Chapter 26: Family Stories

The place looked glum, enveloped in the misty freezing drizzle that persistently seeped down from the sky. Neither of them had uttered a word since they entered Columbus. Tension rolled off of Blaine in perceptible waves, but Kurt had decided that ultimately he couldn’t do much to help, except focus on the road and get them to their destination safely, without ending up as its newest inhabitants.

‘Ready?,’ Kurt asked, watching Blaine closely; his eyes were fixed on the gate, his hands balled up into fists, his fingernails digging into the flesh of his palms.

If it took physical pain to keep him grounded, he was willing to scratch holes out in his body.

Finally, turning his head back to Kurt, he nodded. He wasn’t ready, he wasn’t even remotely close to being ready, but at the same time, he felt like he could never be any better prepared.

In a matching slow pace, they got out of the car into the late November wet chill. At reaching Blaine at the passenger side, Kurt took one of his boyfriend’s hands into his own and gently made him release his fist. Four little red arches were etched into the skin of Blaine’s palm. The sight made Kurt’s heart ache and he immediately locked their fingers, covering the pain with love and care.

They started up towards the gate without speaking. Blaine inhaled deeply one more time; it felt like walking into Mordor, with all sorts of dangers lurking around every bend. Only what was threatening him was irremovably lodged deep inside his own brain.

And as much as the gate seemed a cursed line that would unleash hell on earth the moment he crossed it, nothing really happened when he did.

‘Do you know the way?,’ Kurt asked softly.

Another nod served for the answer.

They proceeded slowly, as if Blaine wasn’t sure of the way after all. He was, though; that little grassy alley in the middle of the graveyard he could find blindly. Almost like they were calling for him to come.

Kurt tried keeping his eyes on the tombstones they were passing, paying close attention to the names. He wasn’t convinced Blaine would remember the way. He didn’t even remember half the times he’d gone there.

But when Blaine stopped abruptly, Kurt knew it wasn’t because they were lost. A short survey of the nearby graves told him they arrived at the right spot. Blaine’s hand tightened around Kurt’s. And nothing else happened.

The sight of the three tombstones sticking out of the ground one next to another choked Blaine up for a moment. The two older ones were a little mossy and weather-beaten; the names stayed as legible as they used to be, though. Kurt read them silently, his mind involuntarily drifting off to wonder whether Blaine’s family would have liked him if they had ever got a chance to meet.

Then he turned to glance at Blaine, prepared to see anything, anyone. At first he thought his boyfriend’s face was blank, as if he transitioned into someone who didn’t give a damn about this. Only after a second did Kurt notice the silent tears seeping slowly down Blaine’s cheeks. He was sure it wasn’t Boo, his crying expression was different.

‘Blaine?,’ he said quietly.

The pair of wet eyes turned to him helplessly.

‘Yeah?,’ Blaine’s voice almost broke.

‘Nothing. I was just checking if it’s you.’

The corners of Blaine’s lips lifted by a fraction.

‘It’s me.’

His gaze wandered back to the tombstones. For the first time ever he was lucid enough to take satisfaction from the fact that under Caitlin’s name there was only a caption calling her a beloved mother and daughter.

‘Are you okay?.’ Kurt asked after another moment of silence.

‘I think so,’ Blaine replied with a slow nod.’ I guess we can go.’

With one last glance at the three headstones, they turned around, back towards the gate.

‘Do you think it was worth coming here?,’ Kurt asked as they drew near to the exit.

Blaine shrugged.

‘I don’t know. I’m not even sure I know why I wanted to come in the first place.’ He paused, biting his lip in thought. ‘But I guess I can call this progress. I didn’t transition, I didn’t freak out and I’m not even on meds. So thank you.’

‘What for?,’ Kurt said with a frown.

‘For driving me out here. For holding my hand. For reminding me I’m not alone.’

‘You don’t have to thank me for any of that. That’s what I’m here for,’ he assured Blaine with a small comforting smile.

They slowly unlinked their hands as they approached the car. They’d rather not have to do that.

‘Kurt?,’ Blaine said uncertainly, stopping at the passenger side door.

‘Yeah?’

‘Can we go to one more place?’

***

The Ross family house was a large mansion right by the banks of the Hoover Reservoir. It was one of the oldest houses in the vicinity, built by Blaine’s grandfather, as Kurt was told on their way there in between the directions he was given by his boyfriend. The roads wound picturesquely through Westerville, among richly decorated tall fences of enormous houses and country clubs.

Their destination was three-storey high and surprisingly well-kept. Blaine mumbled something about a gardener and a housekeeper at Kurt’s frown.

‘So why exactly are we here, if everything is in order, apparently? Not like you have plants to water.’ Kurt chuckled nervously.

Blaine shot him a smile before starting to fumble with the key.

‘Does there always have to be a reason?,’ he said. The lock finally gave in and he pushed the door wide open, gesturing Kurt in. ‘For me, this is home. I’ve seen yours, now I want you to see mine.’

He waited until Kurt was next to him and he led him by the hand inside. The hall was huge and white, with an arched staircase to the right, and a broad doorway opening onto the living room to the left. Each piece of furniture, every painting, lamp or set of curtains was elegant, tasteful and visibly expensive. Kurt’s jaw fell slightly open, but he closed it again immediately. What else could he have expected?

It took only a few steps into the living room to see a vast collection of family photos on the mantelpiece and the cupboards. The first photographs were old wedding ones that Blaine promptly pointed out as his grandparents’. Then followed pictures of a baby, than a toddler and another infant.

‘That’s my Mom.’ Blaine indicated the older child, whose sparkling eyes illuminated the whole frame, even though the photo was in greyscale. ‘And that’s Uncle Jonny. I never met him. He was in the army and he got killed in the first Gulf War.’

They’d reached a photograph portraying a young attractive man in uniform. Next to the frame was the still neatly folded flag.

‘I’m sorry,’ Kurt said.

‘Don’t be, not about him. Cooper and him were close though, when Coop was little. Jonny would always throw ball with him or play the guitar for him whenever he came home from the army.’

Kurt expected to see a wedding picture of the Andersons, but none was to be found. There was a multitude of snapshots of Caitlin and her boys, first only Cooper, then both. But soon the pictures of the mother and her older son ended. And the boy that was left in the pictures was a mere shadow of the one he used to be.

The presence of Blaine’s grandmother grew more prominent, replacing Caitlin in many of the photographs, gradually rekindling the smile on his face.

And then Kurt stopped short, bewildered. An eight-year-old Blaine holding Winnie tightly to his chest. Not Blaine, Boo. A nine-year-old with a familiar smirk on his face. Cooper, the alter. Blaine, still pre-pubescent, maybe twelve, small and awkward, in full drag. Kathryn. There was only a picture of Liam missing.

‘Your grandma took photos of your alters?,’ Kurt asked.

Blaine nodded, tracing his fingers along a frame that held a photo of Boo.

‘Yeah. At first it was ‘cause she thought that if all the therapists see some kind of proof, that they’d believe I’m not pretending, that they’d see that’s not schizophrenia.’

‘And did they?,’ Kurt said sceptically, expecting what the answer was going to be.

‘No. Not until Sebastian’s mom. He told you about that, didn’t he?,’ Blaine added, seeing the lack of surprise in his boyfriend’s expression.

‘He did. You know he’s not one to keep his mouth shut, in all possible ways.’

That made Blaine chuckle and the mood lightened by a fraction.

‘Anyway, Grandma kinda started seeing them as family, since there were times they were around as much as me. So there are pictures.’

Kurt took one more glance at the winding lines of photographs. There was no sign of anyone that could be Blaine’s father.

‘So- your dad wasn’t family to her?’

Blaine sighed, rubbing his temple impatiently.

‘I don’t know. Something like that, I guess. But partly he’s not here, ‘because I didn’t want to see him anywhere around the house, in any form.’

‘He didn’t live with you?’

That part of the story had never cropped up before. Blaine had mentioned various bits and pieces related to his childhood, but never what had happened within the first couple of years after the accident. How the first thing he remembered was hearing from his drunken father that he was to blame for his mother and brother being gone. How things only got worse, and how words turned to blows that hurt physically. How his grandmother saw his bruises and fought in court for custody. How he prayed, just like Mommy had taught him, for Daddy to never come near him again. How his father’s visits would only cause him to transition and lose control.

Now it was time to tell Kurt all this.

And Kurt listened, at first patiently, sympathetically as always, without much surprise, since many things he’d already either heard or figured out.

The second Blaine confessed to having been beaten by his father, Kurt’s resigned empathy and calm were gone. All he wished to do was to find that bastard and strangle him with his own hands. The sole thought of how violent he suddenly became, how blood-thirsty he was, scared him to death. He could barely contain the rage he felt for the son of a bitch that ever dared to hurt his own son that way. As if everything that Blaine had suffered wasn’t more than enough for a lifetime.

‘He should be glad he’s nowhere in the vicinity,’ Kurt said through his teeth. ‘I can’t even- How could he do all that to you? How? Just- how?’

Blaine shrugged and put his hand on Kurt’s back, rubbing it soothingly.

‘It’s not worth getting upset over,’ he whispered. ‘It’s all done and over. He’s not going to hurt me anymore.’

‘I’m not upset. I’m furious.’

‘I shouldn’t have told you,’ Blaine sighed, turning away from him in guilt.

‘You should’ve. Blaine, if we really are serious about this, I have to know everything, the good and the bad. I’ll wait if you’re not ready to tell me something, but I need to know it eventually.’

They stood opposite each other, breathing deeply, their eyes locked on each other, their fists unknowingly clenched.

‘Okay,’ Blaine surrendered at last. ‘And I don’t wanna fight, no matter what about.’

‘Me neither. Jest don’t you ever think I shouldn’t know things about you.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

***

They spent another hour at the house, while Blaine led Kurt through the corridors, pointing out various rooms. The one Boo loved to hide in, the one Kathryn would always sleep in, the one that used to be Blaine’s mother’s when she was young. The one that was still his.

Blaine’s room in Westerville looked still like it belonged to a teenager. There were certificates of partaking in show choir competitions and a few posters of musicals and bands. Kurt glanced around, tracing his fingers along the smooth fabric of the comforter that covered the bed. The room was exactly what he’d expect from a younger Blaine.

‘Your grandma?,’ he asked, pointing to a frame on the bedside table. The picture showed an older woman with greying auburn hair and wrinkles that had to come from worry rather than from the smile she had on her face. The similarity between her and her earlier pictures downstairs was obvious, even though her experiences clearly weighed on her.

‘Yeah.’

Sadness crossed his eyes, not unnoticed by his boyfriend.

‘Do you wanna go?’

Blaine nodded in response.

‘If that’s okay,’ he added.

‘Absolutely.’

Languidly, they walked downstairs, locking their hands together once more. Blaine couldn’t decide what he felt sadder about – leaving or going there only to see the house empty. He could have sold it a long time ago, but he never considered that an option. This was home, this was the treasury of a thousand good memories from a long line of very bad years. No matter how much time had passed, this was still a place he felt safe, despite the misery it sometimes had to witness, despite the sad thoughts it evoked now.

Neither said anything as they stopped to lock the door. It was quiet and peaceful enough for them to jump up startled when a voice called to them from the driveway.

‘Blaine!’

A woman in her fifties was hurrying towards them from the gate they left open on their way in. Without a word of explanation to Kurt, Blaine tensed, locking his jaw uneasily.

‘Hi, Mrs. Zimmerman,’ he said when she was close enough to hear him. She didn’t seem to notice he was speaking through his teeth.

‘It is you! I was wondering, ‘cause I didn’t recognise the car. Aren’t you going to introduce me?’ Her gaze darted to Kurt for a split second.

‘Of course,’ he said, remembering to try and be polite. ‘Mrs. Zimmerman, this is Kurt Hummel, my boyfriend. Kurt, this is Mrs. Zimmerman, she lives in the house opposite.’

Kurt took her hand and shook it gently, with a pleasant, though somewhat forced smile.

‘It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Zimmerman,’ he told her.

‘Likewise,’ she replied, before turning back to Blaine. ‘So, did you come to see your father?’

If the level of Blaine’s uneasiness could go any higher, it did with that question.

‘No, actually, I was just- checking up on the house. We came to Ohio for Thanksgiving with Kurt’s family.’

Mrs. Zimmerman frowned in confusion.

‘Oh. I thought you’d go see him at the hospital.’

‘What? What hospital?’

‘Your father’s in the hospital, didn’t you know that? Apparently, he doesn’t have much time left.’