"Mama, want," Blaine said in a little voice. He was holding a bowtie in his chubby fingers, his little legs carrying him over to his mother. "Want."

"Not right now, Blaine," his mother's voice said, sounding frustrated. "Can't you stop touching things for five seconds? Julie's shoes aren't going to try themselves on."

"Mama, want," Blaine stomped his foot.

"No, Blaine, go put it back," his mother ordered.

Tears welled up in Blaine's eyes. He wanted it. He scuffed his new shoes along the carpet of the shoe department, sniffling as he walked back to the bowtie rack in the corner where kids accessories started.

"Hey there, squirt," a man's voice spoke up. Blaine whipped his head up, confused. Was the guy talking to him?
"Yeah, you," The guy said, kneeling down. "I'm Cooper."

"Blaine," he replied. "But I'm not a'posed to talk to strangers."

"Well, you know my name and I know your name, so we're not strangers now, right?"

Blaine giggled and nodded.

"I'll tell you what," Cooper said, his voice dropping really low. "Why don't you come with me and we'll get you that bowtie?"

Blaine's eye lit up, and he put his hand into Cooper's outstretched one.

Blaine sat up in bed with a gasp, choking as he tried to inhale. His heart was racing and he couldn't breathe.
He'd been plagued with the dream of Blane, the little girl and the woman in the department store off and on since he'd first had it, but this was the first time that he'd ever seen Cooper in it.

He wouldn't have even known it was Cooper if Blane hadn't said his name in the dream. Blaine ran shaking hands through his hair and tried to get his breathing under control. He couldn't take this anymore.

He needed answers and he needed them now.

*

Blaine didn't think – he just got up and went downstairs. His parents were in the kitchen, enjoying a late breakfast since it was a Saturday. The last week had been strained - ever since Blaine had skipped school on Monday and refused to talk about it. He'd heard his mother cry herself to sleep at least twice, but Blaine was so angry about this whole situation, he couldn't even feel bad about it.

"I want to get my license," Blaine said as he stepped into the kitchen. He hadn't planned to say that – it'd just come out. It was okay though – he figured starting with his birth certificate – something he needed for his license – would be the best thing. He could look at it and see that he was the son of Susan and Bill Anderson and put this whole missing boy drama behind him.

His parents both turned to stare at him, shocked.

"What?" his mother replied.

"You heard me," Blaine said. "I want to get my license. I'm almost eighteen. I'm old enough to learn how to drive."

"Blaine," his father said, a warning in his tone. "You know how we feel about this. Your mother and I are perfectly happy to escort you wherever you need to go."

"Great, so I can be the only senior in high school whose mommy and daddy drive him around," Blaine snapped. "That's just great."

"Don't take that tone with me, son," his father admonished. "Even if we were so inclined, your behavior of late hasn't exactly spoken for your character. Driving is a privilege, not a right."

"You know that I'm a good kid, Dad," Blaine said. "You know that I can handle it. I know what happened to Cooper upset you, but it's not my fault that he died and you can't keep taking it out on me!" He was shouting by the end of his speech. His mother looked like she'd been slapped and his father's face had gone pale.

"Honey, we didn't..." his mother began.

"All I am asking," Blaine cut her off, speaking in a calmer tone, "is that we go get my birth certificate so that we can start the process."

He stared at both of his parents, who were now sharing a look. His stomach sank, because he knew that look. That look was panic and uncertainty.

"It's true, isn't it?" Blaine whispered, a horrified expression on his face. "Oh, God, it's true."

"What's true?" his mother asked, sounding almost scared.

"You and Dad aren't my parents," Blaine answered, the room spinning a little. "You really did kidnap me."

*

Blaine's mother was white as a sheet and his father was staring at him, open mouthed.

"Kidnapped you?" his dad repeated. "No, Blaine, we didn't kidnap you."

"Why are you lying to me?" Blaine pleaded.

"We're not lying," his mother replied, her voice low. "Perhaps we've not been honest about a couple of things, but we didn't kidnap you."

Blaine looked from his mom to his dad and back. He wanted so desperately to believe them. He wanted his happy, normal life back.

"Sit down, sweetie," his mother said gently. Blaine crossed the kitchen on shaky legs and sank into the chair in between his parents at the table.

"If you didn't kidnap me, then why can't we go get my birth certificate?"

His dad sighed. "Because there isn't one."

"I don't understand," Blaine whispered. "There's no birth certificate, no baby pictures of me – I checked," he continued. "How does that happen?"

"You're half right, I guess," his dad replied. "You're not our son."

Blaine's heart sank into his stomach and he thought he was going to be sick.

"You're our grandson," his mother added.

"What?" Blaine blinked, shocked. "Your grandson?"

"Yes," his mother confirmed. "Cooper's your father."

"What?" Blaine was so confused. He didn't understand anything that was going on now.

His father sighed. "When Cooper was sixteen, he was the most popular boy in school. He was a Warbler, he played sports. He was perfect."

"And then he died. I know that, Dad," Blaine finished, the word dad feeling weird on his tongue.

"You don't know the whole story, son," his dad replied. "Half way through that school year, Cooper met Natalie. She was a sophomore at Crawford Country Day. The first time we met her, we knew she was trouble."

"Trouble?" Blaine repeated.

"She was into drugs and drinking – before we knew it, she had Cooper hooked."

"Oh, God," Blaine murmured. He'd never heard any of this.

"We struggled with him for months and then one day, he didn't come home. He wasn't even seventeen yet." His mother's voice was thick with emotion. "We thought we'd never see him again. The police didn't do much, probably because he was older and on drugs."

"Mom, I..." Blaine trailed off. He had no idea what to say.

"And then one day, he showed up." His mother kept talking. "Just walked in one day, holding your hand."

"It didn't take much to realize that he and Natalie had probably had you," his dad took over, "and then Cooper realized that he needed help and came home."

"You were the cutest thing," his mother said. "So adorable in your little bowtie."

"We tried so hard to get Cooper to stay," his dad whispered. "But he started coming down from the drugs and wanted more and... there wasn't anything we could do." His father paused. "He snuck out one night, stole my car and crashed it, killing himself."

Blaine was crying now and so was his mother.

"We didn't want to take the chance of Natalie finding you – you were all we had left of Cooper. So we consulted our lawyer, moved across town, changed our names, and here we are." His dad finished the story.

Blaine wanted to believe it. He wanted so badly to be their grandson, if he couldn't be their actual son. It was nothing these days for grandparents to raise their grandkids, but he knew that his parents' story was missing information. He knew because the proof was sitting in his pocket, in the form of a crumpled up milk carton.

"If that's true," Blaine began, pulling the milk carton out and putting it on the table, "then how do you explain this?"

*

The whole story came spilling out then – how Blaine had seen the milk carton and looked up what had happened to Blane Danvers. How he'd been having dreams about a mother who wasn't Susan Anderson and apparently wasn't Natalie whoever. How Blaine had gone to Lima and seen that the Danvers still live in their house and there was in fact, a girl named Julie that lived there.

How Blaine had dreamed about Cooper being the one to take him from the shopping mall in Lima, Ohio.

Blaine's mother lost it somewhere during his story, sobbing uncontrollably. His father's face grew tight and paler, if possible.

The milk carton mocked them from the middle of the table where it laid, the room silent but for his mother's sobs.

"What do we do?" Blaine asked quietly. A sort of calm had stolen over him. He knew the truth now.

"I don't know," his father said quietly. "I don't know."

In the end, it was Blaine's mother who decided. She refused to spend another moment without letting the Danvers family know that Blaine was okay.

"I can't imagine them not knowing where you were for these years," she murmured, pulling Blaine into a hug.

"I'm going to call Robert then," his dad replied, getting up. Robert Smythe was Sebastian's father – he was an attorney, and a damn good one. He'd know what to do.

Blaine and his mother moved into the living room. She wasted no time pulling Blaine against her and holding him tightly. He leaned his head on her shoulder and breathed in deep, remembering her smell.

Change was in the air, he could feel it. He had no idea what was coming now and he didn't like it.

It wasn't long before Mr. Smythe was knocking on the door, Sebastian in tow.

Blaine smiled sadly at Sebastian. He knew that Mr. Smythe must have filled in his son.

"It's true," Sebastian said, taking one look at Blaine. "It's actually true."

Blaine just nodded. Mr. Smythe asked them to run through the story again, giving all the details they could remember. Blaine produced the milk carton again, and Mr. Smythe was silent for a long time after.

"We just want to let them know he's okay," Blaine's mother murmured.

"You realize that by contacting them, there's a possibility that they won't let him stay with you," Mr. Smythe pointed out.

Blaine gasped. He hadn't even considered...

His parents exchanged a look, and his mother nodded, sobbing now.

"Then all that's left to do is make the call," Mr. Smythe said. "We can call the agency that makes the milk cartons –"

"Can't we just call the Danvers directly?" Blaine interrupted. If they were going to do this, he wanted to do it quickly. He would just explain to the Danvers that he was sorry he'd been taken, sorry he was a bad son, but that he had two loving parents and he wasn't dead, so they wouldn't have to wonder anymore, and they could go on with life. "I have their number."

Mr. Smythe stared at him for a moment, and then nodded. Blaine pulled out his cell phone and looked up the Danvers address in the online phonebook, hitting the call option. It rang once, then twice, and he held his breath.

"Hello?" a voice answered.

"Can I speak with Elaine Danvers please?" Blaine managed to ask, his voice shaking.

"This is she," Elaine replied. "Who's this?"

Blaine's heart pounded as he spoke. "Your son."