s seven now. He should be able to go the night without waking up crying or screaming for his Daddy.
Pushing back his chair, Kurt scuffs his feet in the dirt as he walks back into Aunt Mildred’s house, wrinkling his nose at the smell of mould. He hates it here; all his friends are back in Lima instead of smelly old Phoenix. The school is horrible and everyone laughs at his bow-ties and nobody wants to play hopscotch with him, so he plays by himself and eats by himself and walks back to Aunt Mildred’s by himself. But he doesn’t really have a choice ever since his Daddy went away. Aunt Mildred says he’s off chasing geese, but Kurt thinks he’s looking for the man who killed Mama.
The doorbell rings, but Kurt doesn’t answer it. Sometimes it’s the boys from down the road. They call Aunt Mildred batty and a witch and they call him a fag, but he doesn’t know what that means and Aunt Mildred doesn’t let him go to the library and look it up there.
Kurt takes the last packet of tissues and carefully pens “TISHOOZ” onto the shopping list in the crayon he keeps next to the pad of paper. Sometimes Aunt Mildred goes shopping by herself, and she never gets what they need to make dinner, so he makes a list and sometimes, when he’s lucky, she’ll come back with half of what he wanted.
Kurt walks down to his tea party table, picks up Sprinkles and continues to the rickety swing at the bottom of the garden, blowing his nose as quietly as he can. Aunt Mildred takes a nap from two o’ clock to four o’ clock every day, and he’s not to disturb her. The last time he did, she smacked him so hard he had to sit on a cushion at dinner that night.
Kurt pushes himself gently back and forth on the swing, staring up at the sky. Sometimes he imagines Mama swooping down from the clouds and whizzing him away to Disneyland, where they can find Daddy and eat candy floss all day. But then he remembers that Mama’s dead, and Daddy’s not coming back either, and he thinks about something else.
The doorbell is still ringing. Kurt swings higher.
Aunt Mildred starts shouting and Kurt winces. Maybe he should have opened the door after all. He swings far enough to push off the rickety old fence with the tips of his toes.
“ - been all this time? Leaving me with this little snot, like I don’t have better things to do,” she yells, and Kurt drags his toes across the ground to stop the swing, brushing the dirt off the tips of his shoes.
The screen door slams and he flinches, starts swinging again. Usually if he pretends not to hear her she’ll go back to bed.
The grass starts crunching and Kurt tightens his fists on the rope. When she doesn’t go back to bed, he gets smacked, and that’s the worst.
“Uh...Kurt?”
Kurt falls off the swing.
But as soon as he’s on the floor there are a pair of big hands lifting him back up, up against a broad chest and he clings to the familiar fabric of his Daddy’s shirt and buries his face in his neck.
“Hey, kiddo,” Daddy rubs his back, “I missed you.”
“You came back?” Kurt mumbles into his collar, and Daddy lets out a weird, choked noise.
“Of course I did, Kurt. I’ll always come back for you.”
Kurt starts to cry. Big, hitching sobs with his arms wrapped around Daddy’s neck, holding tight like maybe he can stop him leaving again.
Daddy carries him inside, sits him on the sofa and pulls the crumpled tissue from Kurt’s fist to dab his cheeks dry. His hands are clumsy and rougher than Kurt remembers, but his face is still the same, and his eyes. Kurt says “Are you going to go away again?”
“No, kiddo,” Daddy takes Kurt’s hands in his own, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you.”
“You drove away,” Kurt’s bottom lip wobbles, “I saw you. Don’t shake your head, you did so, I saw you do it.”
“No, buddy, I know. I know I drove away, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
Kurt says “It’s okay,” because it is. Daddy left, but he came back, and that’s all that matters.
“I got something for you,” Daddy says, unzipping his duffle bag, and he pulls out a big purple sweater. Kurt’s mouth falls open and he grabs it, curling his knees up to his chest so he can bury his face in it.
Kurt holds Mama’s sweater in his fists. It doesn’t smell like Mama anymore but if he tries his best he can still feel her. Daddy is rifling through his duffle bag, his back wider than Kurt remembers. It’s Daddy’s first day back and Kurt feels like he doesn’t really know him anymore. Daddy has more scars on his hands than he ever did before.
Daddy finds a book and sets it down on the table. Kurt watches him flip through the pages, dust motes flying into the air as the pages rustle.
“This is the one,” Daddy says, pointing at the page, and Kurt thinks he sounds different now, even. He misses his Daddy from before. “Moloch.”
Kurt looks up at Daddy’s expectant eyes. “Moloch,” he repeats, dutifully. He doesn’t understand.
“One day, Kurt, I swear, I will find this demon and make sure he never hurts us again.”
“Okay, Daddy,” Kurt says, and Daddy blinks at him for a little while, ruffles his hair and sighs.
“You grow up too fast, squirt. How old are you now, seven?”
“And a bit,” Kurt supplies. “Almost eight, honest.”
“It makes all the difference,” Daddy agrees.
They leave the next day, Mama’s sweater falling almost to Kurt’s knees as he hauls his wheely suitcase along with Sprinkles tucked under his arm. Daddy turns into a parking lot and then stops, looking around. Kurt spots his old truck, parked in the far corner.
“They left without me,” he says, sounding hurt. Kurt tugs at his sleeve. “Who left, Daddy?”
“Nobody,” he shakes his head, “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got you now, haven’t I, bud?”
“Yeah,” Kurt slips his hand into Daddy’s as they walk towards the truck, “And I’ve got you, and we’ll be together forever.”
“We sure will,” Daddy says, squeezing Kurt’s hand, “We sure will.”