Fix the World Up For You
Burt Hummel would do anything for his son. And now that he's in a position of power he wants to make the world a better for him and kids like him. But what happens when he sees a file of a certain ex-warbler while working on his cause? And what happens when said ex-warbler happens to see some of the files?
Burt Hummel could be described as a lot of things. Mechanic. Football fan. Health risk. But the most important thing he could ever be described as is a father. Burt Hummel cared about nothing more than he cared about his son. He would do anything for Kurt, just short of killing anyone (well…maybe he'd kill someone).
So when Burt Hummel was elected the first thing he thought was I can make this world better for Kurt.
He'd always tried, of course. Spent his whole life sheltering and protecting Kurt, not wanting anything to touch him, to hurt him. When the bullying got so bad at McKinley he spent every penny he had on sending Kurt to Dalton (though, Dalton was nice enough to refund most of the tuition when Kurt ended up transferring back).
So the first day he could Burt put his new government employees/assistants/whatever – Jack Watson, Margaret June, and Dean Welsby – to work immediately.
"As you may or may not know," he'd said, "My son Kurt is openly gay. And being gay in a town like Lima isn't easy." He noted the three of them nodded, none of them looked displeased or disgusted. Good, I think we're gonna get along fine. "He's been mocked, chased away from his school, bullied. One of the biggest stances I want to take is an anti-bullying one. I want to try to make stricter punishments for bullying in schools.
"You know all those gay teenagers that killed themselves this year because of bullying? There was more than I even want to think of. All I can think is…that could have been my boy. I can't imagine what their families are going through. I don't want any family to have to suffer that. I want to make new laws, I want to change this god forsaken town, I want to make it safer for all kids, not just the straight ones – not just my boy either. Everyone."
Margaret, in her skirt-suit and tight bun nodded, hugging her iPad close to her chest. "What would you like us to do, Mr. Hummel?"
"Can I get files? Like school or police files on bullying cases in Ohio?" The three nodded and Margaret started tapping on her iPad. "Ok, get me every file you can get your hands on. I need evidence if I want to build my case."
"You know that's going to be a lot of files, sir." Dean said, laughing ever so slightly. "How far back do you want us to go?"
"How about we start with five years back and we'll work from there, sound good?" The three nodded and started towards the door, "And guys, enough with this 'Mr. Hummel' and 'Sir' crap, just call me Burt." The three smiled and nodded, leaving to fulfill their mission.
Oh God, I am never going to sleep again.
Burt sighed, running a hand over his balding head. Before him on the dining room table lay piles upon piles of files.
There were files for verbal bullying, there were only some of those. Many of them went unresolved, he noticed. He had delicately hidden away a file labeled 'Hummel, Kurt'.
There were files for cyber bulling, there were many of those. Burt shook his head at the print outs of IM conversations or Facebook pages with cruel comments. A lot of these were solved with group counseling and in-school suspensions.
There were files that Burt had yet to venture into – the files of the teens who'd committed suicide. Those files all had red stickers shaped like an 'S' on them on the tabs. There were only a few, a handful compared to the others, but Burt couldn't bring himself to read through them yet. He just knew he was going to see Kurt in every single one. He was already having trouble with the others. So for now Burt avoided the files with the red S's.
Burt focused on the physical bullying files instead. Some of them were tame, but some of them were gruesome. He was having trouble getting through these. He'd taken multiple breaks – most of which consisted of finding Carole and snuggling up with her.
But now, after watching a football game with Finn and eating lunch with Kurt, Burt found himself back at the table, forcing himself to read through the files thoroughly instead of just flipping through the pictures. He just made it through Lucas Harrington's file, a thankfully tame file. It ended with Lucas and his family suing the bullies and moving to Missouri.
Scrubbing at his eyes Burt placed the file off to the side and moved on to the next file. Without bothering to glance at the name Burt flipped it open and began to look through the contents. He cringed, when quickly flipping through the files before this was one of the ones he's opened and then closed again immediately. The pictures were lying right on top, and they were gruesome. Bones protruding from an arm; dark, dark bruises littering the tiny frame of what Burt presumed was a young teenage boy. A deep gash sewn up alongside a partially shaved head of curly dark hair…it was horrifying. It couldn't possibly get worse than this.
But as he flipped to the next page of the folder he realized he was wrong.
Very very wrong.
Things were so much worse.
The name stood out in thick bold letters, screaming at him. And that face. That young, chubby, bruised face. The face of an unconscious boy. The face of a broken child.
It was a face he recognized.
"Blaine." He found himself whispering, slowly lifting the picture to eye level.
He wasn't sure how long he sat there staring at the photograph. Maybe it was 10 minutes, maybe it was 3 hours. He'd never know. He just sat and stared - no, studied– the picture. The way Blaine's left eye was dark purple and completely swollen shut. The way there was a big patch of red and purple across his right cheek, the middle the darkest shade of purple right across the cheekbone. The way his bottom lip was completely split open and had multiple stitches in it. The top of his head was completely wrapped in gauze, probably post surgery for whatever the stitches in the other photo were for. There was even a bruise the shape of a fucking shoe visible on his shoulder, what little he could see of his shoulder in the photo.
He didn't have the stomach to read or look at any more.
This wasn't just some kid who was bullied in the past who Burt could use as an example. This wasn't just some kid. This was Blaine. Kurt's Blaine. His son's boyfriend. The boy who was at their house more than his own. The boy who ate dinner with them every Friday night, and most other nights too. The boy who gave Carole multiple compliments every time he saw her. The boy who bonded with Finn over glee. The boy who bonded with Burt over his love of football, and his love of Kurt.
This wasn't just some boy.
This was real.
With sudden lightning fast reflexes Burt slammed the photo down into the folder, flipping it shut and shoving it to the bottom of the pile. Kurt stood in the doorway, eyebrow raised at his father's antics.
"I hope that wasn't porn."
Burt rolled his eyes, "Yes, Kurt, I'm looking at porn at the dining room table in the middle of the day. While you're home. And I keep it filed carefully in these manila folders."
Kurt shrugged, "I don't know your fetishes." He pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the room. "Really though, how is…all this going?" He asked. His hand hovered one of the piles, as if trying to decide if he wanted to look.
Burt bit his lip, glancing back and forth between the piles and Kurt's hand. "You shouldn't look at these, Kurt." The teen's hand didn't move, he just stared at the pile. "Kurt, please." Burt found himself whispering, and slowly Kurt's hand fell back at his side. He glanced to his father, a deep, unreadable look in his eye.
Without a thought Burt pushed his chair back and stood. He wrapped his arms around his son and hugged him tight. "I love you so much, Kurt."
"I love you too, dad."
"Never leave me, Boomer." Burt whispered, using Kurt's old childhood nickname, "You're not allowed to get hurt."
"Same to you, daddy." Kurt whispered into his father's shoulder.
Neither was sure how long they stood like that, but they didn't pull back. Neither wanted to let go, and they didn't…until the doorbell rang.
"And I mean I know Viva Las Vegas is everyone's first choice but personally I preferBlue Hawaii. I mean besides the fantastic soundtrack, it's got-" Blaine's rant about Elvis' filmography was cut short by a knock at the door.
Kurt was sitting at his desk, typing on his laptop, while Blaine was lying on Kurt's bed, head hanging upside down off the edge. Burt stood in the door knuckles still resting against the frame at his knock. "Are you staying for dinner, Blaine?" The father asked.
Blaine flipped himself over so he was looking right side up at his boyfriend's father. "Would that be alright? My parents are still out of town." Blaine, despite being there almost every night, still always seemed sheepish when asked if he was staying for dinner.
"Of course it's fine, kid. We're getting Indian."
"Finn's picking it up!" Kurt cried immediately, spinning around in his chair. "I had to get it last time, he's getting it this time!"
Burt snorted, "You convince him of that." He said as he disappeared back into the hall.
Kurt let out a snort and turned back to his laptop. Blaine stayed in his upright position, watching the door from which Burt had just disappeared. "Your dad seems tense."
Kurt glanced over from his keyboard, "What?"
"Your dad. He seems tense."
"He's working on this campaign now that he's a congressman." Kurt said, biting his lower lip. "He's trying to end bullying. I don't know what he's doing yet – I don't think even he knows. Maybe making a law or something…but anyway, he's looking through old files to have backup."
"Yeah, tons of them. They're like school and police files about bullying cases. From the way he's been acting…some of them must be pretty bad. I think they're wearing on him."
Blaine still hadn't stopped staring at the door. There was a long pause until finally, "I think I'm gonna-"
"Kurt!" Both teens jumped as Finn's voice boomed down the hall. "You're picking up the food!"
Kurt laughed sarcastically. "No I'm not!"
"Kurt come on!"
"No, Finn, you come on! I have Blaine over!" Kurt yelled, eyes going to the ceiling as he carried on the conversation with the boy down the hall.
"I had to get it last week when Rachel was here!"
"You ordered that food for the two of you! I was not involved!"
"I don't care!"
"Finn come on! The Indian place is like half an hour away – minus traffic!"
"Too bad! You're getting it!"
"No I'm not!"
"Yes you are!"
"Kurt! Finn! Shut up!" Carole voice suddenly joined the fun. "You're both going! Problem solved!"
Blaine flipped back over, lying on his back as a laugh rumbled through his chest. These brotherly antics frequently took place at the Hummel-Hudson household. Blaine always heard it either over the phone or first hand, as now.
"Ugh." Kurt huffed, standing and quickly readying himself. "Stupid family. Stupid Finn. Stupid Indian food."
"Hey, don't talk disparagingly about the Indian food!"
Kurt shot a glare Blaine's way. "Stupid boyfriend."
"Kurt, c'mon." Finn suddenly appeared in the doorway, jacket half on. "Let's go."
"Finn. Give me two minutes."
"Kurt c'mon, I'm hungry."
"Then go by yourself!"
"Mom said you have to come!"
"Finn I swear to God-!"
"Boys! Just go!"
Kurt huffed once again, shooting a glare Finn's way. "Ok, we'll be quick." He leaned down and laid a soft kiss on Blaine's lips. "Be a good boy now, Blaine." Kurt teased.
"I'll try." Blaine replied, just as teasingly.
"Kurt. C'mon. Food."
"Ah, he's lost the ability to make sentences. We'd better hurry."
"Go, I'll be here." Kurt kissed him again and then stood, making his way out the door after Finn. Blaine stayed, lying on Kurt's bed staring up at the ceiling. He listened as the front door opened and closed, and as Finn's truck rumbled to life. He listened as said truck rumbled down the road and out of ear shot. Soon the only sounds Blaine could hear was the soft sound of the I Love Lucy episode Burt and Carole were watching in their bedroom across the hall.
Blaine let out a deep sigh, blinking up at the ceiling. Having the sudden desire for a drink he forced himself up and off the bed. Padding his way down the hall he made his way to the first floor. After making his way to the kitchen and taking a bottle of Diet Coke that had Kurt's! written across the label. Screwing off the cap he took a glass sitting on the drying rack and poured some pop into it. Taking a long sip he leaned into the counter.
He glanced around the room, taking in the plates set aside for their dinner. He took in all of Kurt's cookbooks. He took in Finn's dirty plates in the sink. With a sigh he took another swig of the pop and made his way towards the dining room.
He stopped as he saw the files sitting on the table. Kurt wasn't lying, there were a lot. He slowly made his way over. He bit his lip. Kurt had said they were wearing on Burt, and if they were wearing on Burt they had to be bad. But something was nagging at him. He slowly began to run his fingers down the spines of the files. Don't look at them, a voice whispered in his head. You'll regret it. It's a bad idea.
Despite the voice in his head he found himself grabbing a file at random, nearly knocking over the pile he grabbed it from the middle of. Squeezing his eyes shut he threw the file open. He stood there for a long moment, standing over the open file, eyes squeezed shut.
Finally he allowed himself to open his eyes. He slowly glanced down at the file.
He didn't even get the chance to gasp as the glass slipped from his hand. It crashed to the floor, shattering loudly – but Blaine didn't even notice. His eyes went wide, his breath quickened, his knees shook. He moved his mouth, trying to speak, trying to breathe, but no words formed. He couldn't even croak.
"Hey Blaine are you ok? I heard-" Burt stopped in the doorway but went unnoticed to Blaine. "Blaine?"
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He. Couldn't. Breathe.
"Blaine? Blaine-" The teen barely reacted. He didn't say a word as Burt gently took him by the shoulders and sat him down. He didn't even blink as Burt pushed his head in between his knees. "Blaine, son, you have to breathe."
He then let out the first sound he could since opening the file. A harsh, violent sob ripped through his throat. Burt's heavy hand drew light circles on his back, trying to calm the him. "Son, please…" Another sob, even louder, escaped him. And then another. And another. It actually sounded rather painful.
"I-I-I-I c-can't – y-you – t-t-that-"
"Shh, son, please, calm down. Everything's ok." But Blaine couldn't calm down. He couldn't speak, he could hardly breathe. His breath continued to fiercely hitch and he just couldn't calm down.
He felt Burt's hand disappear from his back at that. After what felt like an eternity and a second at the same time Burt's hand was back, but at his shoulder and gently pushing him up. As soon as he was upright a paper bag was being pressed against his lips. He breathed into the bag for a while, his quick breaths slowly becoming less erratic.
He still didn't open his eyes. But even with closed eyes his face was covered in tears. He was drenched, like he'd dunked his face underwater. His nose and chin were dripping and still more tears fell.
He was pretty sure over the rushing water sound in his ears he heard the sound of someone coming down the stairs and moving things around, but soon the sound died out and Blaine already forgot about it. Eye still squeezed shut he tried to focus on breathing into the bag.
Breathing is important. You need to breathe. Breathing is required for being alive.
"Sweetie?" Oh, he could hear now, that was an improvement. "Honey, please, open your eyes." At the sound of Carole's voice Blaine opened his eyes. The bag was moved from his mouth, and Blaine hiccupped. His breath continued to hitch, but it was much smaller now. His face was still soaked, his eyes still letting tears escape nonstop.
He blinked at the two figures before him, soon Burt and Carole came into focus. "Here, drink. Slowly." Blaine took the offered glass of water and took a small sip, glancing to the floor to see the glass he'd dropped was already gone. He also noticed a large tablecloth had been haphazardly thrown over the files.
"I—I-" Blaine tired to come up with the words but nothing came to mind. What could he say? How could he explain? He couldn't, so he said the only thing that came to mind. "I'm sorry."
The two sounded incredulous but Blaine didn't know what else to say, "These are your f-files. I'm sure they're c-confidential too. I had n-no right to s-snoop." Blaine ran a fist under his nose, trying to control his breathing.
Burt slowly lowered himself into the seat beside Blaine. "Son…listen to me. You havenothing to be sorry about. Do you understand?"
"No. No more apologizes." Burt leaned over, wrapping his arms tight around Blaine. The teen didn't move, didn't return the gesture. He did however all but melt into Burt's arms, just soaking up the love. "You don't have to explain if you don't want to." Burt finally whispered, pulling back.
Blaine didn't speak at first. His eyes went back to the table. Hesitantly he reached over and slowly lifted the table cloth. The file he'd been looking at still lay on the table, but now closed. A look passed across Burt's face as he reached over and touched the red sticker on the tab, but Blaine barely took notice. All he saw was the name on the tab. The name in bold and dark writing, all but screaming at him.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Burt and Carole exchanging a glance, but neither spoke. "He was my friend. At my old school. We were the only out kids and we thought…we thought as long as we had each other…"
"Aw, Mi! I don't see what the big deal is!"
"The big deal? Blainey, you're joking…you're not joking. Your socks are blue, Blaine!"
"Navy blue is not a substitute for black!"
Blaine rolled his eyes, letting out a loud laugh. "You just fit all the stereotypes, don't you?"
"No. I like football."
"Who doesn't like football?"
"My sister. But then again, who cares about her?"
Blaine laughed again, "You're so ridiculous."
"And that's why you're my prom king, right shnookims?"The sophomore pinched Blaine's cheek.
"This isn't even the prom you dork!" He cried, knocking his hand away.
"It doesn't even matter – man! I just – I felt so alive tonight!" Milo threw his arms out and spun around, not caring that they were in the middle of the dirty parking lot or that they were in public.
"As opposed to feeling dead at other times?"
"I might as well be." Milo said, sounding rather dark as he stopped spinning. "C'mon Blaine you can't tell me – tonight was awesome! I mean we danced! We danced, Blaine!"
"Yes, I remember the dancing."
"We danced in the gym! With other people dancing around us! And no one threw anything at us!"
"It was a nice change."
Milo walked up to Blaine, taking his hands and pressing them to his chest. "You can't tell me you didn't feel the shift, Blaine. How it felt to be…to feel normal for once."
The freshman paused, glancing down at their entwined hands before looking up and meeting Milo's eyes. "It was…refreshing."
"I'm glad you convinced me to do this, Blaine." Milo said quietly, searching his companion's eyes.
"Me too. All that hair-pulling was really worth it."
They stood like that for a long moment, just gazing into each other's eyes. But soon they seemed to realize what they were doing and stepped back. Blaine ran a hand through his curls and Milo turned to glance down towards the entrance of the parking lot. "Wonder how long my dad's gonna be."
"Yeah…thanks again for driving me. My parents weren't exactly…exactly thrilled about this."
Milo gave a sympathetic smile, "Yeah. It's fine…you know I could probably fly us home."
"I'm feeling particularly super tonight. I'm invincible!" He cried, gaining back his enthusiasm from before.
"Maybe we should test that theory."
Blaine and Milo both froze. Milo spun around, all but falling back into Blaine as the two came face to face with five of the senior football players. The tiny freshman and the slightly-less-tiny sophomore sank into each other as the five advanced on them.
"H-hi guys." Blaine found himself stuttering out.
"Stuff it, fruitcake." His mouth immediately snapped shut. "What the fuck did you think you were doing tonight?"
"D-dancing?" Blaine said, though it came out as more of a question. Milo elbowed him, silently begging him to shut up.
"Dancing? And who the fuck said you could come into my school and do your faggot mating dance in front of everyone? You ruined the whole fucking night." The tallest one snarled.
"No one seemed too bothered-" Blaine started, unable to stop himself. Milo elbowed him again.
"Blaine, please." The other boy whispered, but didn't get to finish.
"You getting smart with me, cunt?" The tallest one stepped in.
"N-no I j-j-just-"
"No one talks to me like a snot, not anyone. Especially not disgusting little faggots, you got me?"
"That's it." The tallest one merely jerked his head but suddenly the four other jocks were grabbing hold of Blaine and Milo and pulling them apart.
"Wait – wait!" Milo cried, starting to thrash in their arms. "What are you doing?"
"Shut the fuck up!" One of them snarled, punching Milo hard in the back of the head.
"Milo!" Blaine screamed, only to be thrust to the ground. A foot connected hard with his ribs and suddenly all the air left his lungs.
And the kicking continued, "You don't-" kick "-fucking-" kick "-talk to me-" kick "-like that!" Blaine coughed violently, gasping loudly and harshly.
"Blaine!"Milo screamed, his voice barely registering in Blaine's mind as it screamed at him: Air! I need air!
"You're a fucking disgrace to humanity! You're disgusting!" He was being kicked all over, his torso and back in particular. He curled up in a ball, trying hard to stay awake. He was vaguely aware of someone screaming. Screaming his name, screaming for help.
But no one came to help.
"You're sick, do you hear me? Sick! You deserve to burn in hell! And that's just where I'm going to send you."
At that an intense pain exploded in Blaine's arm. At this point he wasn't even sure what arm it was, but it didn't matter. It was like everything was over-taken with white. There was nothing but pain. Intense, intense, fiery hot pain. Up until this point he never thought such pain was even possible, but he had been wrong. So very wrong.
Still somehow despite the pain he managed to stay awake. On the verge of unconsciousness he managed to glance up into the blurry night and whisper one word, "Milo-" But then another intense pain exploded across the side of his head and everything left him.
When Blaine awoke next he was in a stiff bed. He felt like he was floating. Everything was very…filtered.
His parents wouldn't tell him what happened or how long it'd been – but he did manage to ask a nurse what day it was. When she told him January 3rd he was sure he'd just misheard her because the dance had been on September 20th. She must have just misspoken. But then again Blaine was having trouble remembering things, maybe the dance had been on December 20th. Yeah, that made much more sense. That had to be it.
It took a long time but after a lot of pestering he managed to get his parents to explain to him what happened. "There was a fight." He mother had whispered, grasping his hand tight. "Some kids beat you up but everything's alright now sweetie because you're awake and here and we're going to make everything better, ok?"
As comforting as his mother's words had been it was hard to believe her when he only had one thing in his brain. One memory. Four simple words:
I'm going to die.
It was all Blaine remembered, those words. They were engrained in his brain. He wasn't sure why or what had happened but that was all that was in his brain. The thought and notion that he was going to die. He woke up in cold sweats, a terrified scream right in his throat. Just those words echoing in his head: I'm going to die.
It wasn't until a month or so of physical therapy, speech therapy, and every other kind of therapy that Blaine started to remember anything.
He had to wait until his parents left to go get some lunch one day (it'd taken some convincing to get both of them to go at once) but he flagged a nurse down and asked her where Milo was. Her panicked look and flighty response told him the answer wasn't good. It took close to two weeks before he managed to find the phone number for the Pullmin residence (because for the life of him he couldn't remember it).
"Hello?" A quiet voice answered. It sounded familiar, Blaine knew he should remember it.
"Hi. This is Blaine Anderson." The long pause on the other line was all Blaine needed to know he'd called the right number.
"Blaine. Do your parents know you're calling?"Blaine said nothing for a moment, wondering why he shouldn't be calling. Or why his parents refused to tell him anything about Milo. "That's what I thought…" The woman on the phone sighed, "Well, sweetie, how are you feeling?"
"I'm doing…better." There was another long pause.
"Did you need something, honey?"
"I uh…I wanted to see how Milo was doing? My parents…they won't even talk about him."The pause on the line spoke volumes. "Mrs. Pullmin?"
"Did no one tell you?" She whispered.
"Tell me – tell me what?"
"Blaine…Milo…he…" She paused, a muffled sob filling the silence.
"Mrs. Pullmin?" Blaine asked, panic seizing him.
"Milo's gone, sweetie." She whispered, voice barely audible. But she may as well have screamed it into Blaine's ear with a megaphone.
"No, he was—he was-they weren't—M-Mi…" Blaine broke off into sobs. "I didn't even see them hit him." He sobbed, "They didn't even-"
Mrs. Pullmin choked on a sob on the other line, quickly saying, "Oh honey-"
"One a few days after the dance."
"How long has it been?" Blaine whispered, "H-how l-long?"
"Almost five months now, honey."
"F-five—" Blaine couldn't believe this, he couldn't. "I—I don't-"
"He left a letter for you."She cut him off.
"What?"A letter? That didn't make any sense.
"I gave it to your parents. I made sure no one opened it."
"But a letter – that doesn't - "
"Blaine. Milo didn't die from the beating."
Blaine stopped at that, "What? But – but then what-?"
"Just read the letter, honey."
It took a lot of tracking down but Blaine managed to get the letter from his parents…a week later. It was still unopened, but for some reason his parents didn't want him to have it. This wasn't good.
There's so many things I want to say to you. I don't even know where to begin.
First off, I'm sorry that I'm such a coward.
You were so brave. A year younger than me and just out of the closet and still youwere the one to convince me to go to the dance. You had all this bravery and courage that I could never have. I'm so glad I got to know you. You're literally the greatest friend I've ever had.
But seeing you that night. I don't know what to say. You looked so tiny and they just wouldn't stop. When I saw you look up at me and whisper my name right before you were knocked out…
There was just nothing I could do. Nothing. I just had to stand there and watch themkick the life out of you. I couldn't do anything.
God, Blaine, you have to wake up.
Things will get better for you, you'll make it better. You're strong enough to do it.
I'm so sorry I'm not.
I'm so sorry I couldn't do anything.
I'm so sorry for everything.
I'm so sorry I couldn't be brave like you.
And don't you ever forget that, Blaine. Your courage is your greatest weapon. Don'tever forget it.
I love you, friend. Don't forget me.
Blaine had read the letter millions of times. He has is memorized. He can still hear it in Milo's voice in his head.
Milo killed himself.
That was why no one would tell him. Milo had killed himself and it was all Blaine's fault. That was why no one would tell him. Well, he almost died. No need to tell him his friend is dead and it's all his fault.
If he had just not been so insistent on going to that stupid dance he and Milo wouldn't have gotten beaten up. If he'd just shut up and stopped blabbering they wouldn't have started kicking him. If he hadn't whispered Milo's name before passing out then maybe Milo wouldn't have been pushed over the edge.
He didn't even get to go to the funeral.
The only true friend he'd ever had had killed himself, it was all Blaine's fault, and he didn't even get to go to the fucking funeral.
Blaine couldn't breathe just thinking about it.
And he could still hear Milo's voice in his head. "I'm invincible, Blaine!"
I guess you weren't so invincible Milo, Blaine thought, a sob bubbling up in his chest.
But then another sob sounded, and it wasn't Blaine. The sound brought him back to reality. He blinked, shaking his head. He glanced up at Burt and Carole. Both were sitting now – when had that happened? – and were clinging tight to each other.
But the sob hadn't come from either of them.
Blaine turned around to see Kurt and Finn standing in the doorway. A brown bag hung loosely in Finn's hand. Kurt stood there, hand pressed over his mouth and eyes wide with tears.
"Kurt." Blaine whispered, sitting up a little. He didn't get to say anything else, as Kurt came charging forward. He didn't even bother sitting down, he just stopped beside Blaine and wrapped his arms tight around his shoulders. Without a thought Blaine buried his face into Kurt's stomach.
They clung to each other, both crying again now.
He didn't have to ask how much Kurt had heard. It didn't matter now.
"Oh God, Blaine." Was all Kurt whispered. Soon Blaine felt another set of arms wrap around the two of them. Then another, and another. Burt, Carole, and Finn had all joined the hug.
The five stood there for God knew how long before Burt pulled back first. "Why don't you all go and heat up the food? I'll clean off the table and we…we can talk about this tomorrow." Blaine nodded, running a fist under his nose.
"I'm sorry I ruined tonight…and I'm sorry I broke your cup."
Burt shook his head, "Shush. It's my fault for…I'm just going to clean these up. And you didn't ruin anything. Now go stuff your face."
Blaine gave a soft nod and stood, taking Kurt's offered hand and holding it tight. But suddenly Burt stopped him. Stepping up he pulled the short teen into a hug. "I love you, Blaine." Burt whispered, "And I'm going to make this world a better place. I promise. I'm going to do everything I can to make things better." Blaine said nothing, he merely let go of Kurt's hand and wrapped his arms around Burt, feeling a bit better.
Because he couldn't help but believe him.
Things will be better. You'll make them better.