Log in

10 September 2011 @ 06:09 pm
Glee!fic: Not Quick, Not Easy  
Not Quick, Not Easy, a sequel to Fix. Nothing more planned in this universe, promise, I need to devote *some* brainpower to my upcoming MA ^^;
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, the world isn't mine, I don't even own the concept. The Andersons do actually exist, we just haven't got a clue who they are yet. Roll on season three and *canon* Anderson background we can work from!

Warnings: Spoilers for Hellboy. Of all things. Blaine pov so if anything he said was a little triggery in the previous fic, you may find it discussed in more detail here. The usual angst and aggression you do see in an episode of Glee but yeah, on a harsher level. You'll be fine if you suspect your wuss levels are stronger than mine, and mine are pretty pathetic, so! Also: loooong. A bit short of 20,000 words, whoops.

Rating: R? Fair bit of swearing, a very little smut, cute characters in peril.

Summary: No such thing as a quick fix.

Note: Kurt Hummel's ability to get out of an appalling situation, think, Well, that was unpleasant. and then get on with life like nothing happened stuns me every time. I think it's his superpower? The mutants are real and they are among us, and they are Kurt, just being okay. For the record, Blaine's superpower is being adorable even when he's being insane <3 Also I wish I abused italics less, formatting my crap takes forevar ;_;

Blaine has never spoken to his parents so much as when he ends up living with the Hummels. Not since he was a kid, anyway, before everyone realised - well, how 'wrong' he is, in so many ways. But on a Friday night Burt calls Blaine's dad, and they have a stilted exchange, and then Burt will pass the phone to Blaine, like Blaine knows what to do with it. His dad's on the other end. It's like holding a snake up to his ear.

He shuffles back on the sofa, wraps an arm around himself. "Hi Dad."


Silence. What the hell Burt thinks they're going to say to each other Blaine has no idea. He stares at the ceiling for a while, says, "How's Mom?"

"She's fine. She's busy."

She always is busy. Always a new class, a new hobby, a new regime. If she sat still for five minutes she'd have to think, and god knows where that might lead. "How're you?"

"I'm fine. Work. Golf."

Which is not a sport, Dad, dancing is more masculine, at least I work up a sweat. "And you?" his father says, forced and polite, and Blaine thinks, When did you give up? When did you realise that I was never going to be what you wanted? Did you give up first or did I, did I read you right, did I know, did I make myself stop caring so it wouldn't hurt so much?

"I'm fine."

I got 100% on my last math test. Kurt taught me how to make tarte au citron. I did not break the arm of some freakish tall asshole jock who elbowed me in the head opening his locker. I dreamed about some vacation we took when I was maybe five, sand between my toes and the way the beach smells, and woke up in someone else's house. We made pots in art class, mine was woeful, Kurt is keeping his baking beans in it like I'm six or something.

Sometimes when he smiles at me I feel like the bottom fell out of me, I can't even explain it. Like he's the thing keeping me afloat.

His dad doesn't ask when he's coming home, and Blaine doesn't ask about coming home. He could do with another pair of shoes but he'll live without, he's not going back, not even when he knows they're not in the house. He doesn't even want to breathe in their air.

He shuffles a little, clenches and unclenches his teeth. "I should go help Kurt with dinner."

"Of course."


"Goodbye, Blaine."

He passes the phone back to Burt, gives a grimace and a shrug, he's sorry, he just can't fix this. He can't make himself like his father, he can't even make himself respect him. Burt just takes the phone with a long slow sigh, lifts it to his ear again. "Hey. He's doing fine, he's happy at school. Got a perfect score on his last math test."

Blaine rolls his eyes as he walks into the kitchen, and he can feel the heat rising on his face. Kurt tells his dad these things, and Burt acts pleased, and Blaine feels like something in him snapped in two, like something that was supposed to be hidden, contained, has broken open and is exposed and vulnerable and unbearably tender. In the kitchen Kurt and Carole both have aprons on, Carole chopping tomatoes for salad while Kurt stirs a pan with one hand and licks a splash of pasta sauce from his other wrist, and Blaine feels the heat run lower, makes himself meet Kurt's eyes and smile and not think about how easy sex is, the last simple thing left to him. "Hey. You need help?"

"Make the dressing? There's a lemon on the windowsill."

Blaine touches his waist as he passes him, feels the warm thrill of his body under his clothes. Finn walks into the room and opens the refrigerator and Kurt and Carole snap at once, "Dinner's nearly ready." and apparently this is what families are like. Blaine cuts a lemon open. It smells almost as sharp as salt spray.


What Burt never says down the telephone is What the hell is wrong with you?, because it's not going to help. And because he has already said it, yelled it, when he drove Blaine home that morning and saw something like revulsion on the man's face when he looked at his son; he wanted to punch the bastard, understood absolutely why Blaine had done it. The man's supposed to be his goddamn father. When Burt lets himself imagine for half a second how Kurt would look if Burt ever expressed that to him, he needs to sit down or throw up or punch someone. The man wonders why his son runs off the rails and he looks at him like that. Jesus.

"I have to apologise again for the inconvenience." the man says.

"It's no inconvenience. Once you got two teenage boys you might as well have a pack of 'em for the chaos they cause. He's a good kid."

"I wish you would let me send a cheque, to cover - necessities."

"I don't want your money." I want you to give half a fuck about your son. "He's helping out. He makes himself useful."

"I'm aware that he can be difficult."

"He's a good kid." Burt says stubbornly, because he is, and he's going to keep on saying it until this guy figures it out.

There's a pause. "I should let you get on with things. Unless you needed something."

I don't need anything from you. He does. Burt rubs his eyes. "I'll call next week, let you know how he's doing. Call if - for anything. Just if you wanna talk to him."

"Of course." He won't. "Goodnight."

"Bye," Burt says, and takes too much pleasure in hanging up. He puts the phone back in its cradle, works his fists for a bit until he can make them go properly loose, then heads through to the kitchen where it's all noise and busyness and Kurt pouring the pasta into a colander Blaine's holding, eyes screwed up against the steam, and Finn eating straight out of the salad bowl, and Carole setting plates out. She looks up at him and smiles, and Burt walks over, touches her side, kisses the top of her head. Kurt's eyes are on Blaine's, both of their hands around the colander for a second as Kurt takes it from him, both of them still before Blaine picks up a towel and Kurt pours the pasta into the pan of sauce. "I hope everyone's hungry and hasn't filled up on salad, Finn."

"Dude, you physically can't fill up on salad, it's a fact, it takes more calories to chew it."

"That's bulls-" Blaine stops, finishes wiping his hand and rehangs the towel with a little flick of his eyes to the ceiling. "That's a common misconception. Avocado in particular is surprisingly fattening."

"Oh god, don't say that," Carole says, and Kurt flicks her a glance and grin, and god, god, Burt is grateful for his family, every goddamn day. He doesn't know what he ever did to deserve them, he has no idea what he'd ever do without them. He won't let them go. He won't. He won't.


It's not just that Blaine is a horny teenager and Kurt is just absurdly attractive, and willing, and flexible. It's just that when he's having sex with Kurt he feels so right, he feels cocooned in Kurt, all the rest of the world is happening to other people, the only thing happening to Blaine is Kurt. He wishes he could be doing it all the time, wishes he could just always be slippery and naked with him, hot slide of skin and Kurt's clutching hands and the way his breath bursts against Blaine's forehead. The smell of him, god. If Blaine can breathe him in then he knows he's safe.

The only window in which they can have sex, really, is between the end of school and Kurt's parents getting home on a night. This afternoon had been a limb-tangled slow rutting, Blaine holding onto Kurt's shoulder blades, arms hooked under Kurt's arms, while Kurt straddled his leg and dragged them by slow inches towards orgasm, and in the seconds before coming Blaine had thought - what Burt Hummel would think, if he knew, did he know, would he still want Blaine here, what would he . . . ?

But then Kurt leaned down and bit his shoulder to keep his own whimper in, and Blaine came bucking and shuddering up against him, and let himself slump back on Kurt's bed, too sensitive all over with orgasm, while Kurt took his teeth out of Blaine's flesh and licked the sweat off his collar bone. Blaine likes the animal side of him. He knows that no-one else gets this, it's only for Blaine, his easy naked stretching like a cat before he curls up against Blaine's side and purrs there, "Oh, laundry.", and yawns.

Thank god Kurt washes his own sheets.

On those innocently clean new bed sheets Blaine keeps his head stuffed between Kurt's shoulder and chest - essentially in his armpit but it's just comfortable - while Kurt skims his fingers, slowly, up and down the side of Blaine's neck, and his laptop is playing low music. Who knew that Blaine would like cuddling? Blaine still thinks he won't like it every time until he curls up with Kurt and Jesus it turns out it's almost too good to bear, being held like this. The long-limbed clasp of Kurt's entire body makes him feel small, and for the first time in his life, like that's a good thing.

He's woken up on this bed in the night before, Kurt asleep beside him on top of the covers, a blanket over them both. He hopes to god it was Carole who saw them and thought they were too 'cute' to disturb, any other alternative does not bear thinking about.

He murmurs, "Do you think your dad knows?"

"Knows what?" Kurt murmurs back, fingertips soft as moths testing the muscles to his jaw.

"That we're having sex."

Kurt's fingers still, and then he says, carefully, "I'm trying not to think about it."

It must be fairly obvious, Blaine thinks. He must know, he's not stupid. Six months previously Blaine would have made a point of making it obvious just to see how he'd react, just to see if he could make Burt hate him ('The noises your son makes when I finger him, Mr Hummel, he could make a fortune in the porn trade.') It's ridiculously easy to make people hate you, a great deal easier than letting them like you. And he needs Burt to like him, or at least not hate him, he needs it humiliatingly much. More than that he doesn't want Burt to hate him. He doesn't want to disappoint him, doesn't want to see that look on his face he's too familiar with already. And if the way to hurt him is by abusing Kurt - he can't ever do that. He can't ever, ever make Kurt feel like crap just to vent his own self-destructive tendencies. He hates how easily these things still come to him.

"He must know," Kurt says, slowly, and Blaine glances up at his screwed-up face. "I know that. But he can't . . . I mean, he can't let us share a bed, it's just, it's not the 'responsible' thing to do. I know that sounds stupid. It sounds stupid to me."

"Finn's been good about it."

Finn's been surprisingly good about it. Early on, when Blaine was more of a mess than he could let himself show, they played bedroom musical chairs some nights because god Blaine needed Kurt and Kurt knew it; while no-one has ever slept in Finn's bed but Finn, Kurt and Blaine have shared the skinny, squeaky airbed on the floor of his room more than once, while Finn's slept in Kurt's bed. It doesn't make for a great night's sleep, half on top of each other with numbed limbs, but it's worth it when you feel so vulnerable that you think it'd be easier if you packed a bag and risked the streets, to hear your boyfriend whisper in the dark for you to please not leave him. Blaine knows it's partially for Blaine's sake that Kurt makes himself so vulnerable. He also knows that it's meant, though, and he can't. He can't leave Kurt. Carrying Kurt's porcelain heart around with himself is a bit terrifying some days still, it's so fragile and Blaine has just had far too much practise at breaking things, but he still clutches at it like otherwise it might escape.

Boyfriend, boyfriend. Dumbest word in the whole fucking language. It sounds so teenage and this feels anything but, this feels -

"I think Finn's hoping we can repay the favour some day," Kurt murmurs, tilting his head down, forehead touching Blaine's. "If he and Quinn ever get around to admitting to themselves in public."

"Your glee club is weird about relationships."

"Our glee club, Blaine." Kurt says. "But yes, they really, really are."

Blaine slips a hand down Kurt's arm, traces the edge of a braid of warm leather on his wrist. This feels like Blaine's sanity. This feels like the only wedge keeping every part of Blaine from falling to pieces. This feels like Kurt holding Blaine's multiply-cracked heart close against himself, defensive as a she-wolf with it, glaring the world down, keeping it pressed warm against his own chest.

Kurt begins to grin. "I know it's the pattern in glee club, but I would never dump you for a cheerleader."

"It's the one thing I can rely on," Blaine says, and rubs his hip, and grins. "I would never dump you for a cheerleader. You're prettier than any of them."

"I am," Kurt says happily, and laughs as Blaine shifts up and rolls him onto his back again, taking his wrists - Kurt watches, amused and curious - and straddling his hips, holding him down onto the mattress. "What are you doing?"

"Why don't you stop me?"

"Because I don't know what you're doing. I might like it." Kurt tips his head to the side, looks at his own wrist held to the mattress by Blaine's hand. "What are you doing?"

"You could get me off you easy. You're at least as strong as I am, and you have a height advantage you could use if you wanted to. But you don't."

"But I know you wouldn't hurt me."

"But you don't when anyone does it."

Kurt's eyes are more dangerous on his now. "Not many people are given the opportunity to pin me to my own bed, Blaine."

He watches Kurt's face, thinks about following this through. Thinks about saying to him, There will be days when I'm not there. What are you going to do? Don't you care that I need you? But there's something on Kurt's face too, which must mean that Blaine's letting too much of it show. Kurt says, gentle and firm, "No-one is going to hurt me."

Blaine sits back. "Someone might try."

Kurt just lays where Blaine put him, looking up at him, sort of sad. "My hitting them back wouldn't make them become a better person, Blaine."

"It might make you feel better."

"Did it make you feel better?"

"Depends on the person. Depends on the punch." Blaine catches his eye, lets the grin escape, and Kurt rolls his eyes. Blaine flumps back onto him and Kurt laughs, smacks him in the shoulder, puts his arms around him, hisses into his hair, "When am I ever supposed to take you seriously."

"There is far too much serious in the world." Blaine rubs his cheek against Kurt's collarbone. "And you're just - I don't even have the words, when you smile."

There's a little pause, and Kurt's hand settles into Blaine's hair. "You make me smile a lot."

"I know. I'm very self-centred."

"No you're not," Kurt says, and strokes his hair.


Finn minds having Blaine in his room a lot less than Blaine at least thinks. Blaine's shoulders keep at a permanent pitch of uncomfortable apology the whole time he's in there, but he does literally only use Finn's bedroom to sleep in - he uses the bathroom to change, and hangs out in Kurt's room, and knocks before he comes in every time. And it's got to suck in ways Finn can't even imagine, your parents like, not wanting you in the house. Finn doesn't know why they picked now to not want Blaine in the house. All the crap Blaine's done but it's Blaine mellowing right out under Kurt's influence that makes him too much for them?

And Kurt said, sounding so sad and so tired, "Think, Finn." and left him to think about it. And when he did sort of get it it was even worse. Blaine as an unpredictable and occasionally dangerous mess is manageable. Blaine mostly behaving but hopelessly in love with another boy is unacceptable. And Finn feels about this big, about as big as a bean, on the inside, for thinking about it. He knows he hasn't always been the best friend to Kurt around stuff like this, but he just never realised how much it matters to guys like Kurt and Blaine to have friends on their side, because there are still so many people who really, seriously aren't on their side. It shouldn't mean so much just to have friends who don't care about it, but it does, and the world makes Finn feel young, sometimes.

Plus Finn owes Kurt, and he knows it. The entire school knows now what happened in that locked choir room, it's not the sort of secret that can be contained at McKinley, and Finn just - he just didn't know. He thought Kurt was getting shoved around a bit, and a lot less than Finn would get if he pissed Karofsky off and got whumped for it on the football field. He didn't know. He didn't even know that guys could like, do that, with other guys, if they didn't want to, the way douchebags do to girls who don't want to. And Puck gave him the what the fuck face and said, "Think, Hudson." and Finn tried to think about how it would work, and then felt so sick.

"Oh - no, like, like - that?"

"No, man, I wouldn't worry about it, he was probably trying to take Kurt to dinner in a really forceful way, damn you're stupid sometimes."

"But he didn't - is Kurt alright? He didn't - how far did he -"

"You ask him. He's your brother."

Finn doesn't ask him. Kurt mostly acted icy about it all, kept his head up and moved around the school in a constant seethe of self-contained contempt for every glance he got for those two weeks before Blaine came back, always with someone at his side absorbing the looks and whispers with him. Everyone knows that the football team blames Kurt for whatever Karofsky did, like Kurt's contagious, like Kurt wanted that to happen, and the glee club have at least learned their lesson about keeping an eye on him when Blaine's not there. Now he has Blaine attached to his side like a guard dog again he acts like he doesn't care. Maybe he doesn't care. He doesn't care about a whole bunch of stuff now he has Blaine.

Finn's just shutting his laptop down, yawning, when there are two knocks at the door. He calls, "C'min," because Blaine doesn't unless he does. The door opens, slowly, apologetically, and Blaine gives him an awkward smile and closes it behind himself. There's the airbed against the wall and three boxes, and that's it for Blaine's stuff. He really doesn't take up much room. Like, literally.

While Finn climbs onto his bed Blaine turns on the lamp on the floor, picks up a really fantastically battered paperback, and lays out on the airbed, holding the book over his face, chewing his bottom lip inwards as he reads. Finn, who's never read much - Kurt lends him books sometimes but Kurt can always tell that he hasn't read them when he hands them back ("What was your favourite part?" "Um, the middle? The middle was good." "The middle." ". . . it was good?"), Finn's always sort of impressed when people read for fun.

"Good book?"

Blaine tilts the book back to look across at him. His smile twitches. "I had the time to pick up like, five books, and they turned out to all be Terry Pratchetts. I'm not complaining." He shrugs a little. "I'd kill for my Hellboys right now though."

"I saw that movie."

"Satan for a father, I can relate." Blaine murmurs, and tilts the book back so he can read.

". . . how's Kurt?"

"Kurt's fine," Blaine murmurs into the book. "Kurt has turned his life into an aesthetic meditation on being fine."

Finn has no idea what that means. Presumably it's good. "Um. You okay?"

Blaine tilts the book down again, and gives him a look. It's not a mean look or anything, it doesn't overtly mock what a stupid question that is, the tilt of his eyebrows is just sympathetic enough to say, Well, you think about that one. "How're you, Finn?"

"I'm. You know. Awesome."

Quinn is constantly at him like a woodpecker sitting on his shoulder and drilling his head, but making out with her is still like oh god so what's he going to do? The football team is halfway to dissolving entirely, since they blame Finn and the other glee guys for sheltering Kurt, Kurt the life-wrecker, Kurt who turns guys gay. And Kurt doesn't need Finn anymore. Finn failed one time too often, and Kurt's got Blaine now. Finn never noticed how nice it was when Kurt looked at Finn like he was special until Kurt doesn't anymore, now Blaine gets that look, every time. It's not even like, a love thing. It's just admiration. Finn could use people acting like he's something, because when Quinn gets on him like this, when Rachel walks around looking like a puppy he kicked in the eyes, when everyone's acting like Sam's a better Finn than Finn ever was - yeah. He could use one of those looks from Kurt right now.

"Awesome," Blaine murmurs, possibly in agreement, possibly no longer listening, and turns a page.


His phone's alarm wakes him at seven. He wakes confused every time, no idea where he is, then with every idea where he is, and he shuts it off before it can wake Finn. Finn snores on. It takes a lot to wake Finn.

Blaine pads into the bathroom with clothes, and he can already hear Burt Hummel moving around downstairs. On Saturdays he helps out at the garage, partly to be helpful but mostly because he feels what he owes painfully. At first Kurt had always taken shifts with him too to teach him on the job, but they do have a slight habit of distracting each other, and Burt won't stand for anyone in the garage being weird towards his son; it's kind of hard for them not to be weird towards his son when another boy's got his hand down the sleeve of his coveralls, so they work separate days now. It's not so bad. Blaine learns quickly, dissects each engine in his mind, doesn't mind the grease and sweat, likes making things work again.

By the time Blaine's downstairs Kurt's already up, already dressed and immaculate at twenty past seven on a Saturday morning, making smoothies. He smiles at Blaine, says, "What do you want for breakfast? I could make French toast."

"He gets French toast, I get mashed fruit." Burt mutters from the table, and Kurt puts a glass in front of him, says, "There's a spoonful of yoghurt in it." like Burt is so ungrateful. "Or did you want cereal?"

"You don't have to be up," Blaine points out, but Kurt just shrugs his smile.

"It looked like a nice day, I didn't want to waste it in bed. I thought I'd make my guys some breakfast and then head out for some shopping, we need brown rice for dinner. Did you want me to pick anything up?"

"I'm fine," Blaine murmurs, and Kurt takes eggs from the fridge.

"French toast?"

Blaine quirks a little smile. Kurt returns it, warm and hopeful, until it grows on Blaine's face too.

It's a quiet morning in the garage, there's not really enough for the normal team to do even without Blaine there to take care of the easy things. He tidies tools for Burt, says, "Kind of makes you wish for a pile-up, huh?"

"Not particularly," Burt says, and Blaine gives him the apologetic grin. Burt sighs. "You might as well call it a day, kid. Go find Kurt or something."

"I want to help."

"I know. So help Kurt, he always picks up more than he can really carry."

Blaine wonders if Burt means when Kurt is shopping or just Kurt, generally. "I-" He hears the sound of his phone in the office, and they both look across at the door.

"Probably him now, checking if it makes a difference if we switch from skim milk to just water," Burt mutters, and waves a hand. "Go. Have a Saturday. See you tonight."

". . . thanks," Blaine says, gratitude is such an awkward emotion to deal with, and wipes his hands on his coveralls as he heads into the office. He slips his cell from his jacket pocket and stops when he sees the caller. Answering it doesn't occur to him for a few seconds, he just stares, and then he thinks that something really, really bad must have happened for her to call, and picks up. "Hi, Mom."

"Hi," she says softly, her voice low, and he hasn't heard it at all in three weeks and his throat feels strange. "Are you in the middle of anything?"

"No, just - just finishing something up. Is everything okay?"

"I can't just call because I want to speak to my son," she says, and he hears a chink, and something pouring, and thinks of the boxes and boxes of crazy herbal teas she drinks, every colour of the rainbow, every herb and fruit known to humanity. She swallows. "How are you, Blaine?"

"I'm fine. You know." He looks out of the windows of the office at Burt talking to one of the guys, rubbing the back of his neck, then turns so no-one will be able to see his face and puts his free arm around himself. "I'm good. Um, I don't want this to sound like an accusation, honestly, but Mom, why are you calling? You haven't exactly gone out of your way to stay in contact so far."

A little too deep, "Neither have you."

He grits his teeth and doesn't snap, You're my Mom. You let him - you didn't try - you have to come after me, that's fair, isn't it-?, he just says slowly, "I assumed you didn't want to hear from me. I know Dad doesn't."

"Don't - of course we do. Of course we do, he's just - he's angry, Blaine, and - and struggling -"

"Angry with what? No, Jesus, don't answer that question. Mom - what, why are you calling? Do you want something or not?"

Silence for a while. He thinks about the steam wavering over her tea, in that big earthy green-glazed mug she loves so much. "I went to Marisa Herd's daughter's baby shower this morning. Do you remember Sammie Herd, she used to babysit when you were small? She's having a little boy. Due in a month."

". . . good for her?"

"I just." He hears the heavy sound of the mug being put down, and she sniffs. "I just kept thinking about when you were a baby. You were the sweetest little thing, you just smiled at everyone, you were the most perfect-"

He rubs his eyes, says, "Mom."

"You used to like to walk my shoes over the carpet on your hands, and you would always help with the zipper on my dress -"

"And what, where are we going with this? These are the things that made me gay and you're sorry you did that to me, what?"

"Blaine," and okay, she's crying now, and Blaine feels the hot furious guilt in his stomach for making her cry (again, and again). "I just - it doesn't mean we don't love you, it just - we haven't been able to adjust, there's just so much else, all the trouble you've been in, all those bad friends-"

"They were never 'friends', Mom."

"Please don't be so angry just because it's difficult for us, please. Blaine, we're trying."

"No - he's not, don't even pretend like he is, don't even - he was happier when I was in juvie than he is now that I'm - I'm trying and I'm seeing Kurt. He'd be happier if I'd kept on fucking up until it got me killed than he is now."

"Don't ever say that, don't ever even joke about-"

"Do you think I'm joking? Mom I am - trying, okay, I am trying, I want to have a life, I want to have one with him. I'm not - that's not negotiable. Me and Kurt. I'm not not seeing him. Why can't you two see that he's the best thing that ever happened to me? Every way I'm better it's because of him-"

"I don't think you know how much he's trying. I don't think you know how much it hurts him."

"I don't think you know what it's like to come out to your parents and see that look on their faces."

"Blaine, please, please, we just - it was a shock, and we are trying-"

"You know what, Mom, just -" He hunches his head down, can't believe he's saying these things out loud, he never knows what he's going to do next but it doesn't usually involve dismantling a shield, "- just, the things I needed from my parents, I didn't get them, okay, and excuse me for acting like a dick for a few years because of that, but now I'm trying and being around Dad again is just - it's just poisonous, I can't do it, I can't rein myself in when I can feel him thinking that shit about me. So I don't know if you want me to say I'm sorry that I'm such a terrible son that I can't forgive you for making me feel like really you wanted someone else, but clearly I'm a selfish brat like that."


He could choke on these words, because he'd never believed this before now, before he actually saw it, every day in the Hummel household. "The thing is, it's supposed to be unconditional. Do you know what it's like to realise your parents have conditions and you don't meet them?"

"Blaine, please-"

"Mom, I have to go. This isn't helping, this won't help. I have to go."

"I love you, you're my baby, I love you."

"One down," he says bitterly. "I'm not holding my breath waiting for him to say it too." She's still crying and he thinks about Kurt, who looks young and quiet and alone when he talks about his mother, and how it's stupid that emotions make your body feel all wrong. He says roughly, "I love you too, Mom." and hangs up.


He puts his phone back into his jacket pocket, changes out of his coveralls, shrugs the jacket on and heads back out through the garage, making himself smile at Burt as he goes. "Thanks, Mr Hummel."

"Burt. I'll see you later, kid."

"Burt." He keeps forgetting that. Stupid that the drummed-in manners his parents gave him linger longer than any feeling of actually being cared for. "See you."

Outside, he's just taking his cell out when it starts chiming and vibrating, and the smile wavers more genuine when he sees the caller, picks up. "Hey, I was just going to call you. Where are you now?"

"Hey Blaine. Long time no see."

Every muscle goes cold and oddly sick; that's not Kurt's voice. "What - who the hell-"

"You don't remember me, I'm hurt. Guys, he's forgotten us, can you believe that? We're all real upset here, little man."

He knows that voice, standing silent and very still outside Kurt's dad's garage. He knows that voice, and he knows who the 'guys' are, or at least the collection of guys it could refer to, depending on who's in jail or juvie and who's actually free to be there right now. He makes himself breathe, slowly, through his nose, and says as flatly as he can, "Where's Kurt?"

"Riiight next to me, don't you worry about his pretty little head, he's having fun with us, aren't you kid?"

"Put Kurt on. If you've - put Kurt on."

"Okay, Blaine, do you need me to explain this situation to you? We have your little boyfriend, so, the way around it works is, we give the orders."

His voice comes out like grating stone from how hard his teeth have clenched. "Put Kurt on."

"God, lovebirds, can't stand half an hour apart. Here." There's some shifting and noise on the line, and then a voice that Blaine knows low on the edge of sleep, startled with orgasm, choked through crying, bubbling over laughter, and sweet and clear and strong in song like a miracle; it comes now very quiet, a very little stuttered. "Hi, Blaine."

Blaine's walking up and down in front of the garage now, not aware that he's doing it. "Are you okay? Where are you? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," very softly. "I'm - I'm alright. I don't know where I am." Blaine hears him swallow. "They brought me here in the trunk."

Oh god, Blaine is seriously going to kill someone over this, he knows he can't control it, when he sees these guys this is all going to go really Reservoir Dogs and Blaine will fucking kill someone for this. "I'm sorry," Kurt says, his voice wavering, and Blaine whispers, "It's okay it's okay I'm sorry oh god, Kurt, I'm sorry-"

Kurt's breath pulls in, keeps for a little second, rushes out on, "Blaine, call the police-"

More noise on the line and then laughter. "Hey, now that would be a really, really bad idea, wouldn't it, Blaine? That would be the worst idea, you're not going to do that. Say it out loud for me. You are not going to call the cops."

"Where the fuck are you, Petersen?"

"Juvie didn't improve your manners much, did it?"

"Where the fuck are you? What are you - just let him go, he's got nothing to do with anything, he is not a part of your fucked-up world-"

"He is since he started fucking you. Look, you know why we want to see you, little man. So how about you head to the corner outside the gym in the next half hour, and someone comes to pick you up, and you give us a present and you get your little boyfriend back, more or less intact?"

"If you hurt him - I seriously, Jake, if you hurt him, I -"

"What are you gonna do, seriously, Blaine, what? Find a stepladder and hit me? You got half an hour. Don't be late. Rob here just got out after a long six months, and this one's enough like a girl he probably won't even notice."

Blaine's face feels hard and white as he hears the laughter and someone in the background saying, "Screw you, Jake." and the line goes dead. It's a few seconds before Blaine can lower the phone from his ear, all his muscles have gone so rigid.


Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.


Jake Petersen is a douche. He's not even the top douche, cocky as the bastard's acting while Damien's locked up; fuck Damien, fuck even thinking about Damien, every memory he has of him is so wrapped through with shame and rage and his own stupidity that Blaine tries largely to pretend that he never even knew the asshole.

Jake Petersen is a douche. Jake was one of the guys who was perfectly happy to let Blaine tag along after them, hang out in their cruddy hangouts, while Blaine thought he was getting an apprenticeship in something real and adult and completely out of the reach of his parents and in reality they used him at best as a mascot. He wasn't even fifteen yet and too smart for his own good and looking for trouble to get into, and he found them, small time dealers and troublemakers, small time trouble but still too much for a kid more naïve than he knew to admit to. Damien gave him his first cigarette. Fuck memory. Blaine wishes he could wipe it all out, start again from the first room he walked into with Kurt in it, start from the moment when he started doing things that didn't end in disaster. Or didn't always end in disaster, until now.

Jake Petersen is a douche. He's not as smart as he thinks he is but he's smart enough to act as Damien's deputy until Damien gets out, smart enough to know that they don't have to be finished with Blaine until they're ready even if Blaine just wants to stay the hell away from them. Smart enough to want a 'present' and know Blaine will be reluctant to offer it and know exactly how to get it out of him. Smart enough to trap him. Maybe smarter than Blaine is after all, Blaine is an idiot so much of the time.

Blaine heads straight for the designated street corner, the fast rhythm of his feet almost overpowering the panic of his heartbeat. They took Kurt. Kurt who is naïve and actually knows it, Kurt who for all he's been through wears his essential innocence with such sweetness, Kurt who's never hurt another human being on the planet - smashing asshole football players who deserve it in the head does not count - Kurt who must have been so terrified -

He gets grabbed and tossed into the trunk of a car by a bunch of guys he's never seen before. What's he going to think? In this town? He's not going to think 'oh, these must be old acquaintances of my idiot boyfriend, I'll just wait this out quietly'. A bunch of guys he's never seen before grab him off the street and toss him in their trunk. And he's not so naïve that he doesn't know the world he lives in, and oh god, for him to be so afraid and for it to be all Blaine's fault -

And Jake wants a 'present'. Well, fuck.

Two years ago he'd waited where he'd been asked - told - to wait. He'd stood there clutching his schoolbag behind a kids' playground, hearing the swings squeak in the wind, sulking and a little uneasy at how frantic and snarled his orders had been. And Damien had skidded up in a car, slung a plastic bag into Blaine's arms, a plastic bag heavier than Blaine expected, told him to hide it for a while, got back in the car, screeched off. Fifteen seconds, less? And Blaine had opened the bag and even as a stupid fifteen year old had known that this was too adult too soon, the dull black gleam of the gun. There was no coming back from this.

He had so very nearly gone to his parents.

He hasn't had a cigarette since he met Kurt. It's not like he was ever addicted or anything, mostly he did it to look cool, and Kurt doesn't like the smell. He hasn't smoked weed since he met Kurt, hasn't taken anything. Hasn't even had a drink in weeks. He just doesn't feel like he needs any of it anymore, like whatever chemical high he was looking for was never as much as this anyway, like Kurt would think less of him and that would kind of make him want to kill himself. Kurt, Kurt, fuck, Kurt alone and terrified and it's all Blaine's fucking stupid -

He's out of breath when he stops outside the gym, leans against the wall for a bit, pants at the sidewalk. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand because spitting in the street is just obscene, he's an idiot punk kid but he's got some fucking class, straightens up and scans the street. He can't see anyone he knows but they could have some new douches in their line-up by now, to replace the more criminally stupid ones who keep getting locked up. He glares at every guy, and at most they just glare back as they walk on past. He wonders if he is going to follow whatever guy they send or maybe just knee him in the crotch and then break his nose for doing this to Kurt. He doesn't belong in all this. All this shit Blaine's done, Kurt doesn't belong here.

Doesn't belong with him. There's the honest truth of it. All the shit Blaine's done, what the hell is someone like Kurt doing with him? All Blaine ever was going to do was fuck Kurt's life up, he told him, he tried to tell him, but Kurt never really believed him and then Blaine stopped wanting to convince him, not when he'd convinced himself that this time, this time he wouldn't . . .

Should've known he always would, always will. He feels the things he's done weigh at him like they're bound around his ankles, he can only walk so far, he can never get entirely out of their radius. He just never meant to drag Kurt in here with him, he never meant for this to happen, he just wanted - he wanted -

He wanted Kurt. He wants him now. Kurt holds him and he feels safe, and what right does he have to want this when he's the one who put Kurt in danger?

A grubby car slows at the kerb, and Blaine narrows his eyes as the window winds down, a guy in the driver's seat jerks a hand at him. "In the front. I ain't a fucking taxi service."

Blaine gives the car a really disdainful look, opens the door. "Craptastic ride you got there, Rob. How was jail, have fun in the showers?"

"Sure I didn't enjoy it as much as you would. You know what, if you hadn't been so into getting at Damien's dick all that time, I'd start to question if you are gay, Anderson." Blaine slams the door, thinks about smashing Rob's face down into the steering wheel. "Real pretty girlfriend you went out and found yourself, huh?"

His teeth hurt from the tension. "If you hurt him-"

"It'd be more threatenin' if you ever got that growth spurt, kid."

Blaine squeezes his fists on his thighs while Rob drives, clenches his jaw, tries to pay attention to the route; he needs to know where they're going and how to get the hell out of there as soon as possible.

Out of the centre, into a fairly crappy part of town. Blaine notes turnings, pays attention to every bus stop - it might not matter what the hell direction the bus is going in if he can just grab Kurt and get him on one. Even the people begin to look harder in these parts of town, like poverty presses their skin more rigid; and yeah, his opinion's worth shit because he's got rich parents and doesn't have a clue and never appreciated the half of it, but they pass a girl younger than him wearing nothing like enough clothes for the weather and all Blaine can do is hope she just dresses like a ho instead of . . .

He doesn't belong here either. Who's he kidding? He's as in over his head as Kurt is, the only difference is he deserves it and Kurt never asked for this, Kurt . . .

"Not as chatty as you used to be," Rob says, indicating, turning down a street with a crunch of something broken under the wheels.

"Just pickier about my company," Blaine mutters, as they slow outside a row of garages under the shadow of a block of apartments. Rob kills the engine and Blaine closes his eyes for a second, opens the door again.

Rob bangs his palm off the metal door of a garage, calls through it, "Got a guest!" and the door rattles up, rolls back on groaning wheels, revealing no car inside but three other guys on mismatched chairs and stools, one not even looking up from the game he's playing on his cell, and at the back, pressed as far into the corner as he can get, as white-faced as if he's been bleached, Kurt. Blaine steps forward automatically and Rob shoves him at the three sitting guys, laughing. The dusty concrete floor is crunchy underfoot. "Easy, tiger, not in front of an audience."

Kurt stares at Blaine and doesn't say anything, so still he isn't even visibly breathing, and Blaine stares back and thinks sorry I'm so sorry I'm so so sorry Kurt I'm sorry -

His wrist's tied with thin orange rope to the metal supports for some dusty, sagging shelves covering the back wall, and he could probably get loose if he wanted to but get loose to do what, have to fight through three guys to get out? He's kneeling - pressed up against the wall and trying to touch it as little as possible - on a mattress, stained in ways that Blaine doesn't want to think about. He doesn't look visibly hurt. Scared to fuck, but not visibly hurt. Blaine can feel his own throat shaking.

Then Kurt swallows and lifts his head a little, holding Blaine's eye, like he's trying to steady him. Like he's trying to steady Blaine. Fuck. Fuck -

"Hey there, little man! Hell, they grow up so fast, don't they?" Blaine flicks his eyes to Jake as he stands up, Jake with his stupid I'm-such-a-big-guy tattoos in languages he can't speak, Blaine really hopes they actually say I am such a giant douche right across his biceps in Maori and Japanese. "How was juvie, Blaine?"

Blaine looks at him warily, because Rob's still at his back and there's no way out of this and his hackles are raised and quivering. "I've known worse company."

"There's gratitude for you. When we went and taught you everything you know."

"You taught me everything you know. It took you all of five minutes."

Jake grins, shaking his head. "He's such an asshole. Didn't I tell you? He was always such an asshole. I thought juvie might've taught you when to keep your fucking mouth shut, Blaine, but then even Johnny couldn't do that, could he?"

Blaine feels the sweat between his shoulder blades and does not look at the still-seated man to Jake's left, though out of the corner of his eye he sees Kurt's white face turn to him. Piece of advice, never get into a fight with a guy called 'Flickknife Johnny'. Like it's funny. Like it was just a joke, like Blaine laughs about this shit all the time, like the fucking psychopath didn't pin a fourteen year old kid with a too-big mouth on him to the floor and hold the knife over his face and tell him, slowly, carefully, that he didn't like that name and he didn't like people calling him it, while Blaine thought he would either suffocate or wet himself out of terror, and for a second when the knife came down, he thought it was going to be his eye.

And he's been in this garage with Kurt, with one wrist tied, for the last who knows how long. Blaine's seen him in a fight, he has this thing about going for the face. And his heart beats, fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-

He says, and he can't make his voice not sound so dry, "What do you want, Jake?"

Jake grins. He probably thinks he's pretty cute when he grins, thinks he's such a ladies' man, Blaine thinks about putting a chair leg through his teeth. "That's the end of the pleasantries? That's as close to 'hi' as we get after all this time?"

He says again, head lowering a little, "What do you want, Jake?"

Jake shrugs, like Blaine's the unreasonable one when Kurt's sitting there tied to the wall too scared to move. "You know exactly what we want, Blaine."

"And you know exactly what I want, so let Kurt go and then we can - work this out."

They're going to kick the shit out of him, there's actually no avoiding it. He needs Kurt out of there first. Okay, they're going to kick the shit out of him; he doesn't need them turning on Kurt for something else to beat up.

"Oh he's not going anywhere, little man, not until we get what we want. He comes out with the funniest things, you know what he said to us when we tied him up back there? He said, 'My boyfriend is going to beat the crap out of you'. Fuck, I thought you must've grown, Blaine!"

Fucksake he is not so short as he was when he was fucking fourteen Jake you massive douche. "Just let him go so we can talk, Jake. He doesn't belong here."

"I'm not leaving without you."

It's so quiet that they could probably all ignore it and talk on, but it makes Blaine's stomach twist as it falls, and he looks at Kurt sitting there too terrified to stand up but looking right at him, white as paper and sure as stone. Jake starts laughing, Rob and some Neanderthal Blaine doesn't know laugh too; Johnny doesn't.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, sweetheart." Jake croons to him, and Kurt looks back icy and stiff with fear. "You're not going anywhere."

Blaine says, slow and loud because there's no avoiding this forever, "I don't have the gun, Jake."

"So, thank you for wasting our time, Blaine? Fucking kids, some of us have schedules, shit. Rob can drive you out to pick it up, and your girlfriend can piss himself in the corner of the room a bit longer. I really thought you'd be smarter than to leave us time to get bored with him, kid."

Blaine says, again slowly, again loudly, "I don't know where the gun is, Jake."

"Jesus fuck." Jake rubs his fingers into his eyes. "What, Blaine, did you lose the treasure map you drew? Where the fuck is the fucking gun, Blaine?"

"What, do you want me to guess?" He throws his arms out. "Underneath us right now for all I know, I lost sight of it after I tossed it down the manhole."

Everyone is silent for a moment. Eventually Jake says, "You tossed it down a manhole."

"You gave me a fucking gun and you are all really seriously stupid, you think I wanted to give it back to you?"

His back's against the wall hard enough to jar his ribs, Jake's arm across his throat. "Okay. Bad decision number one, you little shit. If it was you put that anonymous call to the cops-"

"-put me in juvie you asshole-" Blaine wheezes, clawing his fingers in, hauling Jake's arm off himself. "It put me in juvie too you moron-"

Jake slams him into the wall one last time and walks off, rubbing his hair, swearing. Blaine coughs, jerks his jacket straight, glares at his back. "Just let Kurt go, he doesn't owe you anything-"

"The next fucking time you tell me to let him go I'm breaking his fucking fingers, Blaine! Christ almighty, you threw the fucking gun away, do you know what an unmarked gun costs?"

"I'll write you a cheque." He feels like he's vibrating, fear and adrenaline, he used to feel this all the time. How the hell did he survive? Fuck, all this crap he's done, that was clearly his mid-life crisis, he's going to have a massive heart attack and drop dead by the time he's thirty.

"Fucking kids. Fuck. Fuck!" Jake kicks a chair and it hits the wall, and Blaine can see Kurt not cowering and he doesn't know what to do, he just doesn't. "Fuck," Jake says one last time, and walks to the other corner of the garage; Rob and the other guy walk with him, and they murmur quietly, fast and angry. Blaine looks at Kurt who looks back, drawn and pale and terrified, and he belongs here really as much as Blaine belongs in Kurt's goddamn glee club, different worlds.

(And part of him understands the lie that is, because for all he acts otherwise, for all he's done and tried to do, he does belong with Kurt, he does belong in that stupid glee club, he belongs in a normal teenager's life and not this disaster he's created for himself. He'd just wanted to feel like an adult. He just hadn't wanted to feel so young. And all he's ever done, all the crap he's caused for himself and other people, all he's ever done is emphasise to himself how really young he really is.)

Johnny, who's still sitting perfectly calmly, takes a knife out, tilts it in the light, checking the blade. He keeps them obscenely sharp, thin and bright as starlight. Kurt closes his eyes, lets his breath out slowly through his nose, and Blaine thinks about walking to him, putting his arms around him, somehow being able to protect him from the shit that is clearly going to be beaten out of the both of them.

The huddle breaks. Blaine tilts his weight back instinctively, ready to spring, as Jake walks back to him and Rob heads out to the car. "Okay. I think you realise that you owe us quite a lot now, Blaine."

"I went to fucking juvie for you idiots."

"Yeah, after an 'anonymous tip-off' to the cops, do you think we're stupid?"

There is no point in fighting this, this is just who he is; Blaine grins. "Don't ask me that question, Jake, you know you won't like the answer."

It's quicker than a blink and snaps his head sideways, but Kurt's the one who makes the noise out loud, a high shocked burst of breath. Blaine just swallows, and glares back at Jake, while the side of his face sets up the beginning of the slow burn that will turn into a deep-set pain and a hell of a bruise. "You fucking owe us, you little shit. So this is what's going to happen. You're going to make a delivery for us. You got two hours. If you make it back, you can have your little boyfriend back and we might not even have cut any important bits off him. If you're late, or if the delivery does not get made, Johnny here's going to carve your initials into his face so he always remembers exactly who put him here. You understand?"

Blaine's hands are shaking however hard he tightens his fists. "I swear to fuck. If you touch him-"

"Like we enjoy touching him, you're the fucking pervert here." Rob's walking back, holding a small cardboard box wrapped all the way around with thick brown tape, sealing it tight. "The address is on the front."

"You could just put it in the mail, Jake."

"We have a slight issue with time since someone went and threw the fucking gun down the fucking sewer. You got two hours, we will call to check, if you put this one down the sewer I swear to god, Blaine, you will not even recognise that kid, do you understand me?"

Rob stuffs the box into Blaine's hands; it's sort of lighter than he expected, sort of heavier, too heavy for weed, too light for another gun. "You can't make the delivery because?"

"Because there are parts of town we're not so welcome in right now."

"You're getting me involved in a turf war."

"You got you involved, Blaine." Jake says, and his snarl bares his chipped front tooth. "You got him involved too. You got two hours and do not cut it fine because we are fucking low on patience with you, you little dick. Go."

Part II

Current Mood: tiredtired
Current Music: Rugby in the background (come on HKR!)
blue_peridotblue_peridot on September 11th, 2011 06:57 am (UTC)
ohnoohnoohnoohnoohno *onto the next chapter*
(Deleted comment)
Rainjoy's writings: <3rainjoyswriting on September 14th, 2011 07:52 am (UTC)
I'm going to assume from this that you're a Hull supporter and the only thing I have to say is - we finished above you in the league. Booyah ;)

Seriously, are you in Hull? *waves* Hi!! I don't get a choice in my team, you know that, it's based on family and geography and we're long East Hull our lot. Not joking, my college's colours were black and white and we didn't tell my grandad because I'm just not meant to wear that, am I? ^^;

(And I'm glad you've enjoyed the fic, rugby-rambling aside ^^)
(Deleted comment)
Rainjoy's writings: ukelelerainjoyswriting on September 17th, 2011 06:17 pm (UTC)
Ahahah, sorry for assuming you'd be with *them*, rugby's one of those sports where everything becomes background apart from your own vicious rivalries ;) Currently listening to us being screwed by a referee in France. But so long as we finished the league ahead of Hull we're still kind of okay with it <3

Glee seems to be a *ridick* broad church, so hi!!! Mind you, I also have ridiculously broad interests, Radio Four is starting an adaptation of Life and Fate tomorrow and I am SO EXCITED I cannot even tell you. I think it's nice to have a variety of things to squee about!

You also have *excellent* taste my friend, and a lovely icon. And we have less than a week to go now to more Glee, how awesome is life right now? Eeeeee <3 <3 <3
pushplaytobeginpushplaytobegin on September 17th, 2011 12:36 am (UTC)
I feel so badly for Blaine. I'm clinging to the tiny shred of hope that comes from his recognition that he doesn't deserve this, that he deserves better, no matter how many times he keeps pushing that thought away. I love the different POVs, with Finn and Burt, I love how the lemon connects with the salt spray of the vacation dream, I love We made pots in art class, mine was woeful, Kurt is keeping his baking beans in it like I'm six or something. How feeling small feels for the first time like a good thing. So very much to love about this.
Rainjoy's writings: <3rainjoyswriting on September 19th, 2011 04:27 pm (UTC)
I'm glad you enjoyed it honey =) I did want to walk this Blaine a bit closer to being okay, because during most of Fix he really didn't have much reason to be okay. But Kurt makes him happy, in all circumstances, so ^^ Thanks for reading so far!
Jacob Anthony: httyd-toothlessgrowlrobbiex21 on October 23rd, 2011 04:53 am (UTC)
Holy crap! That was… I don’t even… Let me just say this: Didn’t ever expect something like this in a Glee fic. Certainly adds an interesting (and intense) layer to an already interesting story.

With regards to other things that happened in this chapter: I like domestic Klaine. I like domestic Klaine a lot. And Kurt and Carole making dinner together is inspired, as is them both snapping at Finn that dinner’s almost ready.

The switch to Burt’s point of view was an interesting touch, and I’m glad that Burt, despite his initial reservations about Blaine, is so quick to defend him now. Of course, how could he not be? Burt is a great father, for all his faults, and Blaine’s father is… not.

Also, you’ve got me feeling sympathetic for Finn. I can’t say I’m Finn’s biggest fan, but the way you write him actually has me liking him again. I’m not sure if I’m annoyed or even more impressed.
Rainjoy's writings: <3rainjoyswriting on October 27th, 2011 03:02 pm (UTC)
I remember plotting this while walking to work one morning and thinking, You're seriously going to write that? I know it's not very 'Glee', so thank you for sticking with me through it ;)

I *love* their domesticity, oh my god. I also love Hudmel family stuff, I just - like fics set in a house where nothing much happens? 'Family' in the broadest sense of the word is just interesting <3 I'm not generally Finn's biggest fan in canon, and I try to write him how I'd *like* him to be - still him, but less crashingly stupid and self-centred sometimes. Just open your eyes and notice now and then, honey. Good boy.

Thanks for reading so far =)
Shelbieso_coot on December 10th, 2011 05:36 am (UTC)
THERE'S A SEQUEL. It just took me a bit to realize. But my life is made. -reads-
Rainjoy's writings: <3rainjoyswriting on December 11th, 2011 06:16 pm (UTC)
Glad to be of service ^^ And thank you for reading it!
m: hmmbertmonikkk on December 27th, 2011 12:35 pm (UTC)
fara1903fara1903 on February 2nd, 2012 03:31 pm (UTC)
Shit! Hope he doesn't get in trouble for that delivery and that Kurt will be released!