November 1918 - Düsseldorf, Germany

Kurt

The first few weeks of being home passed in blur for Kurt. The old brownstone was bustling with all the girls preparing for Lena and Noah's upcoming wedding. It seemed that wasn't the only thing they were fussing about though. Kurt had become their other project. He had grown tired of his family hovering and fussing over him.

First, it was his weight. Lena took the opportunity to hone her cooking skills, as well as teach Anna and Sara some basics. Kurt appreciated the sentiment and for the first weeks he gorged himself with the food placed in front of him (eating twice as much as Noah did). But now that Kurt was back to the weight he was before the war, they began to fuss over his lack of sleep instead.

The nightmares had begun as soon as Kurt had gotten home. He relived every horrifying moment, from his first night in the trench to being shot. Every night he would find himself jerked awake by his own screams, his legs twisted in the sheets and his body covered in a cold sweat.

Soon Kurt couldn't and refused to sleep at night. Instead, he started sleeping during the day while his family was out, and at night would lay awake until the sun rose. However, Kurt's brilliant plan of sneaking in naps during the day didn't work for long. Burt all but figured it out when he came home early one afternoon to check in on Kurt.

Burt took it upon himself to make space in his bedroom, insisting that Kurt sleep there until the nightmares faded. Kurt refused. He wasn't a child; he was a war veteran, who sure as hell didn't need to cuddle with daddy to sleep. But no matter how much Kurt refused, Burt was persistent and eventually convinced Kurt to try for one night. Kurt was determined to use that one night to prove his father wrong.

Yet, much to Kurt's chagrin, his nightmares had all but disappeared since he had moved into his father's room. He still refused to admit that his father may have been right about this subject.

Next, Kurt's family moved to worrying about the recovery of his injury. They hovered, flitting around making sure he was always comfortable, that his leg was elevated and that he had a book near so that he could read when he wasn't resting.

At first Kurt loved the treatment he was receiving, based solely on the fact that his family was near. But Kurt was starting to become frustrated. He was trying as hard as he might to get his sisters to let him go out, but they would have nothing of the sort.

It was at the two week mark that Kurt couldn't take it anymore. He let all of his anger and frustration out. "Honestly, Lena, I need to get out of this damn house!" he yelled pushing Lena's small hands away from his leg.

Momentarily stunned at Kurt's outburst, Lena stood abruptly and rounded on her brother. "I'm just trying to help!" She yelled back.

"Then help me get down the stairs so I can stretch my legs!" He continued to yell, fueled by his sister's anger. "I need out!"

"Whoa! Hey. What's with the yelling?!" Noah bellowed over the two squabbling siblings, who hadn't noticed his entry.

At the sound of her fiancé's voice Lena rushed to his side clutching his arm. "Kurt's just a bit upset-" she said sweetly, all anger gone from her face.

Kurt huffed, rolling his eyes at the dramatic change of his sister at Noah's appearance. "I need out." Kurt stated. "I have been stuck in this fucking house for two weeks."

"Okay," Noah said hesitantly, approaching Kurt like he was a wild beast about to strike, which actually sounded like a pretty good idea to Kurt. "I'll take you out."

He looked from Lena to Kurt, testing the grounds. "We'll go for a walk... How does that sound?"

Grinding his teeth, Kurt held back the urge to lunge at Noah's throat. "What the fuck do you think I am Noah?! I'm not a goddamn dog!" Kurt screeched causing Noah to back off a bit, putting his hands up in surrender.

Sighing, Kurt dropped his head into the palms of his hands, trying to reel in his temper. "Why does everyone think I am going to break?"

"We don't think that." Lena whispered.

"Then let me go out." Kurt pleaded, looking straight at his sister. "I need some time to clear my head, to think about that the hell I am going to do with this." He gestured to his injured leg, feeling utterly defeated.

Noah and Lena exchanged a glance, coming to some sort of silent agreement.

"Come on, Kurt." Noah said gently, holding out a hand to Kurt. "Let's go out, no strings attached, okay?"

Kurt nodded and accepted Noah's help getting up, and accepted his crutch from his sister. "So am I allowed to walk on my own?"

"I don't think that is the best idea..."

Kurt glared at Noah, getting ready to hit him over the head with his crutch.

"Hear me out." Noah continued. "You haven't been out in a while. Why don't we see if you can make it to the shop without getting winded?"

Kurt sighed, hating that Noah actually had a valid point for once.

"Fine." He huffed, knowing that if he argued more he would be forced to stay.

Noah helped him into his jacket, then bid Lena goodbye before beginning the trek down the flight of stairs.

Much to Kurt's frustration, he was already tired when they had left the brownstone. But he refused to tell Noah, in case the man decided to throw him over his shoulder and haul him back to the house.

They didn't make it far before Lena was calling them back to give Kurt a pair of gloves to keep his hands warm. Kurt felt his anger at his sister fade as he accepted the gloves with a smile and slipped them on. She returned his smile turning up his collar to protect his neck from the falling snow, then turned on her heel and rushed back towards the house to escape the cold.

The young men walked in silence, lost in their thoughts, just like they had done what seemed like eons ago. It was a small comfort to Kurt to know that this was still as normal as always, even though the war had caused a void between them.

Kurt looked around with wonder at the shops along the Rhine. Most of which were floundering since the war had ended, while others had closed due to the lack of customers. It was one shop that caught Kurt's eye; it was the old clothing shop that Kurt would wander into but never buy anything because they were too pricy. He would instead look at the concept and redesign it when he returned home.

"So, the Boutique closed?" Kurt asked, an idea forming in his mind.

Noah snapped out of his thoughts looking towards the shop in question. "Yeah, they always had that expensive stuff that you and the girls loved. So of course no one was buying, they had to give it up." Noah raised an eyebrow at the wolfish grin growing on Kurt's face, raising an eyebrow. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking I know what I can do." Kurt replied, grinning ear from ear. "Come on, I need to run the idea by dad."

February 17th 1919 - London, England

Blaine

Blaine sat eerily silent on the wooden church pew with a morose expression, his sunken, dark eyes pointedly looking forward and his jaw clenched tightly as passerby's whispered generic words of condolence. His mother, so tiny and frail in her best Sunday dress, sat trembling at his side where she whimpered and sniffled into her creased handkerchief, pausing to thank the faceless people.

There were others sitting stiffly in the hand carved benches that flanked each side of the small, wooden church. Blaine knew the place well, having been forced there every Sunday morning and preached to about the eternal damnation he faced for continuing his sins. However, as far as Blaine was concerned he had faced so much hell fire that the entire prospect of it seemed very anticlimactic.

The place hadn't changed in the almost four years he had been away. Only the people had. He could hear their hushed murmurs echoing in the thick silence, muttering about mundane things. It all made Blaine feel very uncomfortable and that made his hands shake and twitch until he was forced to lock them together on his lap to avoid the attention of such grim faced people, not that it was overly important but Blaine found himself to be vain about these little things.

As he sat there with his boney knees trapped between the ledge of his own seat and the pew in front and his eyes focused on the large wooden cross nailed to the alter Blaine reflected on the past three months. The war was officially over and England was, once again, righteous and peaceful.

Life moved along, but most of the boys who had come back had dragged with them a little slice of that hell. Most Blaine had known never came back from duty, not really. Countless numbers now lined the rotting wooden floors of the trenches and the raped landscape of no man's land. Those who had physically returned were not right and probably would never be.  For the Andersons the war had become a taboo subject and they straight out refused to talk about it, or about Cooper.  However, its poisonous presence stalked them, snaking into their nightmares and bringing with it visions of a fresh-faced man who had been mangled and torn apart by its brutality.

It was obvious that none of them had found a way to deal with the aftermath. Blaine's mother acted as if nothing had ever changed and continued going about her simple life, cleaning everything to within an inch of its life and cooking portions too big but still silently cried when she set out one place seating too many. Blaine tried to go on with a normal life where he would smile, joke and generally pretend like he was that selfish little boy again, yet he knew that those carefree days were long gone. Instead he found himself yearning for that rush of danger and that thunderous roar of gun fire and hating himself for it.

It was Blaine's father who seemed the worst off of all of them; he looked frail and tired, the bags under his drooping eyes became even more predominate. Blaine had hardly recognized his father when he shuffled off the train and onto the station platform, bumping shoulders with battered men in wrinkled and frayed uniforms. He didn't seem as tall or ominous-seeming as he did when Blaine had been a small child, but then again Blaine wasn't a little boy anymore.

It took four whole minutes for his parents to fully recognize him even as he stood silently in front of them intently staring. His mother of course cried, hesitating only momentary before reaching up with her thin arms and pulling him down into a delicate hug. Blaine let her without saying a word but let his eyes rest on the slumped figure of his father, but the man only looked at him shaking his head slightly before turning around and walking away. Blaine found it quite humorous because he really didn't care; he had spent his entire childhood trying to live up to his father's expectations but just didn't have it in him anymore.

His father died two months later and Blaine still didn't care and he supposed that made him a terrible son. Even now as he sat in church listening to the preacher's mumbled words being broken up by loud sobs he didn't cry or feel sorrow. His father had died believing that he had lost the wrong son and while Blaine still felt the clear sting of heartache for his brother he was glad he had survived and nothing anyone said or felt would change that. He was sure that was what Copper wanted.

A sharp tug on his sleeve snapped Blaine back to the present and he looked over to see he mother staring up at him with red rimmed eyes, her thin hand resting lightly on his forearm. Her eyebrows were raised slightly and Blaine finally noticed that others were starting to stand up chatting amicably with each other as they prepared themselves to make their way towards the grave yard out back. There, a large hole had been dug to accommodate the numerous bodies that would be interned together in a mass burial. The flu epidemic that was now plaguing London was taking no prisoners in its battle to rid the streets of its young, old, sick and weary.

"Let's go home mother." He stood up like the rest, not even making a face of discomfort as the joints of his knees cracked, before he pulled on his jacket and reached down his hand to help his mother stand. He didn't look at her, knowing that to do so would mean letting her see that all he felt now for his father was deep-seated and bitter resentment towards a man that had never loved him like a son. She took his offered hand, hoisting herself up with a surprising amount of strength all the while dabbing delicately at her eyes with an unsoiled corner of the handkerchief. Blaine dutifully helped her into her long wool coat with its frayed sleeves. 

They walked together silently for a few streets, her arm tucked genteelly in the crook of his elbow. He kept his eyes forward, head held high up and jaw clenched tighter than before but could still feel the eyes of passersby's watching them. 

"Blaine, darling." His mother murmured quietly still walking by her now only child's side. Their shoes clicked against the pavement, sending small clumps of snow scattering in their wake. Blaine responded in time with a small humming noise from the back of his throat turning his head to look down slightly at the woman.

"Let's walk through the park. It's such a lovely day today." For a brisk day in February it was unusually nice. The wind wasn't too bitter or too wild and the sun was shining brightly above warming them through their thick coats so Blaine allowed the thin woman to lead them down the covered path that weaved through the small park. They continued on for a while, neither talking but rather taking in the sights of bare branches dotted with clusters of soft snowflakes.

"They look like skeletons." Blaine broke the silence, his voice thick and gruffer then he would have liked. He coughed into his right fist, clearing his throat before taking in a lungful of crisp winter air before continuing.

"That's what all the trees look like over there." He paused momentarily. He could feel his mother's body go still for a second, her hand clenching his forearm tightly before quickly lightening up. "Looked." He corrected himself, never missing a beat or a step.

"They looked like skeletons, only it was all the time not just fall or winter." He really didn't know why he was bringing it up now. His mother had never mentioned any passing curiosity as to what the war had been like but instead of questioning Blaine's strange behaviour she responded with a light comforting pat to his arm, which he barely felt through his coat.

"I know." She replied, still staring at the beautiful scenery around them. Blaine was startled, he paused and looked down at his mother who was staring right back with the same schooled expression she wore whenever his father would start to get angry.

"I read your journal." She elaborated, not once looking guilty. In that moment Blaine felt such a chill settle low in his stomach that he shivered, but refused to look away. His mother turned her head, spotted a fairly clean stone bench and ushered them over there. Blaine followed, stumbling behind her like a fool with such a horrified expression you would have thought she had just confessed to slaughtering a litter of puppies.

She sat down gracefully, her chin pointing upwards and outwards and for a moment Blaine hardly recognized this confident lady sitting before him.

"Blaine, come sit next to your mother." She patted the section of stone next to her with such an expectant look that Blaine felt compelled to do what she had asked and flopped down next to her, placing his head in his hands and looking down at their muddy footprints. Neither said anything for a long moment until his mother cleared her throat sharply.

"I've always thought you were special, Blaine. You were always my baby boy." Her voice was hushed and her eyes were trained on a small group of school children laughing and screaming on the other side of the park. They were throwing perfectly crafted snowballs at each other.

"That's not to say I didn't think your brother was special. I just always knew you were different in a more special way."

Blaine winced, both at the subtle mention of his older brother and with the realization that he had some inkling to what she was talking about. He silently prayed that she wasn't talking about that, but she had only paused to take in a deep breath.

"I'm never going to have grandchildren, am I?" She asked. At that moment he knew that she had seen the sketch of Kurt, the attractive, young, German boy he had connected with in that muddy shell hole. Blaine sat up, feeling the thick tension laying itself around his shoulders. His mother sat quietly by his side awaiting an answer that Blaine felt she already knew. He had to make his choice now, would he lie and follow through with marring some pretty young thing, have a few children and live a quite but contemptuous life? Or would he admit out loud what he really wanted? To find someone to love wholly even if the law thought it grotesque and more importantly view it as illegal.

Blaine drew in a deep breath and answered.

"No, mother. I don't think you'll ever have grandchildren."

She hummed thoughtfully, taking in Blaine's confirmation of her thoughts and fears with a dignified nod of her head before pushing herself to stand up. She brushed off the snow that clung to her favourite winter jacket and turned her head to look down at her son.

"I'm going to move in with your Aunt Mildred. Roger died two years ago in France and little David has contracted polio. She needs the help."

Blaine felt the sinking in his stomach and the pin pricks behind his hazel eyes but he steadied himself with a deep breath. He knew that no one would accept him for how he truly was. He should have known that to admit his real inclinations towards the same sex he would be ostracised and cast away as the forgotten Anderson.

"Blaine, look at me."

She stood in front of him, a very tight expression on her thin face, the red all gone from her pale watery eyes. Her hands perched mindfully on her narrowed hips. Blaine looked up at her, hoping his face didn't look as broken as he felt on the inside.

"I married you're father because I had to, maybe at one point I thought myself in love with him. I don't want that for you. You're my son and I love you, no matter what. Do you understand that?" She said very pointedly, reaching out one hand and smiling sadly when he reached out to hold it.

"...and that's why I liquidated you're father assists. Take the money Blaine. Find that special person who makes you happy and never lose that."  

They walked home in silence, her hand tuck delicately into the crook of his elbow but a smile on both their faces.

"Blaine, sweetie, are you sure you packed enough clean pants?"

Blaine grinded his teeth as he violently threw another handful of clean clothing into his suitcase, trying to ignore his mother's incisive nattering and nagging over what he should pack, however when she entered his room without knocking Blaine shot her a very annoyed look which was promptly disregarded. She was once again wearing her jacket only this time she was wearing a pair of shiny leather shoes and her hair was pulled up into an attractive chignon. There was even a hint of blush on her boney cheekbones.  Blaine paused, just staring at her as she tutted about the state of his suitcase opening her mouth to nag some more.

"You look beautiful." He announced, stopping her in her verbal tracks. She flushed and smacked his shoulder playfully before reaching up and hugging him tightly.

"You'll take care of yourself?" she asked, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Blaine hugged her back just as tightly murmuring into her hair that yes, he would be just fine and that he had remembered to pack enough clean undergarments. She laughed into his chest and Blaine wished that he could just hold onto this moment forever, but she pulled back and reached out to smooth his hair down. Blaine let her with a smile on his face.

"You will write?" she asked quietly and Blaine nodded, she then produced two envelops from the front pocket of her coat. One was thick; almost bulging and he figured it held all of his inheritance from his late father's estate, while the other looked rather plain with his name and address scrawled across the front.

"This came for you two weeks ago. I just couldn't bear to see you leave again so I kept it." Blaine nodded, not as angry as he should have been. He took in his mother's guilty expression with a small grin. He opened it and read it quickly, his grin growing wider.

"It's from Jeff." He stated. "He's living in London and wants me to visit."

"Well, it would be rude not to." His mother had this sly grin playing on her thin lips as she delicately placed the envelope filled to the brim with good old fashioned British pounds into the front pocket of his button up.

"Now be careful and remember to bring a gift. It's rude to show up empty handed." She hugged her son once again, kissing his cheek before pulling away completely and shoving a few more pounds into a couple of socks that sat atop the mess in Blaine's suitcase.

"It's better to safe than sorry."

She stopped at the doorway and turned around, looking back at the honourable man her dear little boy had become. It was hard to hold back the tears but that would have surely made the moment all the more difficult.

"I hope to one day meet the lucky boy who steals my baby's heart." She whispered. Blaine stared back and nodded.

"I wish that too, mother. More than anything."