(Epilogue)

(So in canon it's supposed to be late October and the pride parade is supposed to happen in the summer, but whatever, I'm calling creative license and unseasonably warm weather. And I've never been to a pride parade, so more creative license.
Inspiration pic: http://klainecoloredglasses.tumblr.com/post/26827068773/mandolinmonger-my-second-and-final-comission)


It was a little after 5 p.m. when Kurt and Blaine arrived in downtown Washington, D.C. The streets were blocked off where the parade was already in full swing, so the two hopped out of their cab a little ways off and ambled towards the parade route. Kurt was bouncing a little on his toes and kept glancing to Blaine with bright eyes. He was dressed fairly simply for once, clad in his old "Likes Boys" t-shirt from a past glee club performance and sinfully tight black jeans matched with a studded belt. Around his forehead he had tied a folded up purple handkerchief which held up his chestnut locks.

Blaine, on the other hand, had chosen khaki shorts and a casual light blue button-down. He knew it wasn't a formal affair by any means, but he still couldn't help but feel uneasy as he dressed himself earlier that day. He didn't even own very many t-shirts, and besides, he felt more secure when he was wearing something with a collar and buttons. Although, the smell was a little foreign, as he had washed his clothes at the Hummel-Hudsons'. Blaine had made a cursory phone call home to ask to stay at Kurt's house, which was accepted more easily than he anticipated. He figured they wanted him out of their hair as they handled the fallout. The last thing his father needed was to deal with his son's sudden behavioral problems.

After Blaine had straightened out his new temporary living quarters that day, Kurt had not so subtly brought up the idea of taking up the PFLAG director's invitation to Capital Pride to his dad.

"We're both of legal age," he wheedled. "And we won't do anything out of line. You have to go to Washington anyway this weekend, so all we need to do is just join in on your flight. We'll stay at the same hotel. And stay in our own rooms, I promise." Kurt's eyes were bright, and open wide, and Blaine knew that if he were in Burt's place he could not have denied that hopeful face.

It turned out that Burt did not need too much convincing. After a lecture about responsibility and boundaries, they were off on a flight to D.C. Burt was now out to dinner with some colleagues, and Kurt and Blaine were approaching the parade.

Blaine could hear the sounds of a marching band ahead of them. He looked to a crowd of people gathered diagonally along the road ahead.

"Ooh, we're here, Blaine!" Kurt squealed. "I can't see anything, though, around the people. Once the band passes I think we will be able to see more." He skipped ahead a few feet, craning his neck. Blaine followed hesitantly, eyes wide as he took in the people that came into view.

All around them, people of all shapes, sizes and ambiguous genders gathered in manners of dress that varied from lavish adornment to nearly undressed. Men with bare chests were walking around, nonchalant although they wore nothing but shorts or the tiniest briefs Blaine had ever seen. Similarly, women were in everything from skimpy bikinis to baggy t-shirts to ripped clothing. Rainbow flags were everywhere, either small ones waved above heads or draped across shoulders. And only cheers of excitement or encouragement were yelled, no looks of shock or disgust visible in the watching crowd. Blaine took it all in silently, not knowing what to think.

Kurt led him into the thick of the crowd, humming excitedly to himself. Blaine knew his back must be rigid like he was at a campaign stop. But these weren't people who would be impressed by those displays.

"Oh my God, are you William Anderson's son?" Blaine's head whipped around to take in an open-mouthed drag queen in fishnets and a large auburn blowout wig.

"I- um," Blaine cleared his throat. "Yes, yes I am." He regarded her nervously.

She leaned forward and grabbed his shoulders enthusiastically. "Welcome to Pride, honey! I'm so glad you came to see a bit of the life you're missing!" She winked at him and patted his shoulder. "God, can you imagine if your father or Sanders were here? He's so stiff he'd probably have an aneurysm at the sight." The drag queen gestured vaguely to the parade route where a group and men and women dressed in leather were marching.

She paused a moment, and looked him up and down. "Oh, but you, sweetheart, are massively overdressed. You need a real Pride experience."

Her eyes flickered towards Kurt. "Are you his boyfriend?" she demanded. At his nod, she turned around abruptly and gestured for them to follow her. Blaine and Kurt exchanged a glance, assessing each other's reactions. In front of them, the drag queen turned around, "Well, c'mon, boys! And by the way, that studded belt is fierce."

Kurt instantly lit up and started after her, grabbing Blaine's hand. "She's got great taste," he shrugged at Blaine, pulling him along.

The drag queen, who introduced herself as Ginger, led them through the maze of people along the street, winding around the occasional tree or trash can to lead them to the end of the block, where a makeshift booth was set up with an array of feathers and sequins and all kinds of glittered apparel and makeup. Kurt and Blaine gleaned that she was scheduled to perform on a float on the parade, but had "absolutely refused" to go on without her sequined headdress, which she had forgotten. So she hurried off and headed to where some of her friends who had helped her get ready had settled and arranged to be picked up later.

Ginger ushered them to the booth where two women, Janet and Lisa, were sitting, and explained her intentions to remake Blaine for the event. Lisa, who had spiked ebony hair and wore a sleeveless black shirt that bagged around her petite frame, assessed Blaine's attire.

"Yeah, I see what you mean. Kid, you need to loosen up. And don't look so scared! You're not one of your dad's fancy private cocktail parties or some shit anymore!"

She grinned at him, and knelt down under the booth for a plastic basket, heaving it onto the booth table.

"Body paint," Lisa explained, wide grin still on her face. "We're gonna need you to lose that shirt."

Blaine flushed a deep red, mouth gaping as he turned towards Kurt and resisted the urge to panic. He tried to plead with his eyes and communicate oh, God, save me, please. Kurt seemed to understand, however, and held up a finger to the women and brought Blaine over to the side away from them. He rested a hand on his bicep and leaned forward to speak to him, their faces close.

"Hey, we don't have to do this if you don't want to," he said soothingly, rubbing his hand down Blaine's upper arm. "No one is making you do anything. We can call a cab and go back right now. But," Kurt met his eyes, gaze open and earnest as ever, "these people just want to support you. This is a place where they can let loose and be themselves, and why not experience that for ourselves? I think we can have a lot of fun." He smiled. "So, what do you say?"

Blaine studied his face for a moment, and drew a breath from deep inside himself, as if trying to find his hidden sense of courage in there too. "Okay," he breathed.

Kurt grinned, and pecked him on the lips. He grabbed Blaine's hand again, and led him back to Ginger and the other women.

"We're in," he announced, and Lisa let out a whoop.

"Awesome! But we don't have paintbrushes, so you're gonna have to use your hands," she said.

"That's fine," Kurt replied, and turned back towards Blaine. He let go of his hand to crowd in closer, and rested his hands lightly on Blaine's shoulders. He trailed his fingers down until they touched his collarbone, and his breath caressed his cheek.

"Ready?" he asked. Blaine nodded, watching him closely with hooded eyes. Kurt's hands hovered by his neck for a moment before he pressed in to tug the top button out from its hole. He undid another, and then another, pulling the two sides of fabric apart to skid his hands along the skin exposed. Blaine felt his skin tingle despite the unseasonably warm weather. Kurt made his way down the shirt, undoing buttons until it was open, and pushed his hands along Blaine's shoulders to remove the protective layer. Kurt then reached to the side, and lifted a bottle of paint from the basket, turning it upside down and squirting it into his palms. He rubbed his hands together until they were both coated. Kurt's eyes locked back on Blaine's and his hands settled on his pectorals, covering his nipples with his hands. He pressed in, holding them a moment longer than he needed to, holding Blaine's dark gaze all the while. Finally, he removed them, and admired his handiwork. Blaine looked down. The purple handprints matched the band around Kurt's head.

Kurt turned back to choose another color out of the basket, and Blaine shifted to observe, when he noticed Ginger, Lisa and Janet smirking at the two of them. Blaine blushed deeply again, but then suddenly he didn't mind as much when Kurt pressed his hands again, now yellow, across his stomach. Kurt took his time, but eventually he mapped out a canvas of handprints across Blaine's chest, back and arms. He slowly watched in awe as a rainbow came into being across his skin. When Kurt placed the last handprint, he wiped the excess paint on his fingers across Blaine's cheeks in warpaint style.

"There," he said with a flourish. "My masterpiece is complete! I should sign my name somewhere," he mused, glancing at Blaine coquettishly.

Blaine leaned his forehead against Kurt's. "Believe me, Mr. Hummel, I'll make sure everyone knows that this work of art belongs to you." He rumbled into Kurt's ear, and grinned when he felt him shiver.

"Alright, boys, now I promised that I would show you a real Pride experience, so you're gonna have to watch the parade at some point!" Ginger interrupted them, and wrapped an arm around each of their shoulders to steer them closer to the crowd.

They were near a more densely populated area of the route, and Ginger quickly found someone else she knew who she began chatting with animatedly. Currently passing them were few men spread out, naked except for skimpy briefs and what looked like a firework of long thin balloons attached to their backs. To go with the theme, the float behind them was blasting Katy Perry's "Firework" to which a mixed group was dancing, decked out in hula skirts and leis. One man was wearing a blue wig styled in a bob. Next to Blaine, Kurt was laughing freely and cheering along with everyone else, and tightened Blaine's hand in his grip. He turned towards him, eyes sparkling, and pulled their joined hands up to reach to the sky in jubilation. Watching him, Blaine couldn't help but grin as well, and laughed, letting out a small whoop.

Together they watched as various groups marched, everything from church groups, to Dykes on Bikes, to a square-dancing club. After a particularly engaging dance performance by a group of shirtless men called the D.C. Cowboys, a group of women and men of all ages marched holding signs and chanting for marriage equality. One middle-aged man with thinning brown hair alighted his gaze on Blaine. He walked over to him briskly, lowering his sign as he did so. The attention of a few spectators nearby on the side of the street shifted to them.

"Are you Blaine Anderson? Senator Anderson's son?" he asked, fixing his eyes on Blaine. The people around them went silent, and Blaine nodded guardedly.

The man smiled, and stuck out his hand. "I'm Andrew," shaking his hand firmly. "I just wanted to say, that was so brave of you, coming out like that. My husband and I-" he gestured behind him to a waving sandy-haired man, "we do a lot of advocating work in the community, and you don't know how much it means to have someone from the conservative's side come out. Hopefully people will start to realize that people everywhere are gay, regardless of upbringing." He gripped Blaine's hand with both of his to emphasize his point. "You gave hope to a lot of young men and women out there."

Blaine opened and closed his mouth a few times in response, stumbling on his words. "Uh, I, thank you," he stuttered, not sure what to say.

Another voice off to their left in the small gathering crowd piped up, belonging to a graying woman this time.

"Oh, was that was you? That took a lot of courage, young man. It took my son seven years to come out to me, and even then it wasn't until he was out of the house, even though he knew I was a raging liberal!"

Good-natured chuckling spread around the group, and then suddenly someone else was speaking, an elderly woman whose son had committed suicide, and who had been a devoted member of PFLAG ever since, and then a young lesbian who had been thrown out of her house, and more and more, all wanting to thank Blaine and tell them their stories. Blaine quickly became overwhelmed, and Kurt seemed to notice, as he stepped in closer to Blaine and wrapped an arm around his waist in support.

The sandy-haired man had come up behind Andrew and now glanced between the two of them. "Is this your boyfriend?" he asked.

Blaine hugged Kurt closer and nodded. "Yeah, this is Kurt," he glanced around the gathering of people now, addressing them at large. "Kurt's the one who gave me the courage to be able to say what I did. I wasn't going to, but," and here Blaine faced his boyfriend directly, the words meant for him, "but he's the most compassionate, self-accepting person I know. And I wouldn't have been able to stand up for myself if it weren't for him." Blaine blinked rapidly a few times, focusing on his boyfriend's sweet smile. Kurt pressed his lips to his cheek, and squeezed his waist comfortingly.

Eventually the stories tapered off, but people still surrounded Kurt and Blaine as the parade wore on, cheering with them and clapping their shoulders. After a few minutes, Ginger came running by them precariously in her stilettos, squawking, "That's my float!" and pulling on her headdress. She waded out into the parade, and two men pulled her aboard a heavily glittered float.

When she was safely settled, Ginger turned around and flapped her hands at them. "Come join me!" she yelled, and took a mike from one of the men who had helped her up.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she announced grandly, "may I introduce you all to Senator William Anderson's son, Blaine, who just announced he's gay as the Fourth of July, and his sexy hot boyfriend, Kurt!"

Blaine stood and gaped for a moment, but Kurt was already running up to the float and hauling himself aboard.

"C'mon, Blaine!" he urged, and all around him his new supporters waved him on encouragingly. Blaine shook his head in disbelief, but followed his boyfriend into the parade. Kurt offered up his hand, and Blaine took it, letting himself be dragged up. Just as Blaine was righting himself, the beginning notes of "Born This Way," sounded from the float's speakers. Kurt exclaimed in excitement, but Blaine just looked out over the sea of people, suddenly starkly aware of his bare, hand-printed chest. He felt like an outsider. All these people already accepted themselves, when he was still learning to.

"Hey," Kurt said, reclaiming his attention and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Just embrace it," he whispered, and threw Blaine a wink. "Did I ever tell you that my glee club performed this song? I'm pretty sure I remember all the choreography..." He began to stride backwards, shaking his shoulders, eyes dark as he smirked at Blaine.

Blaine watched, slightly awed as Kurt launched into the moves, a far cry from the two-stepping he used to do with the Warblers. Kurt moved his arms purposefully, striding around the float, gaze always turning back to Blaine. But as the chorus hit, he grabbed Blaine's hands and pulled him into the dance.

"B-but I don't know the choreography!" he protested.

Kurt didn't let up. "I don't either," he shrugged. "I forgot most of it. I'm just making it up as I go along." He smiled, and Blaine let him pull his arms to the beat, gradually swaying his whole body. Kurt shimmied, and Blaine followed, and eventually Blaine made a move and let Kurt follow, and then they made up their own moves together. It was goofy and ridiculous, and then it turned a little sexy, but Blaine couldn't help his exhilaration as he danced up on that gaudy glittered float in front of thousands of people with his amazing boyfriend.

As the song drew to a close, Blaine walked towards Kurt, a little out of breath, singing along to the lyrics. Kurt was gazing back at him, doing the same, and didn't stop until their faces were close and he wrapped his arms around Blaine. They waited until the last whispered, "born this way" before kissing slowly, grinning all the while as Ginger whooped from among the cheers of the crowd behind them.


(Blaine comes back from the Hummel-Hudsons after a few days, and Mr. Anderson and Governor Sanders lose the election. The Blaine's dad walks to his room and asks to talk with him.)


Blaine's father huffed, and sat neatly beside Blaine on the bed.

"Are you here to ask why I sabotaged your campaign?" Blaine asked, unable to keep the bitter tone from his voice. His father sighed.

"I'm not going to pretend I wasn't upset at you, Blaine," he said. "But as I spent time considering it, I realized how much of the campaign rhetoric must have felt like a personal attack against you."

He raised an uncertain hand, palm facing upwards. "It was something that just came with the platform. I didn't necessarily think of it one way or another. Everyone around me talked about it with the same negative attitude, so it was natural for me to do the same. It was until you came out to your mother and I that I considered that anyone I loved could be gay as well."

Here his dad took a visible pause. "I immediately shut you down," he sighed. "All I could think about was the attitudes of everyone around me, of what people would think, that I didn't even stop to consider that you might be hurting, even after your injuries healed." Blaine was shocked to see his dad's face crumple slightly, voice going rough. "I kept wondering to myself why you would do that, why you would try to derail my campaign like that, when you knew what was at stake. But then I wondered...why wouldn't you? I always talk about how important family obligation is, how you have to live up to the Anderson name. But when has your family supported you back?

"I- I haven't shown you the support you needed. And that, more than anything, I regret." His dad raised a hesitant hand, and placed it on Blaine's shoulder. "I have not always been the best father to you," he looked up and met Blaine's eyes, "but you're my son, Blaine. And I love you."

Blaine bit his lip, staring up at his father. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard his father actually say those words, for all the time he spent talking about how much he valued American families.

"And... while I can't pretend I approve of the way you did it... you still stood up for what you believe in, Blaine. And that's what a politician is supposed to do. Stand up for what's important to them and the people they represent. Thank you for helping me remember that. I... I'm proud of you, son."

Blaine let out a breath of air, feeling light and airy all of a sudden. He nearly felt like laughing.

"I-" Blaine stopped, started again. "Thank you, Dad." He pressed his lips together. "Thank you."

*

Things weren't perfect between Blaine and his father after that. There was still the hesitant awkwardness of two people learning to relate to one another again. But they were both making an effort. Blaine tried to shake off his lingering mask of Model Son, while his father tried to crack through his Professional Politician mask and remember what it was like to just be a dad. It was hard sometimes, but Kurt was always there, always ready to listen, or talk, or give Blaine a swift kick in the butt when he needed it. Because whenever expectations became too much, Kurt reminded Blaine that he could always be himself. He was something to be proud of.

And with Kurt by his side, Blaine knew that with so much love all around him, there was nothing else he could be more proud of.