“Blaine,” Kurt murmured, his voice subdued, “we have to let them in sometime.”

Nothing felt right. Kurt’s touch, the sound of his voice, Blaine’s own blood pumping through his body; it all just felt so wrong. Like the universe had somehow shifted.

Slowly, Blaine met Kurt’s eyes and nodded. Kurt shimmied off of his lap and gestured for Blaine to go down the ladder first, Kurt following close behind. As Blaine placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it, he thanked whatever higher powers were at work that Carter and Jonathan had left; he didn’t want them to see this.

His parents were standing there, looking as poised as ever. His mother in one of those business suits for women with the pencil skirt, his father in a business suit that looked like it was custom made to match his mother’s. They stood there for a moment, looking disgusted by their surroundings but saying nothing. At first glance, they looked the same as they always had.

Their facial expressions gave them away. His mother had her lips pursed, normal for her, but her forehead was littered with frown lines and her crows feet were especially prominent paired with the uncharacteristic bags under her eyes. If Blaine looked really closely, he thought he could see that her make-up hadn’t been freshly applied, but was actually left-over from the previous day. His father wasn’t as easy to read as his mother, though. His father’s hair was still perfectly combed back, his suit neatly ironed, his tie tightly knotted and straight. The thing that gave his father away was his eyes; Blaine could read his father’s emotions through his eyes.

He hated that he and his father had that in common.

“Are you going to invite us in or just stand there all day?” his father snapped, surveying the room like it was a dirty, dingy cave.

Blaine stepped aside and held the door open for them to come in, but chose to stay silent.

His mother sighed as she entered the room. “Really, Blaine, I know we raised you better than that.”

“Don’t you mean Laurel raised me better than that?”

His parents narrowed their eyes at him but said nothing. They went around his room, slowly picking things up and placing them back down, looking at pictures, opening drawers.

It made him angry. What right did they have to look through all of his things? And Carter’s too, because how would they know what belonged to him and what didn’t? They hadn’t known who he was for the last 4 years.

He opened his mouth to start yelling at them when Kurt’s hand found his. He’d almost forgotten Kurt was even there, but once Kurt met his eyes and gave his hand a small squeeze, a reassurance, he felt better. Kurt was grounding him.

The interaction was not lost on his mother.

“I see you’re still with that boy,” she commented, tone like poison.

“Kurt. His name is Kurt. And he’s standing right here,” Blaine retorted.

“It’s fine, Blaine,” Kurt muttered. “There are more pressing issues at hand than my name.”

Both of his parents froze where they stood. Blaine held his breath, waiting for it. Waiting for them to say something, anything. It was hard to tell that they cared about what was happening at all.

“So you know then,” his father stated.

It wasn’t a question, but Blaine replied, “Yes.”

“How?”

“Laurel called a few minutes ago, right before you guys got here.”

His mother asked, “How much did she tell you?”

“Not much,” Blaine hedged. “She didn’t know much. Just that Alex has leukemia.” He immediately regretted phrasing it so bluntly as he watched his mother flinch at the word. “And that you need my help.” His father closed his eyes, but neither of his parents said anything, so he continued. “I’m surprised you even want my blood. Aren’t you afraid I have AIDS?”

“We thought about that,” his father admitted, though he didn’t look ashamed. “But we don’t have much of a choice.” He sighed, like what he was going to say next physically caused him pain. “We…we need you, Blaine.”

The fact that his parents looked so uncomfortable just to be in the same room with him, and that they hated to admit they needed him, even though it was to save their other son’s life, felt like a spear in his gut. He wondered why he even still referred to him as his parents at all.

He decided he wouldn’t anymore. From now on, they were just Richard and Charlotte Anderson.

Charlotte turned her gaze from a picture of Kurt and Blaine together on Blaine’s desk to meeting Blaine’s eyes directly. “We’re prepared to pay you, however much you ask for.”

What?

His heart was hammering in his chest and his head was pounding in rhythm with his pulse. They thought they would have to pay him to help his own brother? A brother who was only 3 years old? What kind of a sick person did they think he was?

“I don’t want your money,” he choked out.

The medicine he’d been on for his strep throat had made him feel better that day, but with everything going on it just brought his symptoms back full force. His body was exhausted, his head was like an anvil on his neck, his stomache felt queasy.

Sensing his discomfort, Kurt led him over to Carter’s bottom bunk and sat him down on the edge of the bed. Without a word, he went over to Blaine’s desk, popped open the pill container and spilled two into his hand, grabbed a water bottle from the case beside the desk and returned to Blaine, offering the medication and water.

“Do you think you’re going to be sick?” Kurt asked, kneeling in front of Blaine and scrutinizing his face. “Do you need the trash can?”

Blaine could only shake his head. He was starting to realize that this wasn’t his strep throat suddenly getting worse again, this was a panic attack.

And really, how could he not have a panic attack in this situation? His brother was dying, the one he’d only recently found out about. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson had suddenly come back into his life in the biggest way possible. He was coming to figure out that he could delude himself into thinking his life was great when Kurt was around, but he’d never escape his past.

In a flash, Kurt was grabbing his face, forcing him to look at him.

“Look at me, Blaine,” Kurt commanded. His tone was firm but loving. “You’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay. Take deep breaths.”

He tried, but his chest felt like it had suddenly closed up the way for oxygen to get to his lungs so it only went in his windpipe but no further.

“What’s going on?” Charlotte asked, and to her credit she sounded almost concerned.

Kurt ignored them used one hand to comb through some of the curls framing Blaine’s face. “Just take slow, deep breaths. Concentrate on filling your lungs and then blowing it all out.”

He couldn’t; they were blocked. But for Kurt, he tried. He opened his mouth and tried to take in air, sucking like he was trying to drink a thick milkshake through a plastic straw. Air streamed in, breaking that barrier and filling his lungs. He held the air for a few seconds, reveling in it, and began to blow it all out.

“Good. Good job, sweetheart.”

“What’s the matter with him?” Richard snapped.

Slowly, the world started making sense again. He could breathe properly, the room wasn’t spinning anymore, Kurt’s face wasn’t blurry. It was all going to be okay.

He nodded mutely at Kurt, the movement seeming to break something in his boyfriend, Kurt’s entire body relaxing. With Blaine back, Kurt could now focus on the Andersons. He whirled his head around, moving his hands from Blaine’s face to Blaine’s knees. “Your son had a panic attack.”

“That’s absurd; Blaine doesn’t get panic attacks.”

“Actually, Mr. Anderson, since the night you broke his bones and tossed him on the street like some sort of animal, he does have panic attacks. If a situation is overwhelming or reminds him of events from the past, like that night. You have yourselves to thank for that.”

Mrs. Anderson spoke up, effectively ending whatever rude comment her husband was about to make. “Was that medication for his so-called panic attacks?”

“No, that was for my strep throat,” Blaine answered.

“Oh, please, Blaine. You probably just have a cold. You’re always so dramatic,” she sighed, waving her hand.

Blaine just about lost it. “Really? Is that what you told Alex when he first started getting sick? How long did it take you to get him to the hospital and actually have him evaluated?”

Richard and Charlotte looked down at the ground, for the first time actually seeming distraught about their youngest son’s condition. It almost made Blaine feel bad about what he said. But not quite.

“I don’t want your money,” he reiterated. “Jesus, the kid’s only 3 years old. And he’s my brother. Did you really think you’d have to pay me to get me to help?”

“You mean you’ll do it?” The hopeful and almost relieved tone in Charlotte’s voice reminded Blaine that these people hadn’t always been so mean. They were once his parents; they once cared for him in the same way they cared for Alex now.

“Of course I will,” he replied with more conviction than he intended. “But I don’t even know what it is that you need me to do.”

Richard gripped the back of Carter’s desk chair like it was the only thing keeping him standing. “Alexander has what’s called Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, or ALL. It’s a type of blood cancer. It starts from white blood cells in the bone marrow and develops from cells called lymphocytes, which is a type of white blood cell central to the immune system, or from lymphoblasts, which is an immature type of lymphocyte.

“ALL invades the blood and can spread to other organs. It doesn’t normally produce tumors like other types of cancer. It’s an acute type of leukemia, which means it can progress quickly.” Blaine watched as the strong, self-assured man he’d known since birth took a steady breath to keep from crying. It was an eerie sight. “Without treatment, it can be fatal within a few months.”

Blaine tried to wrap his head around all of the medical terms and the specifics of his brother’s illness. His baby brother who hadn’t even properly started school, or learned to read or write, or how to count all the way to infinity, or all the colours of the rainbow.

A warm arm wrapped around his waist as the bed dipped beside him where Kurt sat down. “What are his odds?” Kurt asked.

To the Andersons’ credit, neither of them looked too disturbed to see Kurt joining this family conversation. They were probably too preoccupied with their real son to worry about the social life of their disowned one.

“Alex’s age is actually an advantage in his case. Young patients tend to have a better outlook,” Charlotte answered.

“He’s going to need healthy blood,” Richard said, looking directly at Blaine. It made Blaine shudder to make eye contact with the man, but Kurt’s hold on him kept him together. “The cancer is in his blood. For treatment, we want to do a bone marrow transplant. It involves high doses of chemotherapy and possibly radiation, followed by a transplant of bone-forming stem cells. These stem cells usually come from a donor. That’s where you come in, Blaine.”

“Okay,” Blaine said immediately. To his surprise, he understood most of what Mr. Anderson was saying. “So what’s the plan? When are we doing this?”

“Hold on a second,” Kurt interjected before either adult had the chance to answer Blaine’s question. “Blaine still has school. He’s already missed 3 days because of his strep throat, he can’t miss any more or he’ll fall too far behind to catch up.”

Blaine turned to his boyfriend carefully, eyes narrowing. Surely he wasn’t saying that Blaine shouldn’t do it. Surely he wouldn’t be against Blaine saving his brother’s life. “What are you saying, Kurt?” He asked, because he didn’t want to get ahead of himself and assume things and get angry before understanding what his boyfriend was suggesting.

“Not what you think I am, I can assure you. God, Blaine, do you really think I’d say that you shouldn’t save your own brother? What kind of a person do you think I am?” Kurt looked hurt for a moment—making Blaine immediately regret his train of thought—and continued. “I’m saying that your parents have already offered to pay, an offer you rightly declined. However, if they have money to throw at you, they might as well make it useful and have Alex transferred to a hospital here in New York City. That way your involvement in Alex’s treatment won’t interfere with your school work and he’ll still get the treatment he needs.”

Charlotte spoke up again, “We’ve actually already looked into that. NYU has a cancer institute, in the NYU Cancer Langone Medical Center. Among the many types of cancers they treat is leukemia, acute and chronic. They also have a specific pediatrics care department where they treat children with various cancers and blood disorders, including leukemia. The care is very high-rated. We set up an appointment to visit the facilities this evening. If everything looks to our standards, we’ll be flying back to Ohio tonight and then returning to New York tomorrow with Alex to start treatment immediately.”

The full force of what this would all mean was finally hitting Blaine. These people, the ones he used to call his parents, would be living in the same city with him. He knew they had a condo somewhere in New York City that they often flew and visited when Blaine was little, so they had a place to stay. With Alex being under care at Blaine’s school, they’d probably even see a lot more of each other than Blaine wanted.

Sure, he wanted to help his brother, but why did it have to come with Richard and Charlotte?

It didn’t matter. He’d do anything to save that sweet, little boy from the grocery store. The one that was his spitting image. The one Kurt cradled on his hip as if he were their child.

He wanted to say yes. He wanted to tell them to go to their appointment and bring Alex. He wanted to say something. But his brain wasn’t connecting with his mouth. All he could do was stare between the strangers invading his room.

When he finally formed words, they weren’t the ones he’d been expecting. “How’d you know I go to NYU?”

“My brother informed me of your new residence,” Richard answered cooly.

Not “your uncle,” but “my brother.” That stung. But that wasn’t even the worst of it. For a split second, Blaine had been hoping that they might have remembered that from when he told them at the grocery store. Sure, there had been other things said and yelled, but he had foolishly hoped that these people—god, no matter how much he wanted to deny it, he couldn’t; his parents—had cared enough to remember what little he’d told them about his life after the night they kicked him out.

Didn’t it bother them that they didn’t know him anymore? Didn’t it bother him that they’d lost the past 4 years of their son’s life? Didn’t they think about him at all while he was gone?

While he was gone. It made him sound like he was on a fucking vacation.

“I think it’s best if you leave,” Blaine announced. His abrupt declaration startled everyone in the room. To appease the sudden tension, he added, “I still have the same phone number. My cell phone was the only thing I was able to keep the night you threw me out. You can call me when you land tomorrow and we’ll go from there.”

The two invaders exchanged a look, then turned back to Blaine. “We don’t have your number,” Charlotte said.

They deleted his number?

This just could not get any worse.

“Oh, for the love of God, here,” Kurt snapped, stalking across the room to jot Blaine’s number on a post-it note and ripping it off the stack from his desk. “That’s the number.” He flung his hand out to hand the note to Blaine’s mother.

She tentatively took it and slipped it into her purse, then headed for the door, Richard following behind.

“We’ll be in touch,” he said as he shut the door behind him on his way out.

With his stupid parents finally gone, Blaine fell back and collapsed onto Carter’s bed, throwing his arm over his eyes as if that could erase the picture of his parents in his room.

It didn’t.

“What do you need?” Kurt asked. He was still standing by the desk, looking unsure. “Just tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you. Do you feel sick? Do you need more medicine, like for a headache? Do you need water?”

“Kurt. Stop,” Blaine sighed. He extended one arm and shifted over on the bed. “I just need you.”

Kurt melted on the spot and slowly came over to the bed. He crawled on beside Blaine and extended his body, lying down. He rested his head on Blaine’s shoulder and his right arm across Blaine’s waist, Blaine’s right arm coming around Blaine’s body to hold Kurt tightly to him, running the fingers of his left hand through Kurt’s hair.

“Shouldn’t this be the other way around?”

“No. I need to hold you. I need to have you in my arms, physically feel you, and know that you’re not going anywhere.”

“Never ever.”

Ten minutes later, they fell asleep, wrapped up in each other.

……

“Seriously? In my bed?”

Carter’s voice woke Blaine with a start. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and craned his neck to lift his head up, looking around. When he noticed how close he was to the ground, unusual for him since his bed was much closer to the ceiling, he leaned up on his elbows. The movement caused Kurt to slide from his chest and wake up too.

“Sorry, C,” Blaine offered, covering his mouth to stifle a yawn.

“Dude, you had sex in my bed. You really think ‘sorry’ is gonna cut it?”

“We did not have sex in your bed, Carter,” Kurt corrected. “Blaine’s par—“

“We were tired. I had gone to the bathroom and was too exhausted to climb up onto my own bed so Kurt and I just took a nap on your bed. No big deal.”

Blaine didn’t want Carter to know about his parents or Alex. To be honest, anytime his family or home life was brought up with his roommate, Blaine usually changed the subject. He knew Carter probably got suspicious but knew better than to probe too far; just like Blaine knew better than to ask too much about Amanda’s situation, which was progressively getting worse from what he could tell.

“Right,” Carter said, eyeing them both. He rolled his eyes. “Well are you going to get out of my bed now that I’m back?”

“Sure. Sorry.”

The couple slowly climbed out of bed and stood up, stretching from their nap. “What time is it?” Kurt wondered aloud.

“Almost 8 o’clock,” Carter answered.

Shit. They’d slept through the entire afternoon and evening. It was acceptable for Blaine, he was sick, but not for Kurt. Maybe Blaine’s illness had taken a bigger toll on Kurt than he’d thought.

He hated that. He hated that anytime something messed up his life, Kurt’s life was messed up too. Why was Kurt always collateral damage? It didn’t seem fair that just because they were together, Kurt was always getting caught in awful situations. And that was only going to become even more of a problem with Alex. How would this new problem affect Kurt?

Blaine could feel himself slipping back into that place he’d worked hard these past couple of months not to go back to. He was really hoping that he could escape it; that he could move to New York and leave that part of himself behind. But now he realized that he was just trying to run away from himself, and that was impossible. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t change who he was at the core of him; he’d always be that messed up kid he was in Ohio.

Kurt leaned over to Blaine and gave him a kiss on the cheek before picking up his backpack and saying, “I should probably be heading back to my own room. I have three papers to write this weekend so I’d better get started.”

“I’m sorry for keeping you here all the time. I shouldn’t have let you stay over so much to take care of me,” Blaine said, hating that his sudden decline in health had caused Kurt to decline in his studies.

“Hey, no, don’t apologize,” Kurt frowned, “I wanted to be here. I wanted to look after you. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? You got sick. That’s all. I’m here to take care of you. That’s part of my boyfriend role.”

“Okay.”

Something about his tone or his shortness must have tipped Kurt off, because suddenly he was dropping his backpack again and taking both of Blaine’s hands in his, studying his face. Blaine watched his eyes flash over to Carter, who was now straightening out his bed pretending not to listen, and back over to Blaine.

“Blaine. Are you okay? Do you need me to stay?”

“I’m fine.”

Kurt’s frown deepened and he grasped Blaine’s hands more firmly in his. “Blaine. Really. I can do my papers here. Do you need me to stay?”

Blaine sighed. This was getting old. All he wanted was to be left alone. “Kurt. Really. Go to your room. I’m fine. You’re not even leaving the building. If I need you, I promise to call.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” he affirmed, unlinking one of his hands to offer Kurt his pinky.

With a small smile, Kurt let go of Blaine’s other hand and linked pinkies with him for a moment to cement their pinky promise and dropped the hand. “Alright. Then I’m going to go start on these papers. I’ll see you soon.” He leaned in to give Blaine a short and sweet goodbye kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Blaine replied.

Finally, Kurt left.

The second the door closed behind him, Carter piped up from his bed with a, “What the hell was that about?”

“Nothing,” Blaine responded, too tired to give him a real explanation. “Why’d you leave the Delta Phi house?”

“They were getting ready to throw a party. It’s Friday night. I didn’t want to stay for that.”

Suddenly it seemed like Blaine’s night was about to get so much better. There was a frat party. A frat party means alcohol. Alcohol means forgetting. Alcohol means happiness. Alcohol means an escape; and a real one this time.

“Do you, uh…” he had to tread the waters carefully for this to work out just right, “do you think Jonathan would be opposed to me stopping by?”

Carter eyed him. “Why?”

Blaine attempted a nonchalant shrug. “Just wondering. It’s a Friday night and I’m finally feeling better. I just thought I’d go out for a while.”

“I thought you weren’t allowed to drink.”

“I don’t have to drink. I could just go to hang out, meet some new people.”

“You’re going to a frat party, B. Of course you have to drink. And since when do you want to meet and hang out with frat guys?”

“Since you and Jonathan have broken the stereotype. There may be hope for frat guys yet.”

“I’m not in Delta Phi.”

“You might as well be. You’re rushing in the spring aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Carter said slowly, “I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Exactly.”

Without really even finishing the conversation, Blaine slipped on his shoes and jacket and grabbed his keys off of his desk.

“Wait, Blaine, are you really going out? You’re still sick.”

“I’m fine. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

He left without another word.

……

The party was just getting under way when he arrived. He spotted a guy outside the door as he crossed the street and cursed himself for not asking Carter what the password would be that night—he had no doubt his roommate would know. Fortunately for him, as he got closer, he could tell that it was Jonathan standing outside as the security for the night.

He walked up the steps and offered a wave to Jonathan. “Hey, man.”

“Blaine. What’s up?” Jonathan greeted, shaking his hand.

“Oh, you know. Just walking around. Happened to come across Delta Phi headquarters. I didn’t know there was a party tonight.”

Jonathan squinted his eyes. “It’s a Friday night.”

“Is it? My days are all mixed up from missing school for my strep throat.”

“Yeah, speaking of which, are you sure you should be out right now?”

“I’m fine,” Blaine shrugged. “I’ve been feeling better. You saw me earlier. Hey, do you think you can get me in?” He gestured to the door.

Jonathan glanced behind him to the door then back to Blaine. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you sure that’s a good idea? Considering what happened last time.”

“You said yourself the whole fraternity isn’t like that. Give me a chance to see that for myself. I could use friends outside of Kurt, Carter, and you.”

There was a moment where Blaine thought this was it, he’d have to just go back to his dorm and deal with everything and he couldn’t get that escape he’d been looking for. But then Jonathan sighed and nodded. “Go ahead in. I’ll be keeping an eye on you, though.”

“I thought you were guard for the night.”

“First shift. I’ll be done out here in an hour.”

“Okay. Thanks, man.”

“Yeah.”

Blaine headed inside, taking in all the frat guys and the handful of girls that had already arrived. It wasn’t too crowded yet, so he couldn’t just hide in the chaos, but he could hide in the alcohol. He made a bee-line for the kitchen and poured himself a cup of whatever green drink had been mixed in the water cooler. Taking a sip told him it was a margarita, which Blaine was more than okay with; tequila was kind of his weakness.

He made his way around the party, meeting random guys who were surprisingly cool with him. They teased him about his height and his hair, but only in the way guys do, not in a mean way. After he downed two cups of that margarita stuff, one of the guys offered him a beer, which he gladly accepted.

And so on the night went. He spent that hour before Jonathan could come inside mingling with some soccer players, drinking two more beers after the first one and laughing with the guys. It felt good to be hanging out with a group of such stereotypical straight guys—all sports and girls—and just feel like one of the boys. He’d even tentatively mentioned Kurt, referring to him as his boyfriend; the group only paused for a second before diving right back into the conversation, asking about his relationship with Kurt like he was dating a girl. How long had they been together, what’d he look like, what was his major. Unlike if he was dating a girl, they avoided asking after his and Kurt’s sex life. But Blaine couldn’t blame them for that. There were a lot of straight people that were supportive and just didn’t want to hear the nitty-gritty details. Blaine was okay with that.

By the time Jonathan finally found him, Blaine had had two cups of margarita and three beers. He was feeling pretty good. The events of the afternoon were slowly slipping away from him and he was able to escape to a realm where nothing hurt, mainly just because he was too numb to feel anything at all.

“Hey, Blaine, I see you’ve made some new friends,” Jonathan said, clapping a hand to his back.

Blaine nodded. “Yep. You were right, these guys are swell,” he slurred. He swirled his beer bottle in the air and realized with disdain that it was empty. “Oh. I’m empty. I’m gonna go get another. Anyone want anything?”

The group shook their heads so Blaine walked away, in search of the kitchen. Where was that again? Kitchen, kitchen, kitchen. Hey, that was a funny word. Kitchen. Blaine wondered who came up with that word. It wasn’t even spelled right. Why was there a “t” in there? Crap, he just ran into a doorway. The alcohol was impairing his depth perception. Impairing. Kurt would be proud that he’d used such a big word when his brain was so mushy. Was his brain mushy? What did brains feel like?

Kurt. Poor Kurt. Blaine always had to drag him down. If Kurt had never met Blaine, he would have gone to New York with that new confident, happy-go-lucky persona. He would have had a carefree summer full of his New Directions friends instead of wasting all of his time with Blaine. He would have made lots of great friends in the music department instead of having to spend every day taking care of Blaine. It was awful knowing that he’d ruined his boyfriend’s life.

Then again, that was kind of his thing, wasn’t it? He was always doing that. He’d ruined his parents’ lives by being gay; he ruined Laurel’s life by having nowhere else to go; he ruined Kurt’s like by dragging all of his family shit.

The only person he had the power to help was Alex. If he was able to help Alex get better, maybe he could redeem himself.

He poured himself a Jack and Coke, heavy on the Jack and light on the Coke, and took a nice, long drink. God, his head was pounding. There were many, many more people now that he had to wade through to get back to his group. He kept taking sips from his cup, shuffling around aimlessly to find…who was he looking for again? That’s right. Jonathan. Okay. Focus.

He was thinking about something, though. What was it? It was important. It made his heart hurt and his head spin and his stomache flip upside down. If only he could remember…

Oh. That’s right. Alex. No wonder his brain wasn’t remembering, it was because he didn’t want to remember. Who would want to think about that? A little 3 year old boy with leukemia. It broke your heart. But Blaine might have the power to save him. If he could save Alex, maybe that would help him save himself from the giant fuck-up he’d become.

“Blaine!” He whirled around to find Jonathan standing right behind him.

“Oh, hey, Jonathan! I was just looking for you.”

Jonathan’s eyebrows knitted together as he looked Blaine up and down. “Blaine, how much have you had to drink?”

“Not much.”

“How much is not much?”

“A few drinks. I feel fine, Jonny, really.”

“Yeah, you definitely look fine,” Jonathan said, sarcasm evident in his voice.

And really, who was Jonathan to tell him what to do? If Blaine wanted to drink, he could drink. If he wanted to party, he could party. If he wanted to make new friends, he could make new friends. Fuck, if he wanted to fucking strip naked and run down the streets of New York he could do it because no one could tell him what to do and he was so tired of everyone trying.

“You know what? I am fine. You don’t get to tell me what to do, okay? I can take care of myself.”

That was a lie. He couldn’t take care of anyone. Especially himself.

“Obviously not. Look, I’m going to take you home.”

“I don’t have a home,” Blaine spat, slapping Jonathan’s hands away when he made to grab for him. “And I’m not going back to my dorm. I’m not done having fun yet.”

“Did you ever even start? You look fucking miserable. Jesus. Come on.” Jonathan reached out for him again, and again Blaine backed away.

“Just leave me alone.”

“Not a chance. Carter would kill me. Hell, Kurt barely knows me but I know he’d kill me in a second if I just left you here.”

Damn Jonathan. Damn Carter. Damn K—…well, maybe not damn Kurt.

“Fine,” Blaine bit out. He downed the entire rest of his cup and threw it at Jonathan’s chest. “You win. I’ll leave.”

He headed for the door, running into people on the way and not caring in the least. The cool October air hit him on the way out and he realized he forgot his jacket inside. Oh well.

Jonathan jogged up behind him and grabbed his arm. “I’m not letting you walk home alone wasted, Blaine. You’d get mugged in five seconds.”

“Whatever,” Blaine grumbled.

Blaine would never admit it, but if Jonathan hadn’t helped him back to the dorms, he probably wouldn’t have made it there. He almost got off at the wrong stop on the subway twice, and there was a sketchy looking guy in the corner that probably would have gone for his wallet if Jonathan hadn’t been standing guard—(Jonathan was a pretty intimidating guy).

After what felt like…well…a period of time, Jonathan was leading him down the hall of his dorm and to his door. The door was locked, and Blaine couldn’t remember which pocket he’d put his keys in, so Jonathan just knocked.

“Carter! Open up! I have something out here that belongs to you!”

Carter threw open the door and sighed. “Blaine. Get your stupid ass in here.”

“I’m not stupid,” Blaine spat. “I’m smart enough to convince you, Kurt, and Jonathan that I was fine enough to go to a party. Now who’s stupid?”

He pushed Carter out of the way and collapsed in a heap on the floor. Fuck beds.

Jonathan and Carter stood in the doorway talking.

“I tried to keep an eye on him, but I was on door duty for the first hour. He was already drunk by the time I got inside.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He’s been acting weird ever since I got back from hanging out with you at the house.”

“Yeah, I think something happened. Look, I have to get back. Do you think you got it from here?”

“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead, Jonny. Thanks for looking out for him and bringing him back.”

“No problem. He’s a pretty cool guy when he’s not trashed. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

“Sure.”

The door closed and Blaine felt someone walk up to him from behind. There was a shadow looming over him and it made him feel unsafe.

“Stop standing there like a fucking serial killer,” he commanded, shifting around to look up at his roommate.

Carter shook his head. “You’re a real dick when you’re drunk, you know that?”

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you. I told you that at the last frat party we went to, roomie.”

“Get off the floor. You look like an idiot.”

“You know what, Carter? You’re the idiot. And I don’t have to get off the floor if I don’t want to. You can’t make me do anything. You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my fucking dad.” He leaned over and punched the dresser. “Fuck, my dad’s not even my fucking dad.”

His hand was throbbing from punching the hard wood, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He stood up and started pacing around the room, kicking and punching at random things. Carter didn’t say anything, which Blaine was grateful for. At least his roommate could fucking take a hint and leave him alone.

“Blaine,” Carter called.

Or not.

“Just go to sleep, Carter.”

“Yeah, I can really go to sleep right now with you destroying our room.”

“Try hard.”

“Don’t make me get Kurt.”

Blaine stopped in his tracks. He turned around and advanced toward Carter, standing with their faces only inches away. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

Shit. If he called Kurt, Kurt would flip. He’d come down here and make Blaine feel even more like shit than he already did. On top of that, he’d once again get in the way of Kurt’s studies. The reason Kurt wanted to get a head-start on his papers was because he’d be with Blaine tomorrow at the hospital for Alex.

He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let Kurt get involved in this.

“Fine. You win. Can I at least go to the bathroom, prison warden? That alcohol is shooting straight through me.”

“If you’re not back in 5 minutes I’m going to assume you’ve gone back to the party and I’ll call Kurt.”

“Whatever.”

Blaine slammed the door and headed for the community bathroom down the hall. He peed out an entire gallon of alcohol and went back to his room. Before he even opened the door fully he recognized Kurt’s voice.

“Fucking traitor,” he accused the second he walked through the door.

Carter shrugged. “I didn’t have a choice, Blaine.”

“Don’t blame Carter. He was right to call me to come down from my room. This is on you,” Kurt said calmly.

He hated how calm Kurt always was when he was drunk. He was so patronizing in the way he spoke to Blaine in these situations. Like he was a toddler that needed to be handled delicately.

“Way to be a tattle-tale, Carter. I’ll be sure to remember that next time you do something Amanda wouldn’t necessarily approve of. Don’t forget I have Scotty’s number.”

“Yeah, I’m real intimidated.”

The sensation of nails digging into his skin forced Blaine to look down and realize he’d been clenching his fists. Fucking Carter. Now that Kurt knew he’d never hear the end of it.

Kurt crossed the room and stood directly in front of Blaine, leaving about a foot of distance between them. They’d been in this situation enough for Kurt to know to give Blaine his physical space.

And wasn’t that just sad? Kurt had seen his boyfriend turn into a violent drunk enough to know that he had to back off to keep from getting hit. Who wanted a boyfriend that they had to be on their guard for to make sure they wouldn’t get struck?

“Just go back to your own room, Kurt,” Blaine said, stepping away and looking down, running a hand through his hair.

He hated himself. He hated the way he was treating Kurt. Yet he couldn’t stop it. Why couldn’t he stop it? Why did he have such little control over himself? Probably because alcohol loosens your self-control.

“I’m not going anywhere. You obviously need me right now.”

“He mentioned his dad,” Carter spoke up.

Kurt stopped cold. “Excuse me?”

Carter shrank into himself, suddenly unsure. “He mentioned his dad? I don’t know. It was just a comment. Right after he punched the furniture. I’m guessing something happened with his dad.”

“Yes, I know what happened, I was here for it.”

“Wait, his dad was here?”

“Both of his parents.”

“I don’t have parents,” Blaine stated plainly.

There was no more venom or malice in his voice. It was just a fact. He hated that that was a fact.

Carter scoffed in disgust. “You’re not Harry-fucking-Potter, Blaine, of course you have parents.”

“How would you even know, Carter? You don’t know anything about me.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Carter shouted. The words reverberated in the now quiet room. Blaine stood still and stared at his roommate, who was angrier than he’d ever seen him. Kurt stayed where he was, seemingly interested in hearing what Carter had to say. “You’re the one that keeps your entire fucking family life a secret. I’ve tried to ask and you shut down every time. What is so bad that you go out and get drunk? How is your life just so awful that you get wasted and treat your friends like crap?

“At least you’re here. At least you’re here, man, while my girlfriend had to drop out and move across the country to take care of her family who’s slowly dying one by one. First her mom and now her dad. You wanna know someone who really doesn’t have parents? Amanda. Scotty. All of those kids. They already lost one parent and now they’re about to lose another. Those innocent kids and my girlfriend, that beautiful girl who’s never done anything bad in her life, are about to all become orphans. They’re going to lose every semblance of family they’ve ever had. Her dad is barely holding on now; it’s only a matter of weeks, maybe even days at this point.

“What’s so wrong with your own parents that you do this, huh? What? Just be fucking grateful they’re here at all. They came to visit you. You had a fight, so what? At least you can call them and apologize and talk about it. Amanda hasn’t heard her mother’s voice in six years; she lives every day knowing that it might be the last time she’ll hear her father’s. While you get to Skype to see your parents, Amanda has to go visit a fucking cemetery to see a fucking block of rock that’s supposed to symbolize her mother. When she needs the comfort of a parent, what is she gonna do, hug that fucking headstone? No. She has no one. She has nothing. And you wanna talk to me about not having parents?”

Carter took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know what, man? Fuck you. Just fuck you.”

“Oh, fuck you, Carter! You don’t know anything about my life!”

“Blaine, stop. You don’t want to get into this right now—“

“Shut up, Kurt,” Blaine snapped.

The room stopped.

Not once had Blaine ever told Kurt to shut up in a serious manner. It was as if Blaine had slapped him across the face.

“Excuse me?” Kurt asked, voice uncharacteristically low. It was almost like a growl. Blaine had never heard his voice drop so low.

Blaine’s jaw dropped open, but he couldn’t find the words to form. How could he have done that? It wasn’t even necessarily the words; it was how he’d said them. Like Kurt was just some stupid pest that he didn’t even care about; like he was nothing. It was the same way his dad used to tell him to shut up when he was a kid and wanted his dad to tuck him into bed at night. His parents would be sitting in the living room talking and he’d walk in, asking for a bedtime story. His dad would snap, “Shut up, Blaine. Can’t you see the adults are talking? Go to bed.” Every time his father did that to him, he felt less and less important. Less loved.

Now he was doing it to Kurt.

God, Blaine was turning into his dad. The epiphany hit him like a fucking tsunami. He was turning into the very man he despised. The same man who had it in him to kick his son until he was a sobbing, crumpled heap on the ground. The same man who had turned his own kid over to the streets rather than have him be gay. The same man who not once showed any sort of remorse for doing so. And Blaine was becoming that man.

Yeah, Blaine was a different person when he drank. He was his father.

“Fuck,” he muttered; it wasn’t until he spoke that one word and heard his voice break that he realized he’d started crying.

Kurt was over to him in a matter of seconds, knowing that the switch from angry to depressed had been made and holding him was now okay. They fell to the ground and Kurt cradled him in his arms, rocking him back and forth. “Shh. It’s going to be okay. It is. Alex is going to be fine. You’re going to be fine. We’re all going to be fine.”

“Let him fucking cry,” Carter spat, kicking his chair and holding onto the edge of the desk, back turned to them. “He deserves it.”

“You don’t know what he deserves, Carter,” Kurt retorted. “You don’t know his situation at all.”

Blaine sobbed into Kurt’s chest, holding onto Kurt’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping him from disappearing completely. Maybe it was.

“Then explain it to me!” Carter yelled; he sounded on the verge of hysterics himself. “Fucking explain to me why he gets to be so fucking dramatic when my girlfriend is back home working to keep her entire fucking family together!”

“Blaine is not Amanda! Stop comparing them! Just because Amanda’s family is in ruins right now doesn’t mean Blaine’s isn’t too. Did you even stop to wonder why he never talks about his parents or mentions them? Why Laurel is the only person he stays in contact with? Why she’s the one he lives with? I know it’s hard, but put Amanda to the side for a moment and look at your roommate who’s coming close to being your best friend. He’s in pieces right now. You really think he’d be this bad if it wasn’t something worth getting upset over?”

Carter’s back rose and fell as he took deep breaths, trying to center himself. “Fine,” he finally said, turning slowly. “Tell me. What is his situation?”

The arms wrapped around Blaine squeezed tighter, Kurt holding him more closely because he knew that hearing his story told aloud when he was in this frame of mind would only be even harder for him. But it had to happen. Carter couldn’t be kept in the dark forever.

“He…He hadn’t seen his parents in four years until recently. The night he came out to them, his father broke eight of his ribs and threw him out of the house. Blaine called Laurel to pick him up and he’s been living with her ever since. His parents signed over all parental rights to Laurel. They wiped their hands clean with him and want nothing to do with him. So, legally, Blaine doesn’t have parents. He has a legal guardian, his cousin Laurel. They’d never contacted him, never tried to write or visit or call or anything.

“Then he ran into them at the grocery store a few days before we left Ohio to come here…and their son. They had another son, Alex, and they didn’t even tell Blaine. So Blaine has a 3 year old brother he didn’t even know existed until a couple of months ago. He’d thought that was it, he’d seen his parents one last time before coming to New York and he was done. Until they visited today.

“Alex, Blaine’s little brother, has leukemia. They only came to ask Blaine to donate blood or bone marrow or something to help save Alex. They wanted to pay him to help, like he’d need some kind of incentive to save his own brother’s life. That’s the kind of people they are. That’s the kind of person they think Blaine is. So, yes, maybe Amanda’s lost both parents to death. But Blaine lost both of his parents, too, regardless of whether they’re still alive or not. And he might lose the little brother he never even knew he had.”

Blaine shuddered in Kurt’s grasp, so Kurt held on tighter still. He hated his situation, but he hated even more having it told like some kind of fucking bedtime story. It was a nightmare to live and even worse to listen to it being told.

“Shit. Fuck, I’m sorry, Kurt. I didn’t know.”

“Don’t apologize to me, Carter. Apologize to Blaine.”

He heard the carpet squish under feet until Carter knelt down next to him. “I’m sorry, B. I shouldn’t have yelled at you without even knowing the story.”

Blaine couldn’t even talk. It was all too much. He just nodded weakly, a sign that he was listening. He felt like his entire body was slowly falling apart from the inside out; his intestines unknotting and his organs detaching from each other.

“And I’m sorry about your brother. I won’t tell you that he’s going to be okay because I don’t make empty promises and that’s not something I can guarantee. But I’ll help in any way that I can. Okay?”

He nodded again. Carter stood up and went somewhere—maybe he left and went to the bathroom or the lobby or on a walk, or maybe he just went and got on his bed, Blaine couldn’t be sure—but Blaine never left the floor. He stayed there, safe and secure in Kurt’s arms as Kurt continued to rock him back and forth in a steady rhythm. If he tried hard enough, he could match up the rhythm of his rocking with the rhythm of Kurt’s heartbeat thump-thumping in his chest.

Another indistinguishable period of time passed before Kurt started humming in his ear. After a few moments, Kurt began to sing softly.

Maybe no one told you
There is strength in your tears
And so you fight to keep from pouring out
But what if you unlock the gate that keeps your secret soul
Do you think there's enough to that you might drown?

It wasn’t a song he recognized, but the lyrics made him cry even harder.

If no one will listen
If you decide to speak
If no one is left
Standing after the bombs explode
If no one wants to look at you
For what you really are
I will be here still

Kurt continued singing, the song hitting too close to home for Blaine. It occurred to him for the first time that maybe Kurt enjoyed putting him back together. Maybe it made Kurt happy to be there for Blaine, because he loved him.

If you find your fists are raw and red from beating yourself down
If your legs have given out under the weight
If you find that you've been settling for a world of gray
So you wouldn't have to face down your own hate

It was so, so true. Blaine wondered if maybe Kurt had written the song himself, just for Blaine. It was possible, Kurt was a gifted musician, but for some reason, Blaine doubted that was the case.

After some time, his crying subsided and his breathing returned to normal. He had the hiccups, but that was normal after he cried a lot.

“I’m sorry, Kurt,” Blaine whispered into his shirt. “I’m so sorry I keep doing this to you.”

“Hush, sweetheart. You have nothing to be sorry for. Except maybe telling me to shut up. That stung a little.”

Blaine nodded against Kurt’s chest. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“I never mean it. I never mean anything I do when I’m like this. I’m sorry you have to put up with it.”

“I don’t have to, Blaine. I could leave right now. I’m not obligated to stay here.” Kurt pulled back a little and placed a hand under Blaine’s chin, tilting his head up. “Look at me. I’m not here because I feel like I have to be, okay? This isn’t mandatory for me. I choose to be here.”

“Why?” he hated the way his voice sounded like that of a small child.

“Because I love you. And no matter what happens, I will be here still. Okay? I meant every word of that song. I will be here still. I will.”

All Blaine could manage was a small nod. A moment later, he added, “I love you,” because it was all he could offer. Kurt was able to give him the world, but all he had to offer was his love for him.

Because in spite of all of the shit that he was constantly going through in his life, and all the shit he constantly drug Kurt through, he really did love Kurt. He loved him like he’d never loved anyone in his life. He didn’t know how else to explain it. It was just this overwhelming feeling of, I need this person to survive. I need this person in my life. Always.

“I know. I love you, Blaine. I do. I love you.”

He wondered how many more times Kurt would have to tell him that before it stuck.