It was supposed to be your night.
You, Blaine, a couple of beers – and sodas, of course – take-away food and the game on your parents' massive TV screen. It's, like, the traditional Andersons way to spend the Super-bowl night.
Yet, the Giants and the Patriots players are now ready for the kickoff and your brother is still nowhere to be seen.
Okay, you never announced you were coming back but... Well, it seemed pretty obvious to you.
It was Blaine who called, complaining that Kurt wasn't interested in football if there wasn't the chance to show off a unique scarf and muttering something about not wanting to be the 'Hudmels' third son. He does have a family, after all, and an awesome – he really stressed that word, so that you could picture his pleading puppy eyes – brother who just mentioned having the week off.

Okay, you arrived about five minutes ago and barely had the time to take off your coat and shoes but... Did he really think you wouldn't come?

It looks like it. He locked himself into his room and he hasn't answered when you called him. Maybe he's studying. Or sleeping. Or he's busy playing tonsil hockey with his boyfriend. There are only so many options, and you sure don't want to come off as the prying mother-hen who needs to check on her teenage son to make sure he isn't up to some inconvenient activity.
You suppose that they have to make up for the kisses they can't share in the hallways of McKinley, so you're not gonna interrupt them for the game. If Blaine eventually recalls he had implicitly invited you, fine. Otherwise he is bound to come downstairs to eat, sooner or later.

It's not until the first commercial break that you actually hear them.
At first you think you must have misheard. You obviously were too busy picking that damn piece of fried chicken with your chopsticks that you didn't notice it was just the trailer of some softcore movie. Really, the industry these days... And then you hear those noises again. Again and again and again and then one more time.

Neither gasps nor moans or screams. Oh no, fate would have been too kind with you if it was something that could be mistaken for your brother turning up the volume a little too loud while surfing YouPorn, right?
It still would have been a little awkward, but laughable too. You could have walked up the stairs, pat him on the back while saying “Well, it was about time you learned what the Internet is for, Blainers.” and scare the hell out of him. Then enjoy the way he would pretend it was just an embarrassing pop up, hastily covering his lap as if you couldn't figure out what you interrupted anyway.
No. That's not the case. It's a litany of “Kurt” and “Blaine” whispered with raspy voices, interrupted by “Harder!”, “There!” and “Oh God!” from time to time. And the slap of flesh against flesh.
A sound that still haunts you after that night when you walked in on your roommate having sex on your fucking bed. You walked right out, stood gaping in front of the door for a minute – you never quite understood why you didn't run away immediately, it must have been the shock and the drunkenness mixed together – and then you accepted his apologies the following day, but you never really forgot.
It's kinda like that time. Tenfold worse, though. Tim was barely more than an acquaintance, and you were more squicked out by the fact that it was your bed than by the 'delightful' view of his ass or that dreadful slapping sound.
But this. This is your baby brother. The one you watched taking his first steps, towards your room; the same kid who said “Coop” right after “Mom.” and long before “Dad.”
Way too young to go beyond kissing; certainly not old enough for... Whatever is going on up there.

Well, what you are supposed to do now?

Knock on the ceiling with a broomstick to let them know they are not alone in the house? Bake a “Congratulations on the sex!” cake and leave it in front of his bedroom door? Knock on that door only to greet them?
Or maybe you should get back to the game, although you genuinely doubt you will be able to concentrate on anything else but your brother and his fucking boyfriend. Fucking. Right.
There's nothing wrong with that. They are teenagers and they are in love, they just can't get enough. You have been there, remember? It was not that long ago.
Cooper, come on. If you have to be such a prude about it, it would be better to leave them alone.

Your plan was to reach the nearest place that was broadcasting the game, watch it and then phone Blaine or text him. Just to let him know you were about to show up on his doorstep. Maybe lying about not having the keys, so that he would at least get dressed before you rang the bell.
You turn on the radio and find yourself driving aimlessly through the streets, instead.
You remember the last time you did, when there was music blasting out of the window of your car and you and Blaine were singing Duran Duran at the top of your lungs. It was the summer before you went to college.

It wasn't easy to leave, but not as hard as it would have been had you known what your brother were to face all alone in the years to come. But you were childish at the time, thought the best out of people and did believe you could reason with your bullies. It wasn't like you had any first-hand experience, though, being one of the most popular kids in your school.

You went and you didn't look back until that call.
After the Sadie Hawkins dance, after seeing him so frail and broken in a hospital bed, you couldn't stand to be such a poor excuse for a big brother anymore.
You cannot always keep him from harm - if you ever get your hands on Smythe... - but you try your best to be there for him.

Which doesn't include being inadvertently filled in with every little detail of your brother's relationship with Kurt, okay?
That's enough. You should just stop thinking and enjoy the silence for a while.
Let's see where the road leads you to.

You end up parking in front of Lima Bean.
You desperately need coffee before heading back home, and the place mustn't be half bad judging from the way Blaine keeps banging on about it, so you walk in.
The moment you open the door, though, someone crashes into you. You jump back just in time, before the scalding hot cup fall down to the pavement and barely wets your shoes.
The guy who nearly knocked you down, a 6''3 abashed teenager, is looking so dejectedly at the spilled drink that you have not the heart to yell at him.

“I'm so sorry. My fault. Should have looked where I was going.” You say, instead. He is about to reply, but you don't let him. “Let me pay you back for that latte”

“I can't... I mean...” He hesitates, torn between accepting the unmerited kindness and refusing.

“I swear I am not trying to chat you up.” You are joking, of course, but he does sigh with relief. “I just know who you are, Finn Hudson. And there is something I'd like to discuss with you over a cup of coffee. I'm Cooper Anderson, by the way.” You offer your hand and he shakes it with a little hesitation, as if you just caught him red-handed.

“C-Cooper... Anderson?” He is at loss for words when you nod; he just stands there gaping at you.
In the meantime, you can actually see his mind at work: 'this guy's surname is Anderson, just like Blaine's... Yeah, right. Calm down, Finn. It's, like, a common surname. But he knows me and there's something he wants to discuss with me. He's got to be Blaine's older brother. Oh crap.'

It's quite refreshing to meet someone you can read like an open book, when you've grown up in a household surrounded by riddles. Like your parents and their ever present cold, polite, courtesy. Or your brother inability to hold a grudge, even towards someone who nearly blinded him and then walked away.

“Shall we?” You break the silence, taking pity on him, and lead the way to the nearest available seats. He's adamant about taking the orders, perhaps because he doesn't want you to hear him asking for a 'warm milk', but it's rather pointless since it's written on his cup anyway.

“Warm milk. Really?” You can't help but comment, raising a brow.

“It tastes awesome.” He replies, smiling, before gulping it all down in one go. Then he gets all serious again, asking for your undivided attention. “Listen, man, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to be such a douche to your brother. Well, I did mean it but it's because I felt threatened. By his talent, you know?”

The bewilderment must be clearly visible on your face, because he says immediately “No, you definitely didn't know. He has never mentioned it to you, has he?”

“See, Finn, that's the problem. Blaine tends to keep his negative emotions bottled up until... He can't stand it anymore and starts lashing out at everyone, indiscriminately.”

“Yeah, I've noticed.”

“I just wanna help, but he doesn't let me in.” You admit, finally getting to the point of this whole talk. “I know I probably deserve to be shut out, but I need to know when my brother is in danger. And I can't ask his boyfriend to go behind his back , so here I am. Asking you to be my eyes and ears at McKinley. Wouldn't you do the same for Kurt?”

The mention of his stepbrother wins him over, erasing any doubt or hesitation he could have had.

You have another ally, inside those walls, from now on. It's likely that Finn will be to busy making out with Miss Berry to notice Blaine but he doesn't need to know you picked him as Mike Chang's backup.

You speak with him some more, finding out you're not the only one who heard things he would have rather left unheard – and stuff he wish he had never seen, but thankfully he doesn't go into details, because you really don't need to visualize your brother and Kurt getting on. Little by little, though, the conversation drifts off to completely unrelated stuff (so the Giants won, that's great) and dies out.

Once Finn leaves, you try calling Blaine at least thrice but he never picks up.
You even send him a couple of texts, before turning the engine on. No response.
Perhaps he is asleep. Maybe he went over to Kurt's, not feeling comfortable being home alone when is eye surgery is taking place in less than forty-eight hours or too tired to wait for your parents to come back.

You step on the gas as you start contemplating the worst case scenarios like Blaine falling down the stairs, his lack of peripheral vision severely compromising his balance, and unable to get up.

When you get home, however, Blaine is more than fine. He's in the middle of his singing moisturizing routine. Even with a patch on his left eye, he's got the softest look on his face and you can tell without a doubt that he's talking to Kurt.

You didn't mean to spy on him, but he didn't reply when you loudly called him out and you – understandably – got worried. Sure, you could have knocked but on the other hand Blaine shouldn't have left the door half-opened. It's, like, asking you to peep and eavesdrop. A little.
Still, you fully intend to let him know you are there. Soon. You're just waiting for your cue.

“Hopelessly, I'll love you endlessly. Hopelessly, I'll give you everything but...” That's it. That's your cue.

“But I won't give you up, I won't let you down. And I won't live you falling, if the moment ever comes.” There's something almost comical in the way he drops the phone on the floor, totally taken aback by your intrusion.

“COOP!” He shrieks, loud enough to be heard by Kurt too even though he hasn't picked up the receiver from the floor yet. “When... How long have you been home?”

You take your time to reply, walking towards your brother and bending down to pick up the phone.

“Hi, Kurt. Blaine's alright, he has just dropped the phone. By the way, I don't think we've been introduced properly. I'm Cooper, the one who is gonna hunt you down if you ever hurt my baby brother.” Blaine glares at you, mumbling something about not knowing what you're talking about. “I'm not questioning how much he means to you, I'm just concerned, being an Anderson myself, that you might underestimate how much you mean to him.” He looks a little touched now “But hey, enough of this nonsense. I've never seen him this happy and that's all that matters.” He tries to pry it from your hands, unsuccessfully. “Okay. I'll tuck you him in on your behalf. No way I'm giving him your goodnight kiss, though. That would be just gross.”

“Come on, Coop. That's enough. Give it to me. And answer my question: how long have been home? ” He sulks, folding his arms firmly on his chest.

“Okay, okay. See you tomorrow, Kurt.” You hand him the phone, smiling. “I've been home long enough to know the both of you have very good lungs, and I'm not talking about the singing. You happy?”

Blaine, obviously, is far from happy. He pales, starts stuttering nonsense but since you are indeed an awesome big brother you refrain from teasing him further. How magnanimous of you, isn't it?
Well then, you'd better go downstairs now. The living room isn't gonna clean itself.

“Need a hand?” Blaine asks, as you bend over to retrieve your chopsticks from under the sofa. You drop them down on the table for the moment and turn to face him.
Of course he came to his senses just when you're almost finished cleaning. How convenient.

“I really don't need to see how bendy you are, Blaine. Not tonight.” You retort playfully, without any maliciousness.

“I... Just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. I assumed you weren't coming, so I called Kurt... but I was wrong, I should have given you more credit and... I sure didn't want you to hear... That. Us. Or force you to leave and come back once Kurt was gone.” Oh, so he picked up on that.

“As much as I appreciate your apologies, Blaine, I don't need them. I had to leave for a while because... Well, that was my brother having sex. My baby brother. I felt like I was intruding or something, even though I wasn't. It is as awkward for me as it is for you, Blaine.”

“I really doubt that.” He scoffs, blushing again. “So it doesn't have anything to do...”

“... with Kurt being a boy. No way! Why would you even think that?” It hurts to know he has such a low opinion of you.

“Well, Dad would have been proud. If I were with a girl.” He points out.

“But I am not Dad, Blaine. I thought we were past that. And I am proud. Not of your sexual prowess, maybe. But I am proud to see my brother all grown up. To see he's able to open up to someone in such an intimate way, despite all the crap he's been through.” If he needs you to spell out each and everyone of your thoughts to get that you really care about him, so be it.
“I did mean what I sang Blaine. If I can help it, I won't give you up or let you down. As I meant what I told Kurt.”

“Thanks.” He says, hugging you tight. You wish you could see if he's smiling now, if his eyes are watering a little. If he's feeling a little guilty about that awful opinion he had of you. You really hope so.

“That's it? 'Thanks'? That's all I get for waxing lyrical about my beautiful brotherly love?” You pout, pretending to be a little disappointed.

“Well, I can sing you a song if you prefer. Just lemme think about something which could be appropriate.” He suggest, bouncing enthusiastically.

“Okay, I guess 'thanks' is fine by me. I rather not hear what you consider as an 'appropriate' song for your brother. Goodnight, Blaine. ” You dart out of the room, heading straight for the stairs.

“You will hear it, Coop. If not now, then you least expect it. In front of all of your friends, or your girlfriend. Or both. And even though you might hope I have forgot, rest assured that I will sing that song to you one day.” He threatens, strolling right after you.

“We shall see.” You say, in a tone that implies 'Just try and I will kill you in your sleep.'

It's so good to be back.