Chapter Seven

Fireworks burst and cracked, whistling across dreams and puncturing sleep, scarlets, oranges, umbers. All burned hot and bright, scarring the stars with anger and hurt, sweeping away peace with wrenching punctures and shots.

Blaine rocketed up in bed, breath panting as the fireworks blinded his mind's eye, pins and needles spreading poison up the lengths of his limbs, leaving goose bumps prickling in their wake.

Breathe, just breathe. One breath, two, focus, focus.

The fireworks faded, but the hurt remained, defensive and curling. Blaine shivered, his sweat-drenched skin cold in the night. He rubbed a hand over his face, forcing himself to focus, pushing the fearful anger away. It wasn't his; it never was. But he could still feel it, clawing at his chest, demanding to be heard.

Fireworks scattered briefly across his mind once more, duller now that he was awake and more in control. This time, they were accompanied by a shout; a real shout, not something from Blaine's dreams.

Mom.

He had known it already, before he had heard her, although she hadn't allowed herself to get angry around Blaine in years. Normally she was so bright and happy, her emotions dancing in golds and emeralds, all twirling catherine wheels and firework fountains.

Blaine slipped out of bed, glancing at the clock. It was only eleven thirty, but Blaine had fallen into bed straight after dinner. His parents must have tried to wait until they thought he was deep asleep before they tackled the conversation he had watched them hold back while they ate.

Guilt that was mostly his own swelled in his throat. It was always him. He was always the cause.

Softly, Blaine crept out into the hall and began to make his way step by step towards his parents' voices, until the undecipherable blur became distinctive words. They were downstairs. He let his hand ghost over the banister for a moment, before making up his mind. He couldn't go back to bed, he wanted to know what they were talking about, he needed to know, because what if they were talking about Dalton? Whatever his dad had promised earlier that afternoon, Blaine wasn't so sure, especially not after the past week.

Ever so quietly, Blaine descended the staircase, his bare feet chilled on the wooden boards. Halfway down, when the voices were all but crystal clear, Blaine sat down on a step, looping one hand to grasp at a banister pole, leaning his temple against it. His gaze fixed on the closed door to the lounge. The defensive anger was stronger here, fireworks bursting behind his eyes so brightly that he had to squeeze them shut and try to find his dad in the mess of emotions.

A cool undercurrent rose from underneath the bursts, a steady breeze that dispersed the scalding sparks. When Blaine had been younger, maybe nine or ten, his doctor had become concerned at how easily Blaine allowed himself to slip into other people's emotions, falling so quickly and so deeply that sometimes very little of Blaine himself was left. So she had devised a technique that Blaine now entirely depended on.

Instead of allowing other people's emotions to fill him, to invade him until there was no way to separate one from the other, himself from the world, Blaine gave them form in his mind. The abstract infiltrators became fireworks, rain, wind, forests, wolves. They were real, and they were not his own. And if they were not him, he could ignore them, dismiss them. He could still be Blaine.

While he had made his mom fireworks, crackling against a clear night's sky, his dad was a strong, sure presence, like wind rushing through the branches of an ancient forest. Cooper's emotions were fluid, a bright sweep of a myriad of colours, like brushstrokes of paint on a canvas, while their grandfather was like dust floating in the rays of an afternoon sun.

Everyone Blaine was close to, he took care to create an emotional identity strong enough and different enough that they wouldn't overwhelm him, or at least, so that he would know that they were. It was harder with people he didn't know, strangers on the street, kids in school hallways, even his new teachers. He wasn't familiar enough with them to know how his empathic senses absorbed their emotions, and in large numbers Blaine constantly felt like he was fighting a never ending battle to keep his head above water, as waves and waves of unwelcome hate, sorrow, even happiness and passion, crashed over him, pulling him under, drowning him.

Unless he was with Kurt, of course... Because Kurt was the ocean, and with Kurt, Blaine knew he could never drown.

"-Cooper should have told us!"

"Cooper did exactly what he thought was best for Blaine, Emily. God knows, at least Blaine's been talking to someone about this!"

"I'm sorry, I just can't believe that after all that's happened you still want to send our son back to that damn school!"

"And where would you send him?"

"He could come back home, where he's safe and doesn't have to deal with-"

"With what?" The wind picked up in a burst of frustration as Blaine's father cut over whatever argument his mom had been trying to muster. "Doesn't have to deal with being a teenager? With having friends? With actually having a damned life?"

"You know that wasn't what I was going to say. Don't talk to me like he's not my son as well, John!"

"Well now you know how I felt when I had to hear from Cooper how the only reason Blaine wanted to go back to school was because he found a brochure for Dalton in the study and I know damned well I didn't order it!"

Silence. Blaine held his breath, his grip on the pole tightening almost unconsciously. "W-what? I... oh no..."

The fireworks fizzled, weakly popping as the burning dregs flickered with intermingled guilt.

"That's the reason he didn't want to be home schooled anymore. Not because he was being stubborn or because he was trying to pull away from you, but because he was terrified we were planning to send him away." The trees bent in the wind, disappointment, worry, exhaustion forcing the boughs to creak. "Why did you have it, Emily? Blaine was doing fine. I know I was always saying that it might be good for him, to get back out into the world, but it should have been his own choice, made at his own pace."

Blaine's stomach roiled with dark emotions that he knew were his own. His dad's voice sounded so tired, and his mom's... he hated it when she cried, especially because he always seemed to be the cause...

"He's sixteen, John. Dr Monroe told us what to expect... She told us the home schooling wasn't a permanent solution. You weren't with him all hours of every day like I was. He was so quiet, and so hard to read, and when Cooper went home after last Thanksgiving, he just got worse. I could feel it; the isolation was starting to wear him down..."

"So you thought Dalton would be the solution?" His father's voice was incredulous.

Fireworks crackled, incensed, irritating Blaine's already tense nerves, "It's not the same, and you know it."

Blaine's stomach clenched and suddenly he couldn't breathe. Detachedly, he knew what his mom meant about the months leading up to Christmas. While home schooling had begun as a sanctuary from the world, it had gradually mutated into an empty aching pressure in his chest, as he went through every day feeling like something was missing. Each morning became harder, and he found himself persuading him mom to let him come with her to the supermarket, or to the mall. Even just sitting on the seat in the big bay window of the lounge, stretching out his senses to brush at a stranger's emotions as they walked by...

His family wasn't enough anymore.

"Blaine. Why don't you join us?" His dad called, breaking through Blaine's rapidly spiralling thoughts.

Blaine's mind juddered to a halt, and he swallowed guiltily. His dad knew, he always knew when Blaine was there... It was really infuriating.

He padded down the rest of the stairs, pushing open the door. His dad was standing near the fireplace, while his mom was sitting on the large plush leather sofa. "I'm sorry..." He mumbled, not sure who to look at. His dad's face was impossible to read, while his mom was wiping the tears from her cheeks, as her own, more powerful guilt overlapped Blaine's.

He had a really bad headache.

"No, sweetheart," his mom murmured as she stood and walked over to him. Blaine watched her with tired, pleading eyes as she paused, shaking herself slightly and taking a deep, focussing, cleansing breath. And then she smiled, gently wrapping him up in her arms. Whatever darkness she had been projecting had been pushed down deep, and as he buried his face in her shoulder, breathing in the familiar flowery scent of her dark curly hair, he felt himself calm. "I'm sorry we woke you."

Blaine shrugged, unwilling to leave her arms and continue the conversation.

His dad seemed to read his thoughts, dropping his hand to rest against Blaine's back, "We're not angry, Blaine. Really. We just... why didn't you tell us why you wanted to go to McKinley? We would have still supported you."

His mom pulled back slightly so she could look at Blaine properly. They were almost the same height, Blaine only a hair taller, and her bright blue eyes easily locked with his hazel ones. "You know how we feel about telling the truth in this family. We're just sad because you felt like you couldn't."

Blaine didn't really trust his voice, but he wobbled his way through his defence anyway, "You di-n't tell me the tru-uth. I t-thought you were sending m-me awa-ay!"

Soft sadness floated its way through Blaine's body, a mixture of everyone in the room. He felt fingers carding through his loose curls, and a gentle warmth as his father pressed a kiss into his hair, "We're never sending you away, bug, don't ever think that."

His mom nodded, "I know it might seem sometimes like we're making choices without you. You're our son, and we love you so much, and we only ever want you to be healthy and happy. But I promise, when it comes to the big stuff, we will always talk about it with you. Sweetheart, we would never dream of sending you to Dalton without at least talking it through with you first. But, I'm your mom and you know how I worry about my boys." Her teasing tone drew out a tiny smile from Blaine, even if her voice was still clouded with previous tears. "I need to think about every possibility, you understand, don't you Blaine?"

"Yeah..."

She smiled, kissing his forehead, love blooming in the contact. "So, no more secrets?" Blaine nodded.

"And no more putting your brother in the middle?" His dad added wryly.

Blaine ducked his head, "I won't, I'm sorry."

"Good." His mom smiled softly, "Now, I think you need to go back to bed, don't you? And tomorrow, you can tell me all about this Kurt of yours."

"Mo-om..." Blaine groaned, the tight feeling in his chest finally easing with the sparkle of teasing fondness that tickled at his skin. "He's just my friend."

"Of course he is, sweetheart." Her tone was entirely placating. "Come on, bed. Is Molly upstairs?"

"I think so." Blaine nodded, suddenly overtaken by how sleepy he really was.

"I'll go check." His dad went off ahead of them, as Blaine climbed the stairs with his mom more slowly, her arm still wrapped around him.

By the time Blaine was settled back into bed, his dad had returned with an armful of grey fluffy cat, which he deposited on top of the comforter. Molly stretched languidly, before taking her time to knead the bedspread, finally settling her warm weight down next to Blaine.

"Good night Blaine." His parents closed the door, and he let himself lie in bed, thoughts drifting as he absently listened to the noises of the house. His hand found Molly, fingers burying into the silky fur.

Content. Sleepy. Good.

The simplistic cat feelings seeped up Blaine's fingers and into his bones, washing away the complexities that had been draining his senses and muddling his mind. As he kept contact, peacefulness returned to his body, turning the horrible exhaustion into a lulling tiredness.

Molly didn't move, happy to rest next to her human until his breathing evened out, and his fingers grew lax with a deep sleep.

TBC