The Weight of a Promise

            He wakes slowly, his eyes barely open they are so swollen, and for a blissful moment he has not been disowned.  But the feeling is fleeting and his mind promptly kicks him with reality.  His parents disowned him.  The word is like a church bell – ominous, reverberating and utterly damning in its broadcast to the whole world that he is worthless, good for nothing, and a disgusting individual - even his own family want nothing to do with him.  His eyes feel hot, but no tears come – he has none left and they are useless in any case – tears did not even win him a pity vote in the end.  No, they cannot help him - not now. 

He can hear Douglas talking, his voice low, and the welcome distraction piques Blaine's curiosity. 

            ‘No.  I'm not.'  A pause.  ‘Not great - as you could imagine.'  Silence.   ‘Well, I've spoken to the Head- …  No. …  Yes. … He was quite understanding. … Yes – I imagine family names go quite far still.  …  Graduation is next week, anyway.  …  Of course he will go.  …  I'm not going to force him to do anything.'

Blaine frowns and tries to avoid palming his sore eyes.  He realises dimly that he is in Douglas' bedroom, lay fully clothed on top of the covers, a blanket draped over him – the last thing he recalls was, no – he does not need to think about that.  Not right now.  He does not have the strength to deal with what his new status means.  He has a lifetime to think about it now.

            Another label.

He sits up a little and notices that Douglas must have left him a glass of water on the bedside table.  He stretches for it and the cool liquid soothes his raw throat.

            ‘God, no! …  I'm so worried about him, and I feel utterly useless.  I was so concerned about what everyone would think of me I didn't think- …  But it is my fault!  You were right.  You were utterly right.  …  Damn it, Roger!  I don't care!  …  I don't care about reputation and I don't care about the inheritance – not the property or the money, none of it!  I told Father that, and I'll keep telling you that until you understand.  He is worth all of that and more to me, and I would have given everything a hundred times over if I could have spared him the pain of any of this.  …  God, Rog.  I feel so-  …  Thank you.  …  I know.   …  I'll take whatever they want to throw at me.  I've been called far worse.  …  I know.  …  I just wish I could detach his name and your family's from all of this mess.'

Blaine gingerly replaces the empty glass, his hand shaking visibly, as he debates whether he should let Douglas know that he is awake. 

Douglas, who had comforted him after Cooper had made it quite clear what he thought of Blaine's life choices, then taken him out for a celebratory meal anyway - just the two of them. 

Douglas, who had received Blaine's call at 3am the day after running Blaine to the airport for his flight back to Ohio, and had not hesitated in instructing Blaine to do as his parents' asked and pack.  He had ordered Blaine a taxi (his parents had taken his car keys) and then instructed him to go to their hotel.  Douglas must have gotten on the next available flight because the next thing he knew Douglas was with him at the hotel.  Blaine knew that Douglas had been to see his parents - no, not parents now.  How does one refer to their parents when they have been disowned? – because Douglas had some more of Blaine's belongings with him when he arrived, but he had not spoken about it.  Instead he had just held Blaine, soothing him – not telling him that it would all be alright, because it was not, and could not be “alright”.  Douglas had whispered words to him:

‘You don't get to choose your blood, darling, but you do get to choose your family.'

He had clung to that like a lifeline as he had ridden the waves of his torturous, tumultuous mind. 

Blaine took a breath, then another – the blanket smelt like lavender and clean cotton, and he tried to calm his racing pulse. 

            ‘No.  …  Tell Doug- …  Tell Doug that he's here with me.  …  Yes – I'll let him know.  …  Thank you.  …  You too.   …  Love to Adeline.  …  Bye.  …  Bye, Rog.'

He hears footsteps – Douglas has always paced whilst on the phone – but they do not stop outside the door.

            ‘Good afternoon, is Mr. Havers there?  …  It's Douglas Chambers.  …  I'll hold.'

Blaine racks his mind for who Mr. Havers may be, but the name is unfamiliar to him.  He strains his ears as Douglas walks further away from the bedroom from the Gallery, Blaine imagines, down the long corridor to the Kitchen and back.

            ‘-appointment.  …  Twelve o'clock, tomorrow?  …  Perfect.  …  Thank you – apologies for the short notice.  …  Yes.   …  I know, I know.  …  Yes.  Bring them, please.  …  To the guest apartment.  …  Yes.  …  Of course.  …  Thank you, Steve.  See you tomorrow.  Have a lovely evening.  …  You too.  Bye.'

Once he is certain Douglas has finished the call he makes his way on unsteady feet out into the Gallery.  Douglas is stood with his back to the doorway, facing down the corridor towards the kitchen and Blaine cannot help but notice the tightness in the other man's shoulders.  Tightness that he put there.  He feels terrible. 

            ‘I'm sorry.'

Douglas turns sharply at the sound of Blaine's voice, harsh and hoarse from crying and shouting.

            ‘Oh, sweetheart – don't apologise.'

His feet feel frozen but somehow he finds himself wrapped in Douglas' warm, strong arms, his face tucked into the crease between the taller man's shoulder and arm.

            ‘It doesn't feel real.'

            ‘I know.'

            ‘I mess everything up.'

            ‘No, Blaine.  You don't – please don't talk like that.'

He swallows the sob rising quickly in his chest and feels it quench the burning coals in his gut.

            ‘Who was that – on the phone?'

            ‘Hm?  Oh – only Roger.  Doug wants me to tell you that he'll happily beat up Cooper for you any time you want by the way.'

It angers him for some reason but he huffs out a breath in lieu of a laugh because he knows Douglas is watching for his response.

            ‘No – I meant after Roger.'

            ‘Oh.  That was an old friend of mine - Steve Havers.'

            ‘Sorry – I didn't mean to eavesdrop.'

            ‘It's fine, Blaine.  Really.'

Blaine closes his eyes and nods slightly.  The press of Douglas' lips on his own opens his eyes and Blaine realises suddenly that he must look utterly awful.

            ‘I was going to tell you tomorrow but Steve is my attorney and I've asked him to drop by tomorrow with the deeds to the guest apartment.  I'm putting it in your name.  I want you to have somewhere that is completely yours – even if you don't stay there, or use it.  Whatever happens between us, whatever the future brings – you will have somewhere to go.'

Blaine's mouth must have dropped open of its own accord.  Douglas fishes around in his pocket for something and Blaine can hardly breathe.

            ‘No arguing – it's already done.  Alright?'  He takes Blaine's hand and drops a brass key into Blaine's open palm then closes his fingers around it.  ‘This is the only key.  Well - Sylvia has one so she can clean, but I can get it from her if you like.'

He shakes his head dumbly, his eyes capturing Douglas' searching ones, and Blaine cannot speak.  The key bites into the flesh of his palm and he realises he had been clenching his fist too tightly.  He has lost all capacity for fluid thought but he kisses Douglas – that is one thing he can do.  Douglas' smile is warm, if a little uncertain, when he returns the kiss - deepening it before stepping back slightly and taking Blaine's free hand.   

‘Now – I'm going to make us some coffee and we're going to watch some trash on the telly.  How does that sound?'

-+-

            In his dreams he stumbles, blind, searching for him.  He calls out until his voice is hoarse, but his voice does not carry like it should.  Kurt runs, his limbs aching, his breath coming in stilted puffs that echo in the nothingness.  Before it was a multi-storey car park – overgrown, crumbling and stinking of piss.  This time it is the decrepit remains of a city he has never been to - full of blind alleyways, and dark, twisting corners.  The location changes, but the dream remains the same – he is searching for him but he cannot find him.  Something bad has happened and he needs to get to him before…  Before what?  He cannot remember because someone has his arm in a vice – trapped!  The panic chills him like a bucket of iced-water over the head in the heat of summer, and he hears himself scream. 

He awakes, drenched in sweat, to Santana shaking his shoulder.

            ‘Jesus, Hummel – if I have to wake you one more time because you are screaming out the hobbit's name in your sleep again I am going to gag you.  I swear!  Now listen very, very carefully – I. Needs. My. Beauty. Sleep. or I cannot, and will not, be held accountable for what happens to you in yours.  Got it?'

His heart is pounding a fierce 3/4 rhythm on his ribcage and he struggles to adjust to his new surroundings.  Mumbling an apology he throws an arm over his eyes as his friend rolls her eyes at him and makes her way back to her own bed.   

Eventually his breathing evens out.

He reaches for his cell phone and finds it on the floor – he must have knocked it there in his sleep.  He had called everyone he could think of to try to find out what had happened between Blaine and his parents but everything he had heard had added to the white hot panic in his chest rather than settled it.

Trent had told him that Blaine had had a huge falling out with Cooper, but he had not been certain what it was about, only that Blaine had not been at the Warbler's National Show Choir Champions celebratory meal.

He had learnt no more from Nick or Jeff, and had begrudgingly called Sebastian when he had run out of all other options.

What he had learnt had made him violently ill for the second time that evening, and the fact that Sebastian had told him at all had set every fibre of Kurt's being on edge because the concern in the other man's voice had ripped through Kurt like a hurricane.  The details were not clear but the message was - Blaine's parents had disowned him.  Sebastian was terrified for his friend and was frantic because he, like Kurt, could not get hold of Blaine. 

Kurt had called Cooper – but the call had kept going through to voicemail, so, on the verge of a full-on panic attack, he had called the only other person he could think of - his father.

Burt had managed to calm Kurt down enough to make sense of his son and had rung-off, promising to get to the bottom of whatever was going on.  The following hours had been the longest of Kurt's life and he had paced, numb, up and down the roads of Bushwick careless of the time or his own safety, until his phone had vibrated to signal an incoming call.

            ‘Hey, kiddo.'

            ‘Dad –‘

            ‘Look, I'm going to cut to the chase here - It's true.  I went by the Andersons' and –Kurt, I don't know how to tell you this…'

            ‘Please – is he OK?'

            ‘I don't know.  I have no idea where he is.  His parents don't either, and honest to God, I don't know what the kid could have done to make Bill act like that…  He was so cold.  Basically said he didn't have a son called Blaine.'

Kurt took a breath, forcing himself to stay calm.

            ‘Thanks, Dad.'

            ‘I'll keep an eye out – alright.  We'll find him.  It'll be OK, Kurt.  I promise.  Look, there's nothing you can do from there – go get some rest.  I'll call you if I hear anything.  He'll be alright, Kurt.'

He had felt himself nod, even though he had known his father could not see him, and hung up slowly, breathing a heartfelt “thank you”.  If anything, he had felt worse.  His phone had vibrated again harshly in his hand, still pressed to his cheek, and he had answered it without checking.

            ‘Any news?'

            ‘Dad says it's true, Sebastian.  His dad didn't even acknowledge his existence.'

            ‘Fuck.'

            ‘You're supposed to be his best friend – you have to know where he would go.'

            ‘Uh… Well he's not at Dalton – we checked everywhere, and Hunt and Doug have no clue.  Doug's giving his uncle a call now to see whether he's with him.'

            ‘Wait – why would Blaine be with Doug's uncle?' 

            ‘Shit.  Uh…'

            ‘Sebastian, I swear on all that is holy, if you don't tell me what is going on right now I will-'

            ‘He's Blaine's boyfriend.'

            ‘Who is?'

            ‘Doug's uncle.  The rich one who lives in New York.'

The news was heavy, but his adrenaline was pumping so fast the pressure won-out and Kurt managed to maintain focus without it crushing him. 

            ‘Get the number for me.'

            ‘Not sure that's a great plan…'

            ‘Fine – but the second you hear anything you call me.'

            ‘I promise.'

He had hung up and somehow made it back to the loft without incident, only to find himself staring at the ceiling until he found himself in the car park (until woken for the first time by Santana), then the city…  Now…

Frowning, he squints at his phone – searing-bright in the pitch of his room.

6 new messages

Sebastian: Blaine's at his boyfriends'.  Panic over.  Damage control now.

Trent:  Any news? Tx

Jeff:  Nick wants to know if you've heard about B? – Jeffster

Sebastian: Gave your number to Doug – he said he wanted to talk to you.  Hope that's OK?

unknown number: Hi, just wanted to let you know that Blaine's with family.  It's delicate so please leave it be for now.  I promise I'll keep you updated.  Trust me – I love him like a brother.  Doug

Nick:  Did u get Jeff's msg? Nick

Kurt frowned a little and re-read Doug's message again before composing a choicely worded response, then deleting it, re-writing it, deleting it, and launching his phone across the room.  It hit the curtain with a soft thup and clattered to the ground.

            “Blaine's with family.”  The gall!  “It's delicate” – no shit!  “I love him like a brother” – sure you do.  Which is why this all happened in the first place.

His forehead felt tight from frowning.  Why was Blaine's friend acting so defensive?  It's not like he knew Kurt.  Perhaps Sebastian said something to him? 

The urge to scream raked his lungs, but he managed to purse his lips and let out a long soundless whistle instead.  His hands fisted themselves in his hair and he tugged lightly.

            At least he's alright.  Well, as alright as he can be.  Oh, Blaine – what have you done?

-+-

            Blaine had waited until Steve had left and Douglas had gone to get some groceries.  His head was swimming with information but he felt determined – he knew exactly what he had to do.  He had known from the moment he had locked eyes with Steve.  Mr. Havers was a tall, handsome man with a fair complexion and steel eyes that had been so obviously trying not to judge the small dark-haired nineteen year old that his friend had been set on signing over part of his property to.  He had had time to think the previous evening, curled against Douglas with the television's mindless droning in the background.  Roger had been right, and Cooper, in his own way, had proven it - Blaine's relationship with Douglas as it stood would ruin them both.  He could no more control people's prejudices than he could the elements, but he had to try – there was one thing he could control…

His hands were calm as he dialled the number he had weaselled from Doug, and he focused on keeping his breathing even, reminding himself why he was calling – he could save Douglas from suffering the same fate as himself.  He could save Douglas from the tuts and the rumours and the suspicion and the accusations –

            ‘Hello, who is calling, please?'

            ‘Oliver – it's Blaine Anderson.  I'd like to talk to Mrs. Chambers, if she is available.'

            ‘Just a moment – please hold.'

He finds himself pacing in a strange mimicry of Douglas and the thought makes him smile a little until he hears a click and the sudden sound of soft breath down the line.

            ‘Hello?'

            ‘Mrs. Chambers?  It's Blaine Anderson.'

            ‘The pianist my son is set on destroying his life for - yes.  How can I help you?'

            ‘Actually – it's about that…'

            ‘You have my attention.'