rrrowr: by babyoil_gfx  (Default)
[personal profile] rrrowr
I ALWAYS, ALWAYS START OFF A TROPE WITH ANGST AND NO SEX. BELIEVE ME, NO ONE IS MORE DISAPPOINTED THAN ME.

Title:
Rating: PG
Warnings: incest
Summary: Burt's heart attack cost him his life and Kurt is taken in by one of the wealthier families in Lima, unknowingly having become the step-brother to one, Blaine Anderson.



When Kurt was first adopted by the Andersons in the wake of his dad's death, he was incredibly upset about it. Everything about them seemed perfect. They were wealthy and popular and smart and they seemed very happy with the life they lived. They were more than happy to share that life with the orphaned son of a man they barely knew -- which was strange, but ultimately factored into how utterly perfect they seemed. That they, unlike the vast majority of people Kurt knew, didn't seem to care that Kurt was blatantly homosexual was a suspicious blessing in disguise.

The only exception to this perfection sat with the Anderson's youngest son, Blaine.

Blaine was a calm guy -- shorter than Kurt but with the inexplicable ability to make himself feel taller just by squaring his shoulders and straightening a bit. He was dignified, which didn't sit right with Kurt after being used to everyone at McKinley. He went to a different public school than Kurt -- a better and more rigorous school, likely, because Kurt always saw him doing homework -- but he never talked about what school was like or to any of the friends he had there (if any).

Kurt knew that he should probably make friends with the guy that was supposed to be his step brother, but in all honesty, he didn't want to. Blaine was quiet and nice enough, he guessed, but underneath it all, he sensed this simmering anger. Kurt didn't want to think about what might be enough to set it off, if it would be something he said or did or if it would take nothing at all and Blaine would just snap one day without explanation.

So there was that, but then there was also Blaine when he was with his dad. It was painful to watch them in so many ways. They were so unlike what Kurt remembered being like with his dad -- so much distance for which Kurt couldn't see the cause and yet they were both trying so hard to span it. They talked a great deal -- awkward and through stilted words, avoiding something but still wanting to maintain the pretense of interest. Kurt had absolutely no interest in getting in the middle of what was obviously a long-standing war.

Blaine tried to be friends -- to be welcoming. 

"Hi."

He tried frequently.

Blaine's hands were fisted at his sides, fingers tense and squirming against each other with nerves. "Can I ask --" he started, absolutely rigid underneath Kurt's unwavering stare. "What's your school like?"

Kurt thought about being bullied for being gay and how he was a complete loser just for wanting to sing, how he was surrounded by Neanderthals all the time and how the only good parts of it were his friends and a couple teachers that gave a shit now and then. Even with those good parts, he hated it so, so much.

So he said, "It's shit."

Blaine seemed genuinely surprised at his answer and Kurt watched as his expression went from open shock, through pensive disappointment, to resignation. Blaine dropped his shoulder to the door frame. "It must be really awful then," he said, quite neutral.

"I'm bullied every day just for being who I am," Kurt told him. "Of course it's awful."

"And no one cares," Blaine added softly. He wasn't looking at Kurt at all when he said it.

"There are some who do," Kurt said and he rooted around in his messenger bag for a pen so that he could stop looking at the way Blaine's shadowed profile looked quite melancholy. He completely missed the way Blaine shifted to look at him sharply at his words. "Not enough to do anything about it sometimes." When Kurt glanced up again, Blaine had averted his eyes again. "Why are you asking? Don't you like your school?"

"No," Blaine answered, but left it at that for a long, silent moment. He laughed quietly to himself, scratching at his jaw, and then smiled at Kurt. "I'll let you get back to your work. Good night, Kurt."

Kurt didn't know what was up with that conversation until he heard Blaine come home a couple weeks later. Mr and Mrs Anderson were still away at work, so up until then, Kurt had been on his own. Blaine was a sudden rush of noise as he stormed up the stairs and into the bathroom, slamming doors shut as he went. Kurt heard the sink being turned on and drawers being pulled open and Blaine's voice, sharp and hissing: "Shit, shit, shit, he's gonna kill me. Shit."

Tentatively, Kurt knocked and the noise inside the bathroom went abruptly still. "Hey," he tried, scared but not sure why. "You okay?"

Blaine grunted from the other side of the door. "Fine," he said. The door split open just a crack. Blaine didn't peek around it, but Kurt could see him in the mirror -- him and the blood caked across his face. "Though," Blaine continued and now Kurt could hear the way his voice was a little thick, less capable of enunciation, "I don't suppose you're good with first aid."

Kurt shoved his way into the bathroom. "What happened? Did someone do this to you?"

Blaine rolled a scathing look at him. "No, I did it to myself. What do you think?"

"Shut up," Kurt snapped and shoved Blaine toward the toilet. Blaine went, gingerly, and started wiping at his face with his hand while Kurt soaked a hand towel with warm water. "Stop that. Here let me --"

Blaine was surprisingly compliant, letting Kurt wipe at his face with the wet towel until it was more red than his skin. The blood came away in streaks and crusts, caked in the corners of Blaine's eyes and into his hair. He winced a little when Kurt pressed the towel to his nose, but made no further complaints.

"Well it's not broken," Kurt said, trying to keep the moment light.

Blaine didn't bother to open his eyes. "My dad can't know about this."

"Good luck with that." Kurt dropped Blaine's chin to wash the towel in the sink. The water came away pink. "Your face is going to bruise in no time. How do you think you're going to cover it up?"

When Kurt glanced over, Blaine was sagged onto his knees. He looked absolutely limp with exhaustion. Kurt almost didn't want to know what happened. It must have been a big deal for Blaine to have got into a fight over it, but Kurt couldn't think of anything for which Blaine had a passion, let alone bother defending.
Squeezing out the excess water from the towel, Kurt tilted Blaine's face up to the bathroom light by his chin.  "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Grasping Kurt's wrists, Blaine pulled Kurt's hands away from his face. He sat there quietly, trembling as he stared down at Kurt's feet. It wasn't often that Kurt remembered that Blaine was the same age as him; he always seemed so much older, so on top of things. Now, though, his hold on Kurt was tight, solid where the rest of him was fighting to achieve stillness.

"Hey," Kurt said, shifting so that he was knocking Blaine's feet with his own. "We're... We're supposed to be brothers, aren't we? Even if you can't tell anyone else, shouldn't you be able to tell me? I think that's what brothers are supposed to do."

That brought a small laugh out of Blaine. "I wouldn't know."

Kurt waited him out.

At last, Blaine seemed to sigh. "I guess I should just come out --" his voice turned tinny around the words "-- and say it." He looked up at Kurt, lashes clinging wetly to each other, blood still clinging to the corners of his nose and staining his lips and teeth. "At least one person should know, right?"

"Know what?" Kurt asked.

Blaine licked his lips. "That I'm gay."

The confession rocked Kurt to the core. All his life, he thought he'd been the only gay kid in the entire state and here, in this boy sitting bloody and scared in front of him, was the first sign the universe sent him to say that he wasn't alone. Kurt found it simultaneously cruel that he'd find someone impossible to have and a relief to have someone at all.

He should return the confession with one of his own. He knew this. He wanted to, but even as the words were starting to work their way up Kurt's throat, Blaine was looking away, was letting go of Kurt, and was taking the wet towel from Kurt's hands to wipe at his face himself.

"My dad can't know about this," he repeated, gesturing at his face. "If he knew that I was getting into situations like this --"

"Beat up, you mean?" Kurt asked, edging toward incredulous, though he was clinging to his sympathy.

Even when he'd come home bruised from being shoved into lockers, he had never been able to bring it up to his dad, though he'd known that if his dad had found out, Burt would have fought long and hard for his safety. He couldn't quite believe that Blaine's dad wouldn't do the same, no matter what miseries were stagnating between them.

"He'd be so mad," Blaine finished as he dried off his face and prodded at his face with gentle fingers.

"Blaine, he won't be mad," Kurt said. "He loves you."

"He tries," Blaine agreed and then started looking through drawers. "Do you have any make up or something? Mom will notice if I use hers."

"Yes, but -- what?" Kurt grabbed Blaine by the shoulder. "You're gonna cover up the bruises, aren't you? Blaine, you can't do this!"

Blaine shoved off his hand. "I have to!" he said -- not quite shouting. There was a force behind his words, a desperation that Kurt had never seen before. His eyes pleaded with Kurt. "Now, are you going to help me or not?"

Kurt helped him, but it wasn't enough. Even under the make up, it was obvious that Blaine's face was a little swollen. Blaine's father was rigid and vigilant all through dinner and his mother made absolutely no comment at all, though she was far more chatty with Kurt than usual. When everyone cut loose after the meal, though, Kurt lingered near Blaine because he felt like he should be there for support if nothing else and to talk if Blaine wanted.

Blaine got called into the kitchen by his father. The volume of their conversation would spike at intervals, but would immediately soften as if both father and son were acutely aware of being heard. Kurt listened as intently as he could but couldn't make out words, so he crept closer. It turned out that he could hear just fine perched by the door.

"I didn't pick any fights, Dad," Blaine was saying. His voice was calm, quiet almost, but the rough edge to it suddenly made a whole lot more sense. "I never pick any fights. You know that."

"Yes, well, you've been getting into a lot of them lately," said his father. That made Kurt squint and press closer to the door; as far as Kurt knew, Blaine's record had been spotless up until now. "Your mother's been telling me about you going to the principal's office and the teachers --"

"If you just listened, you'd know that had nothing to do with fights."

"Blaine, I'm just saying that it's been happening a lot ever since we took in Kurt --"

Kurt's breath caught in his throat, but Blaine interjected just as quickly: "He's got nothing to do with this!"

"Even if that's true --"

"It is true."

"You can't deny that you both --" Blaine's father stalled over the words, then seemed to give up that route altogether. "I don't want to come home and see you like this, Blaine."

"This isn't my fault!" Blaine burst out. "I can't help being who I am or what I am!"

"I didn't say it was!" Blaine's father shouted back. They both immediately quieted. After a moment, he continued, shakily, "I'm just saying that maybe... maybe it would be better if you went someplace else. To a school more accepting of.. of your lifestyle."

"A transfer." Blaine's voice was flat. "And what about my friends? I'm just going to leave them behind?"

"Some friends," his father said. "Where have they been this whole time, hm? I don't see you talking to any of them about this. I don't hear about them getting in trouble with you from their parents. When you're at the principal's office... or the nurse's... you're always on your own. Tell me, Blaine. I want to know. When have any of them stood up for you?"

There was silence for a long moment in which Kurt thought he should probably leave before he heard anything else more personal. Just as he started to step away, Blaine's voice cracked from within the kitchen:

"When have you?" Kurt heard some shuffling then Blaine again: "I'll transfer. But it's going to be a school of my choosing. And if he wants, I want Kurt to come with me."
Kurt bit his lip, listening and ready to make a break for it.

"I thought Kurt didn't have anything to do with this."

"He doesn't," Blaine said. "But he gets bullied too, for reasons he hasn't told me about. I'd want him to have the option. Someone's gotta protect him, since his parents aren't here to do that. Right?"

Kurt sneaked away as quickly as he could in the quiet that followed. He didn't want Blaine to know that he'd been listening; that would be embarrassing for both of them, he thought. He sat at the top of the stairs though and did his best to look concerned when he saw Blaine coming up the stairs.

"Hey," Kurt started. "Are you okay? I thought I heard some shouting."

Blaine shrugged like the fight was no big deal, but there was a light in his eyes -- a fire that betrayed the excitement he was feeling as he patted Kurt's shoulder and passed him. "Apparently, I'm transferring."

"It's the middle of the year," Kurt protested, standing to give chase. "Where will you transfer to?"

Blaine walked briskly to his room, but looked over his shoulder at Kurt like he expected to be followed. "I've had my eye on this place. Dalton Academy for Boys. I didn't think that Dad would ever even suggest it." 
He went on and on about Dalton as he started pulling out information booklets out of his desk drawers, about its virtues and its extracurricular activities, but at the last, he lingered especially on its enforced, no-bullying policies. It was only when he got there that he handed over the brochures and booklets to Kurt.

Smiling uncertainly, Blaine said, "It might be of interest for you. I don't know how bad it is for you at McKinley, Kurt. You've never said, but you don't seem especially... happy, really." He watched as Kurt flipped through the booklet. "I just thought that maybe you might like to attend."

"Dalton?" Kurt said. "It's in Westerville. That's at least two hours away from here."

"We could board!" Blaine suggested lightly. "Be roommates! We haven't really gotten to know each other since you got here, but we'd at least be familiar faces, right?"

Kurt turned to the page on tuition and balked. "Your family couldn't possibly afford --"

"Sure we could," Blaine cut in. "Money would really, really be no object."

Grip tightening around the papers, Kurt looked at the advertisements for Dalton. It looked so picturesque and pristine. Knowing what it promised, he longed to just visit. Blaine was bouncing on his toes, waiting to see what Kurt thought, and Kurt felt bad that Blaine was offering it as an escape from what must seem to be minimal bullying from his perspective. It was really sweet of Blaine to even think of it, though the truth was that Kurt would be so relieved to just be free from Karofsky's hateful territory.

He found himself echoing the same protest he'd heard Blaine give in the kitchen. "My friends though..."

Blaine nodded with understanding, but drew back too, just as quickly. "Right. You'd want to stick with them, of course." He continued to nod, a bit faster as he seemed to convince himself. "No, that's fine. It's good, Kurt. I'm glad that you have friends like that, that you want to stay with. It's good."

Kurt clutched the booklets to his chest when Blaine moved to take them back. "Let me think about it," he said quickly. "I can have a few days?"

Blaine's expression took a turn toward delighted. "Yeah," he said. "Take all the time you need."

"Thanks," Kurt said and then lifted his hand toward Blaine's face, aborting at the last second to touch his own instead. "You should, um... You should wash off the make up before you go to bed. Do you have a cleanser?" Then off Blaine's blank look, said: "No, of course not. I have some you can use. Look I'll go and get the make up remover and come back. Then you can tell me more about this Dalton, okay?"

"That'd be great," Blaine agreed. 

Kurt turned, not quite able to take his eyes off of Blaine as he did so, and started for the door. Blaine called him back before he was entirely out of sight. When he looked back, Blaine was close to him again.

"You've been great today," Blaine said. He seemed bashful about admitting it. "And I wanted to tell you that, if you do decide to attend Dalton, it'd be really great to have you there. With me."

"As your brother," Kurt added, though he couldn't really say why he needed to.

"As my brother," Blaine echoed. "Right."

Kurt fled to his bedroom as soon as Blaine turned away and spread the Dalton booklets across his desk. It looked like an absolute dream, promising freedom and excellence all in one shot. Even with everything he loved about McKinley holding him back, he knew that he was going to say yes -- to Dalton, to the offer that Blaine was making him. 

He touched the image of Dalton with his fingertips.

Absolutely, he was going to say yes.
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