Chapter eleven- fairytales full of shit

Blaine's dad waves and speeds out of the Hummels' driveway. Blaine doesn't bother waving back. Kurt's leading him inside by his hand, but he can't feel anything except the lead that must be weighing down his entire body. Blaine wants to drop into a bed and sleep for a million years, like Sleeping Beauty. Even if that's not the right fairytale.

Kurt leads him into the kitchen, where some sort of pasta thing is cooking on the stove, and it smells delicious. Even so, Blaine doesn't want to eat. Kurt has been watching Blaine closely the second he stepped in the door, and he has a feeling that Kurt will make him eat the pasta even if he has to force it down Blaine's throat.

Because Blaine has nothing better to do, he examines Kurt's outfit for the day. It's not really Skanky, at all. Instead, it's strategically ripped blue jeans rolled up at the cuffs and a green and white striped long-sleeved tee, the sleeves of which are pushed up to Kurt's elbows. (Blaine isn't sure if elbows could be considered 'cute,' but that's the only way he can describe Kurt's.) No piercings are to be seen, and his normal boots are gone in favor of shabby green high-tops with the tongues pulled out and the laces tight against Kurt's sockless feet. Blaine's kind of staring, but he doesn't give a shit. He just sees a glint of something yellow hanging near the hollow of Kurt's throat before he turns abruptly to put some sort of sauce on the simmering pasta.

"So," Blaine says, trying to fill the silence and not check out Kurt's ass at the same time (and yes, failing at both), "um. How's, how's... Burt?"

Kurt shrugged, not looking up from the food, which he was pouring onto a serving platter. "He's all right. He's in the hospital. Has been for a long time now—since the summer of 8th grade he's been in and out."

"Wait, what?" Blaine looks up and shakes his head in confusion. "But... Burt... Why is he in the hospital?"

"Cancer," says Kurt shortly, and then, "The pasta's done, you can sit down and help yourself." He sets the platter on the table and gives Blaine a plate. "Anything you want to drink?"

"Water's fine," Blaine replies, head still spinning. Why hadn't Kurt ever mentioned that? When did Burt even get cancer?

In the four years, Blaine, he answers himself. The four years when he was gone, and Kurt hadn't just left him—he'd left Kurt. The realization hits him hard, and he practically falls into the chair that Kurt pulled out for him at the table. Fucking hell. How could he have been so selfish?

Blaine takes the cold glass of water that Kurt had given him gratefully and stares somewhat suspiciously at the fancy pasta dish laid out in front of him. It's not like it doesn't look good. He just doesn't feel like eating.

Kurt takes a seat across the small wooden table from Blaine and says, "You gonna eat or not?"

Blaine shrugs and takes a helping of the pasta, if only to be polite. "I'm not really hungry."

"You need to eat, though," Kurt says, raising his eyebrows. "You look thin. Well, thinner than usual."

"What's usual?" Blaine snaps. It's sudden and painful and he doesn't want to say it, but he's still talking. "How would you know what usual is for me, Kurt? We haven't seen each other in a damned long time, and you haven't exactly been seeking me out in the halls. Last night was just a fucking coincidence. Why do you care about me all of a sudden? Can't you just—leave me alone?"

Kurt's gaze drops to the table, and Blaine feels sick.

"I mean—I don't—I—I'm sorry," he stammers, though it feels as though every word he utters can only make it worse. So Blaine closes his mouth hard and tastes blood—he's bitten his tongue—and doesn't look at Kurt's wounded expression.

"I don't think you should be the one apologizing here," Kurt says quietly, and Blaine can't quite look at him yet, even though he wants to. "I know it's been a shitty time for you. I'm not gonna list how you've changed, but we both know that you have. I just... I guess I just want to know why, that's all. If it's something I did. If there's... something I can do, to fix it."

Blaine gives a little bitter laugh that doesn't belong in his mouth. "You can't fix it. And neither can I."

A frown pulls at the corners of Kurt's mouth. "But Blaine, did I, do you... is it something I did? I know that I left you at Dalton. I didn't know exactly what it would do to you, but I swear I tried. I went to your parents and asked how you were doing every day. The answer was always 'fine.' It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out they were lying, and they didn't know anymore than I did. I—well—I'm not proud of this," Kurt says, eyes turning gray-green, "but I yelled at them. I told them that they should care about you more—all of you. And that being gay is just who you are. You can't change it. After that I kind of got banned from your house, though I'm thinking that taking care of you after you got beat up should make up for that." Kurt allows himself a miniscule smile. "You don't want to hear my defenses, I guess. I figured when you came back—you didn't exactly seek me out, Blaine. Were you... are you... avoiding me?"

Blaine shakes his head. "I guess it's easy to see why you'd think that I blamed you for something. No, I just didn't know how to approach you, honestly. I knew that I wasn't the same old me and I didn't think you'd like to be involved in all of this... this shit. The blackness and all. I didn't want to scare you off. But no, of course you didn't do anything. You're perfect." He swallows and doesn't see Kurt's eyes drop again. "I'm the one who's fucked up. It's just me."

It's Kurt's turn for the bitter laugh. "I'm not perfect, B—far from it. And you are far from fucked up."

Blaine meets Kurt's eyes steadily. They are glistening bright with tears and are darker gray now, though still flecked with green. "I digress." The second syllable catches in his throat.

Kurt seems to be fighting back a smile and his tears at the same time, and Blaine doesn't know why. "Fine. Fine. I asked my questions, I defended myself, I got my answers. Have any questions for me?" he says, letting the corners of his mouth curl up a bit.

"Paul," Blaine says immediately, too fast, surprising himself. "Did you, did you really break up with him because he was a wimp about the bullying and stuff?"

"No," Kurt says, the smile gone, and he doesn't looked shocked about Blaine's having a question, so much as shocked about what it actually is, "not at all. I broke up with him because he thought that all the hate and punches we were getting' maybe we deserved it. That's according to whatever twisted logic he has. I can't date someone if they think they should be punished for dating me, you know? I can't deal with that."

And the thought comes back to Blaine like lightning. Can you deal with me? And again, he pushes it away. "Oh. Okay."

There is a pause, broken by Kurt blurting, "I miss you."

"No you don't."

"What? Yes, I do. Don't argue with something that I know for a fact, B-Bl-B."

"You miss the old me, though. I'm not who I was when I was nine, Kurt. Neither are you."

"Obviously. Obviously, B." Kurt's eyes are incredibly, intensely blue as they look searchingly over Blaine. "But can we—can we be what we were?"

"Young, innocent, and stupid?"

"That sounds like the title of the next greatest romcom." Kurt grins, but it fades away fast like a bad memory into Blaine's mind. "Even if I just miss the old you, can I get to know you again? Then I can see if I'd miss you, the new you."

"No one would want to know the new me."

"I already know a lot about the new you, I think," Kurt says, propping his hands under his chin. "I know about the blackness and what you think about me and what you think about your parents and I know about the movie in your head. I know that no matter what, you're still my prince." Kurt takes a breath and Blaine thinks he's done, but then he adds so quietly that Blaine could be imagining it, "I know that the shoes are silver."

Blaine says nothing. He can't say anything. Not to that.

Kurt looks thoughtful, his nose crinkling up. "The question is—do you want to try or not, B?"

"That's the difference, though. I mean, that's how I changed—from trying to giving up. I don't know if I can try." Blaine feels his eyes fill with tears at the thought of disappointing Kurt. Again.

"That's not what I asked you, B," Kurt says, voice gentle like a step off a roof.

"What—"

"I asked you what you want."

"I—" Blaine's voice cracks. "I don't know. I don't know."

Kurt gets up and goes around the side of the table. He leans down and hugs Blaine tight. Blaine doesn't respond at first: He's too busy fighting back his own tears. Then he gives up, standing into Kurt's embrace. Blaine lets his head fall to Kurt's shoulder and hugs him back. He doesn't pull away.

They stand there for some time, draped in the sunlight filtering in from the kitchen window. Blaine can hear Kurt's heartbeat and he can hear how it speeds up just a little when he presses in closer and feels tears start to trickle faster down his cheeks.

"I have another question," Blaine whispers at last into Kurt's shoulder. "Why did you become a Skank?"

"Protection, mostly," Kurt says. "From Karofsky and all. I joined the same year I came out, so. But then that was also the year Burt got his diagnosis, and... it was a family for me then. I was angry and sad, and I didn't want to lose another parent." Kurt swallows, and Blaine can feel Kurt's throat working against his jaw. "I don't like losing people." His arms tighten on Blaine slightly before he breaks away from the hug and says, "Shit. You have to be home by one-thirty or your parents will think I kidnapped you or something."

"Some things never change," Blaine says, not thinking, and Kurt gives him a sad smile, sliding a hand from Blaine's shoulder to grasp his hand and tug him to the door.

They get into Kurt's car, and Kurt backs out of the driveway one-handed, because his other hand is occupied with holding Blaine's on the dashboard between them.

Kurt guides his stubbornly clanking car down the narrowly paved street as the sun rises rapidly overhead and lights up the cloud-marbled blue of the sky, and Blaine squeezes their hands together just a tiny bit tighter. The silver roof of the car prevents them from seeing the red-winged blackbird passing over the sun, but they do see the winged shadow. Blaine tenses, and Kurt leans over to kiss his cheek and stroke his thumb back and forth between Blaine's own thumb and forefinger.

It's not a fairytale ending, Blaine thinks. It doesn't need to be.

~fin.