“But why not?!”

“Because,” Blaine started, “you’re sixteen and I KNOW there’s going to be alcohol there.”

“No there’s not!  How could you possibly know that?”

Blaine stopped what he was doing, putting the pot of water on the stove to boil, to level his son with a gaze so harsh it almost made the teenager squirm.  Almost.  “Cooper Willard Hummel-Anderson, you’re forgetting your father and I both went to a private school.  I went longer than he did so I know what sorts of things happen at these afterhours parties where the show choir is concerned.  There will be alcohol involved, I know there won’t be any adults involved, and I’m just not comfortable with you going.”  Blaine had turned around during the last part of his speech, going back to his cooking.  “I’m doing this to protect you.  I don’t want you wandering around New York City drunk.”

Cooper turned around, his eyes seeking out his father, who was bent over the dining room table doing some last minute sketching for his Bryant Park show onto a tablet.  “Hey, father, can I g…”

“You’re dad said no, Coop,” came Kurt’s reply.  He’d not even looked up from his tablet.

“But this is SO unfair!  Why can’t I go?”  Cooper had resorted to anger, his arms nearly flailing at the unfairness of it all.

“This isn’t up for discussion young man, your dad and I say you’re not going, you’re not going.”

“I’m not even going for the alcohol!”

“Then why are you going, if not for that?” Blaine asked.

“He’s going because El…” came a small voice.

“Oh my god!  Shut UP, Asa!” Cooper shouted at Asa, his five-year-old nosey brother.  He’d been silent the entire conversation, but decided to speak at the most inopportune moment.

Blaine spun around; his glare ten times worse than it was before.  Disappointment shone through in his eyes now.  “Don’t tell your brother to shut up, young man.  You know we don’t use that tone in this household.” 

“This is so STUPID!  I can’t believe you guys won’t let me go to his party!  I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks and you won’t let me go just because you two got in trouble in high school because dad can’t hold his beer and father fucked you drunk under grandpa’s ro…”

“That’s ENOUGH, Cooper!” Blaine shouted over his son, his voice clear and sharp, laced with anger.  “You’re not going anywhere for the next week because you’re grounded.  No TV, no video games, no cell phone, no computer, no nothing until you learn that as long as you live under our roof, you’re our responsibility and our word is final!”

“You can’t do that!” Cooper protested.

“Two weeks for talking back!  One more word out of your mouth and it’ll be a month.”  Blaine looked directly into his son’s eyes, nearly begging his son to try him.

Cooper’s mouth hung open, staring at his father, unbelieving that he was actually grounded.  He’d never been grounded before.  No cell phone meant that he wouldn’t be able to talk to Eli.  His parents didn’t know about Eli, he’d not been brave enough to tell them yet.  He’d not even been brave enough to tell Eli he wanted to be more than friends.  He was planning on doing so at the party his show choir was holding, but now he wouldn’t be able to.  He wouldn’t be able to talk to Eli for two weeks.  Two weeks.  And that was the most upsetting thing of all.

Cooper didn’t know when he started shaking.  He just knew that he was so angry he wanted to hit something.  Preferably his dad’s face right now.  He knew it would get him in more trouble, but he had to do something.  Hitting wasn’t an option, he wasn’t violent and he knew his dad knew how to block a punch.  He’d seen his dad take on a punching bag.  It was a scary sight.

“FINE!” he finally shouted, the anger boiling over into words.  “I hate you both!  I never get to do anything fun!  You’re both so worried I’m going to get hurt or bullied, you won’t let me ever do anything I want to do and it’s NOT FAIR!  I wish I had different parents, and then maybe I’d get to do something I wanted to do!  You know what?  I wish you’d never even had me!  I wish you two had never even gotten together in the first place, then you’d both be alone and miserable and you’d know how I felt!” 

Cooper pushed back from the table, sending the barstool he was sitting on clanging to the ground.  He stomped around the house and when he finally got to his room, he slammed the door so hard the entire house shook.  The neighbors would be calling to complain, no doubt, about the noise.

“Asa, go to your room,” Kurt said softly.

Asa’s blue eyes went wide, looking close to tears that there was yelling in the house, but knew better than to try and disobey.  He went as quietly as possible to his room, a stark contrast to how Cooper had gone to his.

“You did the right thing,” Kurt said, looking to his husband who was still standing by the stove.

Blaine was rigid as board.  He’d never gotten so angry at one of his children before.  Then again, they’d never given him a reason to get so angry.  Never had they ever told either him or Kurt that they wished they’d never been born.  They’d worked so hard to get both of their children there, and for them to think they weren’t loved hurt Blaine more than he cared to admit. 

Kurt could see that his husband was about to break down.  He was up with his arms around Blaine in a moment, cradling the man he loved to him.  “We’re doing the right thing, Blaine.  What sort of parents knowingly let their kids go to unsupervised parties where there’s going to be booze?”

Blaine looked up at Kurt, giving him a look. 

“Oh, yea.  Right.  Sorry,” Kurt said sympathetically. 

“That’s why I’m not letting him go.  I don’t want him to end up like Coop did.  I just can’t, Kurt.”

“I know, baby.  I know.  It’s okay.  You don’t have to explain it to me.  You didn’t right thing, I fully support you.”

“But he’s mad at me.  What if he doesn’t forgive me?”

“Blaine, you were sixteen once, too.  Remember?  Yea, he’s mad now, but he won’t be mad in the morning.  He won’t even remember this happened and all will be okay again.”

“You promise?” Blaine asked, his honey colored eyes seeking out Kurt’s blue ones for reassurance that it would really all be okay.

“I promise,” Kurt replied.  He had to lean down, something he always loved about them, to kiss his husband sweetly on the lips.  “I don’t think anyone is eating tonight, so let’s just get a carton of Chubby Hubby, turn on The Real Housewives, and call it a night.”

“But your sketches…”

“Can wait.  Against Nature is showing in a month.  I have plenty of time to get last minute details done.  Besides, my husband is depressed and I just happen to know a few things about cheering him up.”  Kurt opened the fridge, pulling out the ice cream and fetched one spoon.  He looked to Blaine, who looked unsure.  “Unless, that is, you want to pass up the chance to have my lips give you a mind blowing orgasm?”

There was a sudden mischievous light in Blaine’s eyes that hadn’t been there five minutes previous.  “After you Mister Hummel-Anderson.”  He smirked as he followed his husband, watching him saunter down the hall, hips swaying enticingly. 

When Cooper’s alarm clock went off the next morning, he was confused.  He didn’t remember programming ‘Teenage Dream’ to wake him up.  He also didn’t remember spraying the room with Tropical Febreeze.  Nor did he remember his parents doing so, either.  He didn’t think his father actually owned Febreeze, much less let it be sprayed in the house.

When he cracked open his eyes and turned the alarm clock off, he panicked.  To say the least.  This wasn’t his room.  The view out the window was of the woods, not the view of Central Park he was used to.  This wasn’t his house and, by the looks of the woods outside, this wasn’t even his town.  When he heard someone cough, a cough far too deep to be either of his parents, he jumped out of bed and scrambled to the farthest wall away from the cough.  He picked up the nearest thing to him for a weapon.  A trophy of some sort. 

Great, wonderful weapon, he thought to himself sarcastically.  I’m being kidnapped and the first thing I grab is a cheap hunk of plastic.

“I was wondering when you’d wake up, your dad was always a late sleeper.  I was about to wake you up myself.”

Cooper pointed the trophy towards his kidnapper and his heart nearly stopped.  He’d never heard the voice before, but he’d seen pictures of the man in front of him.  A man that his dad could hardly talk about without looking like was about to cry.  A man that had died six months before he was born.  There was no way what he was seeing was real.  But there the man was, shifting in a leather chair, looking at him to gauge whether or not Cooper was about to flee or not, being very much alive and real.

“Uncle Cooper?”

The older Cooper Anderson smiled a smile that the younger Cooper Hummel-Anderson had seen in hundreds of pictures, but didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey, Squirt.  Nice to finally meet the kid named after me.”