Cooper always wanted a brother.  Someone who would always be his friend.  To play ball with and piano with and get the nanny to make cookies with and play superheroes with.   A sister would have been okay, but he wanted a brother more than anything.

 He remembered the first time he held Blaine, sitting on the hospital bed in the private room, mother nearly asleep and father on the pay phone in the hall. Blaine was tiny and pink, round faced and dark haired, eyes the indescribable color all newborns had (or so his nanny had said). Cooper had never loved anything so much as Blaine in that moment.  Not his action figures or the piano or the dog that had run away. 

Cooper prided himself on being a good big brother. His parents were busy a lot, so he helped the nanny with Blaine.  He read to Blaine.  They played with action figures and stuffed animals.  Cooper would chase Blaine around the playground of their community’s little park.  Cooper would jump off his swing and push Blaine’s when Blaine’s little legs couldn’t mimic Cooper’s, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.  Blaine’s eyes would light up, sunlight through honey, smile wide and carefree, shrieking as Cooper pushed him higher and higher.  Cooper would help Blaine up onto the piano bench when Cooper was practicing.  When he was done, he would set Blaine on his lap and wrap his arms around him to reach the keys, Blaine’s hands on top of his own as he played.

Cooper watched his parents not watch Blaine.  Cooper watched Blaine wait by the door, only moving when the nanny physically pulled him away.  Watched him run to their parents, arms wide for a hug when they would finally walk through the door.  Watched his arms drop when he got a kiss dropped on his curls instead of being hoisted onto a hip.  Watched him sag as he got a pat on top of his head as their parents continued past him without a glance.  Watched his eyes fill with tears as his parents didn’t turn back and continued their conversations as they walked to the office to set down their briefcases. 

When Blaine was five, just starting kindergarten, he had terrible nightmares. He would wake up, sometimes screaming, and totter towards their parents’ or Cooper’s room to be rescued from the monsters. 

One night Cooper remembered vividly. It wasn't very late but past his and Blaine’s usual bed time.  His parents had gone out that night and had just got home, relieving the nanny and talking louder than usual and probably drunk.  It was a Friday, so it didn't matter that Cooper was awake and reading in his bed because there was no school the next day.

Blaine's nightmare was worse than normal—Cooper heard the scream, the signal he wouldn't calm down for a while or without someone else.  He was almost finished with his book so stayed in his room, set between Blaine's and his parents. He paused and listened hard, hoping both that their parents heard Blaine and that they didn't. 

He had heard them go into their room, not quite shutting the door completely.  He listened to the now very loud voices drift out of their parents’ room.  He saw, through the crack in the partially opened door, Blaine toddle unsteadily to their parents’ room, clutching his favorite bear and tears streaming down his face. 

He heard Blaine’s soft footsteps stop.

And then he heard why.

There was a clink as a glass was picked up and set down again.

"No more children. One was plenty. Two is too many. "

"You don't mean that."

"I do. Parenting isn't my thing. Wasn't with Cooper.  Still isn't this time around. I thought we were done.  Now we have to do it all over again.  And I frankly rather wish we didn’t have to."

Cooper understood what that meant.  He didn’t know much about where babies came from.  But he knew what that would mean to Blaine.

Cooper hopped down from his bed and crossed his room, opening his door to see his brother, still clutching the bear staring at the door to their parents’ bedroom.  The tears were falling faster now, silent wet tracks wide on his face.  Blaine didn’t make sound when he cried, so that wasn’t surprising.  But he was known for collapsing wherever he was if he couldn’t find someone to curl against.  To see Blaine just standing there…

Then Blaine did something Cooper never thought he would see from a five year old.  Something he didn’t think he could have done if it had been him now.  Blaine hugged the bear tighter to himself and turned back around, heading back to his bedroom, head hung down and curls flopping against his forehead. 

Moving quickly, he stepped into Blaine’s way.  Blaine shrank back when he hit Cooper.  Cooper just put his hand on Blaine’s shoulder and let Blaine into his own room.  He helped Blaine get into his bed when Blaine couldn’t get in on his own.  His brother, so small even when standing straight, was curled even smaller around his teddy at the edge of the bed, as if he were preparing to be rejected from this room too.  His eyes were red rimmed, broken and scared, too understanding of what had just happened.  Cooper’s heart hurt.  He hopped up, sitting cross-legged against the headboard and opened his arms.  Blaine threw himself at his brother.  Cooper wrapped his arms tight around the boy and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head as Blaine’s little body shook with sobs. 

“I love you, B.  I’m glad you’re here.”  Cooper rested his head on Blaine’s head, holding him close and not bothering to stop the tears welling in his own eyes. 

“I love you too, Coop.”  Blaine’s little voice was muffled from being buried in Cooper’s shirt.  Cooper sat with his little brother and rubbed his back until Blaine calmed down and then drifted off to sleep.  Cooper shifted them down slowly, pulling Blaine so he was using Cooper’s chest as a pillow and held on tight, eventually drifting off himself as his mind struggled to come to terms with the fact his parents didn’t want the best thing to have happened to him.