All week the brochures have been arriving, ever since Blaine had to attend that utterly useless Career Day put on by McKinley’s not-quite-competent guidance counselor. He’d checked off a few boxes, marking his current interests with a #2 pencil, and somehow that was supposed to translate to his life’s goals. And then he’d entered his address and email into database and sent off his information to every school in the country.

Almost immediately the brochures and pamphlets and emails had started pouring in. UC Berkeley. Juilliard. Harvard. Ithaca. Cornell. Boston Conservatory. And dozens of other schools from across the country that Cooper hasn’t even heard of. There have even been a few from outside the country. Cooper doesn’t want to think about Blaine being that far away from him.

The pile of informational packets on the kitchen counter keeps growing and Cooper’s getting legitimately worried that one day it’s going to topple and bury them both beneath an avalanche of paper. He gives the pile a wary look every time he passes it.

After the first three days of a completely full mailbox, Cooper stopped looking at the brochures and just started throwing them on the counter for Blaine to get to later. One weekend they’ll sit down and start sorting through the pile, separating the wheat from the chaff, the maybes from the no way in hell am I go there.

Cooper has his opinions on where he wants Blaine to go. He has huge dreams for Blaine’s life, his career. But he’s struggling to keep quiet about them. This is Blaine’s decision. It’s difficult enough to be seventeen, and struggling with everything that comes with that, and then to be asked to decide right then, right now, when you think you want from the rest of your life - Cooper’s not going to heap his own, surely biased opinions, onto Blaine as well.

And Cooper remembers well being told what his life should be like - where he should go to college, what he should study, exactly what his future should be like. He remembers being upbraided about what it means to be an Anderson and how dare he lower the standards of this family.

He is not going to be their father to Blaine. He can’t. He won’t. He won’t tell Blaine what kind of person he should be. Blaine is a good kid, perfectly competent to make his own decision and choices in life. After all, Blaine made the choice to leave Dalton and go to McKinley, knowing exactly what it would cost him to do so.

Cooper’s done plenty for Blaine these last two years - he’s going to do this for him as well.

And besides, it’s Blaine decision where he wants to go and therefore he’s the one that gets to risk a multitude of paper cuts sifting through a mountain of college brochures.

Sometimes Cooper thinks it’s a little early for this, for college preparation, but it’s not. Not at all. Blaine’s begun studying for the SATs with some of the other kids from Glee club, and he’s already considering what AP classes he’s going to take next year.

Then again, sometimes Cooper’s surprised to find Blaine studying AP calculus, and not coloring in another picture of a Disney prince in his giant coloring book, or playing with Legos on the floor, carefully arranging them by color before constructing his latest castle.

Cooper chest swells at the sudden realization that his Blaine, his little Blainers, his baby brother, is almost a man grown. He’s known it was coming for years. Blaine’s been an almost-adult for far too many years already, but this is a different. This is Blaine going off and finding himself, finding what he wants for himself. Cooper hopes that he’s done a good enough job at helping Blaine along his journey.

That afternoon, Cooper approaches the mailbox with trepidation. It’s so full it can’t even close all the way. He’s sure the mailman absolutely hates his job right now; he really can’t blame him. Cooper makes a mental note to get Kurt to bake some cookies or something for him, as a peace offering. Or maybe just give the poor man a hug.

Sure enough, 94% of that day’s mail are catalogs from a whole new crop of schools. Cooper flips through them absently, noting the carefully diverse grouping of faces on the front of each one, until his eyes catch the familiar name of one of the schools.

New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts.

Cooper stops in the hallway, staring at the shiny, gaudy brochure. He’s not sure why he’s surprised, but he is. NYADA. Where Kurt is most likely going. Every thought he’d had about not telling Blaine what to do with his college career is suddenly gone.

He takes the mail into the kitchen like he always does and tosses the other school advertisements onto the leaning pile, and throws the bills and actual mail into another pile. He’ll get to them later.

Cooper leans his elbows against the kitchen island and reads the NYADA brochure, cover to cover, over and over again, until Blaine comes home.

He hears the front door open and then close, and he’s relieved when he only hears one set of footsteps coming down the hall. He’s never had to kick Kurt out of the house before, and it’s not something he really ever wants to do.

Blaine comes into the kitchen, slinging his messenger bag onto one of the stools. He looks a little tired, but that’s becoming par for the course these days, what with his classes piling on the work now that it’s coming up on the end of the year, and his own long SAT study sessions. Not to mention the Glee clubs extra practices as they get ready for Nationals.

“Hey, Coop,” Blaine says, smiling at him. “How’d school go?”

“Just fine,” Cooper replies, and he struggles not to just outright through the NYADA brochure at Blaine’s stupid, short-sighted head. “How’d it go for you?”

“Mr. Shue’s an idiot,” Blaine shakes his head a little, but he’s still smiling, so whatever happened at Glee couldn’t have been that bad.

“So,” Cooper starts, and then pauses. He can’t believe he’s about to say these words. “We need to talk.”

Blaine freezes and cocks his head. His smile shifts into something amused, teasing, and a little fond. “Ok, Mr. Anderson.”

“Don’t call me that,” Cooper snaps, so much harsher than he wanted. He has no idea what he’s going to say, what he’s supposed to say.

The smile slips from Blaine’s face. “Okay,” he says slowly, confused. Suddenly nervous. “What’s going on?”

“Sit down,” Cooper gestures to the bar stool across the kitchen island from where he’s standing.

“You’re freaking me out here,” Blaine says as he slides on the stool. The panic is rising in him. He’s seen the serious side of Cooper before, plenty of times, but it’s never really been directed at him before.

Silently, Cooper pushes the brochure across the counter, watching Blaine’s face as he does so. Blaine’s eyes widen with realization when he sees what it is and he nervously licks his lips.

“Coop, I,”

“Blaine,” Cooper cuts him off. “I’m not going to tell you what to do with your life. I can’t. Not after Dad, not after everything. But this is - we need to talk about this. About the reasons for this.”

Blaine touches the shiny brochure will nervous, tentative fingers. The cover really is gaudy and ostentatious. “It’s a good school,” he says, almost a whisper. He says it like he’s trying to make himself believe it.

“Don’t bullshit me, Blaine. We both know why you’re ever considering this. I want to hear it from you. Tell me.”

Blaine’s head suddenly snaps up. There’s a fire in his eyes, darkening them, and the color is so different that for the barest split-second, Cooper hardly recognizes his brother at all.

“Why you care so much? You just said it yourself - you’re not going to tell me where to go to school. So why does it suddenly sound an awful lot like you’re telling me where NOT to go?”

Cooper swallows. His mouth is dry and tastes of bile. This is not how he wanted this conversation to go. He’s not a father, he’s not Blaine’s father. He’s just his brother and he doesn’t know how to do this. He’s always been so sure of his place as Blaine’s protector, his guardian, and it feels like it’s all crashing down on him.

“I’m not telling you what to do, I swear I’m not. I just need to know you’re thinking this thing through, that you’re weighing your options. There are so many great schools out there - so many places for you to consider. So many wonderful programs for you. I need to know that you’re not thinking about this for all the wrong reasons.”

Blaine sneers then, just a little, and the expression is so ugly that it breaks something inside of Cooper. “Yeah and what are those wrong reasons?”

“You know what they are.”

“You don’t think I should go where Kurt is going,” Blaine grips the brochure tightly in his hands, slowly twisting it into a tube.

“I think you need to consider the future, your future.”

Don’t make me say it, Cooper thinks desperately. I don't want to be the one to say it.

“You don’t think we’re going to last,” Blaine says, and the bitterness, the hurt, fairly drips off his tongue. “You think it’s foolish of me to think about following him to college because we’re going to break up when he leaves in the fall anyway.”

“Blaine,” Cooper presses his palms flat to the cool counter top. “I know you’re in love. I know. And Kurt is wonderful, he really really is. I couldn’t ask for a better partner for you. And I know it feels like it’s going to be forever, but please, please take your own interests into consideration here. I mean, does NYADA even have the kind of program you’re looking for? Or is it just to be with Kurt? I know you love him, but-”

“Oh what the fuck would you know about it?” Blaine interrupts, jumping to his feet. The stool scrapes against the floor as it gets pushed away. Cooper is taken aback by the anger and rage contorting Blaine’s familiar features.

“When was the last time you even went on a date?” The question is full of venom, designed to hurt, and it does.

“Oh about two years. I’ve been kind of busy taking care of someone,” Cooper fires back, quick as lightning, and he regrets it the moment the words fall from his lips. Tears spring to Blaine’s eyes and he takes a small step back.

“Don’t you dare throw that in my face.”

“Don’t you throw it in mine!”

They stop. Cooper is breathing heavily, and so is Blaine - his chest rising and falling rapidly. Cooper can feel the anger radiating off him, even from ten feet away. Blaine’s fists are clenched tight at his sides, the NYADA brochure a twisted wreck in one hand, and his feet are planted; he looks like he’s ready to throw a punch. Cooper would gladly take that hit.

“I’m going to go for a walk or something,” Blaine says quietly, jaw clenching and unclenching.. He looks back over his shoulder at the doorway out of the kitchen.

“No you’re not,” Cooper raps the counter top with his knuckles. “We’re fighting. This is us fighting. We’re going to fight it out.”

“I don’t know how to fight with you,” Blaine says, as his once tense shoulders slump. He finally looks back at Cooper. There are unshed, angry tears in both of their eyes.

“Well I don’t know how to fight with you either,” Cooper folds his arms around his chest. He looks away from Blaine eyes, and then back to them. “I think one of us is supposed to storm out.”

“I tried. You stopped me.”

“This is weird and uncomfortable.” A tiny smile finally curves Cooper’s mouth and he rubs nervously at the back of his neck. His skin feels hot and too tight for his body.

Unbidden, a laugh huffs from Blaine. “Yeah it is.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you,” Cooper says, a little helplessly.

“I know you are. I do.”

Cooper can’t take the distance between them anymore. He comes around the kitchen island and wraps his arms around Blaine, pulling his tight to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into Blaine’s hair, relieved when he feels Blaine’s arm loop around his waist.

“I’m sorry too.”

There’s a long stretch of silence, and Cooper’s grateful for it. He’s already said too many things this afternoon he didn’t mean to. He’s afraid to say anything else.

“I’ve been thinking, about community college,” Blaine finally says, his cheek still pressed to Cooper’s collarbone.

“What?”

“For next year. Taking my classes there instead of at McKinley.”

“Blaine,”

“I know. It’s just - he’s not going to be there. I’m going to have to walk through those damn hallways knowing I’m not going to see him, knowing that he’s thousands of fucking miles away. I don’t think I can do it, Coop. I can’t. Knowing that he’s somewhere out there, meeting new people, having new experiences. I can’t.”

“You don’t honestly think he’d cheat on you, do you?” Cooper squeezes Blaine tight. “Come on. That boy is ass over teakettle for you.”

“Coop,”

“No, stop being stupid. Yeah, he’s not going to be there at school. But you have other friends. I know it feels like it, but Kurt is not your whole life.”

Blaine just rolls his eyes.

“He’s not. I know what I said earlier about needing to consider what your future is going to be like, and the implication that Kurt’s not always going to be in it, but I’m not trying to say that’s the only eventuality.” Cooper pulls back and places his hands on Blaine’s shoulders, looks him square in the eyes.

“The two of you might stay together the rest of yours lives. You might get married and have babies and be perfectly, ridiculously happy together for-fucking-ever.”

Blaine can’t stop his smile at the mere thought of that future.

“But the fact is you’re going to have a year apart from him, at least. You are. And that sucks. I get that. But there are other people who care about, who give a damn about you.” Cooper gives Blaine a little shake, part fondness, part exasperation. “You’re not the only one who’s going to be missing someone when they leave.”

Blaine grins up at his brother. “You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.” His voice is full of love and affection, and a little bit of brotherly teasing.

“I am going to miss you terribly when you’re gone.” Cooper leans in a presses a kiss to Blaine’s forehead. “I’m not telling you what to do, but I think you should stay at McKinley next year. Be there for the other juniors who are losing their friends too. And I think you should consider all the schools you want to consider.”

“Even NYADA?”

This time it's Cooper who rolls his eyes. “Even NYADA. Even if they have a stupid ass brochure and name.”

“I don’t know what I want to do with my life,” Blaine admits, leaning back into Cooper. Cooper easily folds his arms around his brother.

“You don’t have to. Not yet. There’s time to figure it all out.”

“I want Kurt in it though.”

Cooper doesn’t even attempt to stop his smile. “I want Kurt in it for you too.”

They’ll talk about this more later. They’ll discuss the options for college endlessly, until Blaine jams his fingers in his ears and sings Teenage Dream at the top of his lungs while jumping up and down on the sofa.

And then they’ll come to a decision, together.