With each one of these "letters" would be a memory attached. They go from Kurt's childhood until his age right now. They're all set into the Anderson household (for the sake of this fanfic, Kurt's English tutor was Blaine's Father) and Kurt's knowledge of literature being implied in that letter he'd sent. Some chapters would be long (1000+), and other chapters would be short (1000). Some of them might just be one or two paragraphs. It really depends. I'm going to warn you for horrendously trigger-y material later on covered. There definitely is character death in this thing. Canon (Kurt's Mother), non-canon (might be Rachel, Finn, Sebastian, Burt, Blaine's Father, Blaine, Kurt, Cooper, etc—you don't know). There might or might not be rape, suicide, cutting, anything that can be seen in an angst story. There is also clear mentions of disorder (I'm talking narcissistic, histrionic and I'm trying as hard as hell not to put ED into this because I always do this). I haven't decided yet.
It's inspired by the song "Letter to Dana" by Sonata Arctica. If you've read anything of mine, you should know that there definitely would be an assload of angst – maybe not in the beginning, but it'll definitely escalate. :) none of this material is made to offend anyone and of course, if I owned anything, Kurtbastian would be canon and they'd be having peanut butter sex
xo Peanut Butter/Sam
Title: Letters from Kurt
Rated: +13 – trigger-y material, language, possible anything really
Summary: AU to "Thanksgiving" and onwards. Kurt has been writing letters from his childhood days up until he was 18 – some to Blaine and some to Sebastian. Sebastian, Kurt and Blaine don't remember that they were childhood friends, but Kurt does. He gives Sebastian's directly, but sends Blaine's through a package, with a shocking response from Blaine. Sebangst, Kurt hurt, Blangst.
[From Kurt, To Blaine – Part 1]
Mr Anderson was a man that was proud to say that he had three sons. Two of them were blood-related – Blaine and Cooper – but one of them hadn't an ounce of Mr Anderson's genetics in his DNA.
Mr Anderson was an English teacher, a piano instructor, and a Father. To Blaine and Cooper, he was simply the Father. To this boy with brown hair, a rosy face and small, chubby hands, he was all three. Kurt was a small child about Blaine's age that came to him as a boy whom wanted to learn.
Kurt came around every day. Kurt walked from his school to the man's house, which wasn't far away. He had a cell phone with Burt on speed dial just in case anything happened to him. He stayed with Mr Anderson until Burt was done with his shift at early night and came to pick him up. Sometimes, the man's shifts were prolonged and Kurt had to sleep in the guest room.
Despite all of this, Kurt had never met either of his sons. He caught glimpses of both Mr Anderson's sons but had never talked to them. Mr Anderson trusted his student around his house, but Kurt simply isolated himself from the man's family.
Mr Anderson was now looking at Kurt whom sat on the couch. Blood and flesh had never meant so little as it did in that current moment. A physical bind from Father to son didn't necessarily mean anything unless the Father was a good man.
Mr Anderson knew that Kurt had a good Father, and his Father had always wanted the best for Kurt. Kurt wanted to be taught and Mr Anderson was assigned to teach.
Kurt was strange – sometimes quiet, sometimes loud. He was sometimes happy and sometimes sad.
Mr Anderson knew that the boy was badly injured today. He always came to him injured, and none of his wounds were accidentally self-inflicted because Kurt was a very careful boy.
"Would you pull your pants up for me?"
Kurt knew enough to trust the man, pulling the right leg of his baggy jeans up so that the man can inspect the wound. Mr Anderson knew from Blaine's injuries that this was most likely the small knee meeting with a hard surface – either the metal lockers or a table.
Mr Anderson pulled his drawer open. Unfortunately, he knew he had to keep a first aid kit in his office just because of Blaine's wounds – and now, Kurt's too. He had dressed the wound and smiled at the small boy that was looking up at him with confused eyes. How could anyone harm such precious children?
Blaine was knocking on the door. "Come in," Mr Anderson instructed, but Blaine wouldn't come in. He didn't want to come in when Kurt was around.
Kurt had never once seen Blaine in his life. He had no idea that years later, when they were both teenagers, they'd meet and fall in love. Kurt always knew what Blaine's family was like, how at home he noticed features of Blaine's Mother and Father in him – Blaine was his childhood in ways that Blaine would never understand. Blaine never realised that Kurt was that boy that his Father taught.
Mr Anderson sighed to Kurt. "Just a moment," he opened the door slightly so that Kurt in the corner can see how Blaine looked like. He had a mass of black curls, hurt hazel eyes, and a broken smile on his lips. Kurt stayed in his corner, and watched as the boy complained. Mr Anderson went to take the first aid kit, shut the door and Kurt can hear screaming. Kurt knew that this meant that Blaine needed hydrogen peroxide on his wounds. Blaine's wounds had to be severe then.
Mr Anderson came back inside after fourteen minutes according to Kurt's Spiderman watch, and he looked up with a soft expression. "He'll be fine," Mr Anderson insisted.
Kurt shook his head as he thought of words he wanted to say. He found them. "Does Blaine have any friends?"
"Not in particular, no," Mr Anderson frowned at the thought. "Do you want to be his friend?"
Kurt shied away as Mr Anderson placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, you know," he muttered. "You don't have to be his friend. He's very shy anyway. He won't tell you anything. You can write him a letter if you want."
"A letter?" Kurt muttered under his breath, and stared up with him with glassy eyes. "I don't want to give him a letter…not right now."
"Then write him a letter and give it to him later," Mr Anderson shrugged.
Kurt didn't really know how much 'later', but he smiled and nodded his head. He opened the drawer where the man kept his papers. Mr Anderson gave him a polite nod, signaling to Kurt that he was allowed to use as much paper as he pleased. The man gave him a pencil. Mr Anderson watched as Kurt stuck out his tongue upon his upper lip in concentration. His eyebrows were knitted, and then he began to write.