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Kurt was enjoying his Christmas vacation. Christmas in the Hudson-Hummel house had definitely been interesting, since Finn and Carol were a lot more into the idea of Christmas than Kurt and Burt were. Kurt and Burt had a fake tree that they put together every year, and a box full of ornaments, but that was about it as far as decorations went. The first Christmas after Kurt's mother had died had been so painful and difficult, they they never invested as much of themselves in the holiday after that. They exchanged presents, but since Burt tended to spoil Kurt all year long, it wasn't that big of a deal for them. But Finn and Carol loved Christmas. Carol had boxes and boxes of decorations, and Finn went and got a fresh pine tree from a Christmas tree lot. Carol filled the house with the smell of cookies and Christmas treats that Kurt had almost forgotten in the years since he'd lost his mother. And after Christmas, they were having an interesting argument. Finn and Carol wanted to keep the tree up until the Superbowl, which had been their old tradition, and Kurt was afraid it would dry out and catch fire, and Burt just wanted his living back the way it normally was.
Kurt was in his bedroom, just enjoying some quiet time. He had some homework to get down over break, and he was working on plans for the glee party Burt and Carol had said he and Finn could throw for New Years. He was still wearing pajamas, having no intention of leaving the house that day, and was settled down on his bed with notebooks and books all around him, and music playing for background noise. When his phone started playing Teenage Dream he smiled and answered his boyfriend's call.
“Hey,” Kurt said.
“Kurt?” Blaine said, his voice soft and strange.
“Blaine? What's wrong?” Kurt asked.
“My Nana just died,” Blaine said.
“I'll be over in half an hour,” Kurt said.
“Okay,” Blaine said, and they hung up.
It was a testament to how worried he was about Blaine, that Kurt barely paid attention to what clothes he was putting on. Pants and a shirt that were both clean, and matched, check. Then he threw some things in a bag and headed upstairs.
“Hey Kurt, I thought you were spending the whole day in the basement,” Carol said. She was doing some cooking, while Burt was working at the garage.
“Blaine's grandmother just died. I was going to go over there,” Kurt said.
“Of course,” Carol said. “You should take this.” Sh gestured to the pecan pie she'd taken out of the oven only twenty minutes ago.
“But you just made it,” Kurt protested.
“I made two, with the way Finn eats. I wish I had time to make up a casserole for Blaine's mother. At least take the pie.”
“Alright,” Kurt smiled. “I have my phone if you or Dad need me.”
“Alright,” Carol said. “Home by eleven-thirty. It's supposed to snow later, so check the weather reports on your iPhone, and if you think the roads are getting to bad, call.”
“Alright,” Kurt said, hugging his stepmother before leaving.
*****
Kurt parked in the Ferguson's driveway. He'd only been there twice since Thanksgiving, but he's already getting familiar with the property. He slung his bag over his shoulder and lifted the pie from the front seat gently. He walked up to the front door and rang the bell. It was Fiona who answered, and the fifteen-year-old threw her arms around him tightly. Kurt hugged her with his free hand, and pressed his cheek to the top of her head. Although the topic had never directly come up, Kurt had discerned from the innocent awkwardness of the Ferguson kids at the announcement of his mother's death, and various other snippets of conversation that they'd had no direct personal experience with death.
“Hey sweetie,” Kurt said gently, “How are you doing?”
“Crappy,” she said. “Blaine called you?”
“Yeah. My step-mom made a pie, do you want to bring it to your mom?” Kurt asked.
“Yeah,” Fiona said. Her eyes were rimmed with red and she was still sniffling a bit. He followed Fiona into the dining room, where her parents had papers and phone lists strewn all over the table. Kurt was suddenly struck with the vivid memory of his father making arrangements for his mother's funeral, Kurt's Uncle Bob and Aunt Sarah helping Burt get things done. Then when his father made the arrangements, five years later, for his grandfather's funeral. Kurt had been old enough to help then, making calls to funeral parlors and restaurants, for reservations. And then, a year and a half earlier, when his grandmother had joined her husband and daughter-in-law, Kurt had handled a large portion of the arrangements himself. Kurt was no stranger to this, but he knew Blaine and his brother and sister's were.
“Mrs. Ferguson,” Kurt said. “My step-mother asked me to bring you this. It's a pecan pie.”
“Thank you, Kurt,” Mrs. Ferguson smiled. “There's a lot going on right now.”I think we have it under control for now. Kelly's helping a lot since he doesn't have to go back t school for a few weeks. Anyway, Blaine's upstairs in his bedroom. Just keep the door open.”
“Yes Ma'am,” Kurt smiled. He recognized that look on Mrs. Ferguson's face. He'd worn it himself when his grandmother had passed. It was the look of someone who was determined to be strong for everyone else. Kurt nodded to the woman, then headed towards Blaine's room. He was stopped along the way by Martha, to whom he offered a big hug, and a kiss on the cheek.
“Call Pete,” Kurt told her. “Tell him he's under orders to give you cuddles. Boyfriend rules.”
“He's on a family vacation in Belize,” Martha said sadly.
“Well, in that case,” he gave her another hug, tighter. Kurt's approximation of a bear hug.
“I'll be okay with Fiona. Go cuddle my brother. He and Nana were really close. He was her favorite,” she said in the sort of half smile one gives when they think they want to laugh, but aren't sure it's allowed.
“Go snuggle with your little sister,” Kurt agreed. “I find Disney movies to be very helpful in times like this, but make sure you avoid The Lion King and Up at all costs.”
“K,” she said, heading back out to the living room.
Kurt made his way up the stairs, and could hear the music before he'd even made it to Blaine's door. Kurt knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Blaine said.
Kurt opened the door and found Blaine lying in his bed, his eyes closed, listening to the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack. Not the best music for cheering oneself up, but definitely good for wallowing. Kurt kicked off his shoes, walked straight over to his boyfriend, and set his bag down on the floor before sitting down on the edge of the bed. Blaine looked up at Kurt as he felt the weight on the bed shift, and gave his boyfriend a sad smile.
“Hi,” Blaine said.
“Hi” Kurt said softly, brushing his hand across Blaine's forehead. “How are you doing?”
“I don't know,” Blaine said. “It doesn't feel real.”
“Scootch over,” Kurt said. Blaine did as instructed and Kurt laid down next to Blaine, wrapping his arms around the slightly shorter boy, pulling him close.
“I can't believe she's gone,” Blaine said. “She's always been there, forever.”
Kurt didn't say anything. He just held Blaine close. He had only met Edna Ferguson once, on Thanksgiving, but she had struck him as a very cool and interesting woman, and he knew she would leave a hole in her family.
Kurt didn't say anything, and eventually the sadness overwhelmed Blaine, and the tears began to flow. Kurt rubbed gentle circles on Blaine's back while the slightly older boy cried. Eventually Kurt reached into his bag and pulled out a slightly battered box of tissues, handing a couple to Blaine. Blaine blew his nose and wiped his face. Kurt noticed idly how nice and soft Blaine's curls were when he didn't load them full of gel and mousse. He slowly ran his fingers through Blaine's hair in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. Honestly, Kurt didn't know if he was any good at this comforting thing. But he knew what always made him feel better, and it wasn't the repetitive platitudes people threw at you when you were in pain. Sometimes just sitting quietly, with somebody to hold you was the best thing.
“I just can't believe—“ Blaine started, but whatever thought he was going to make was cut short as he was racked with hard sobs. For a moment he seemed almost hysterical, and Kurt's heart ached for his boyfriend, but he didn't stop holding him. He didn't want to stop holding him, even though the shoulder of his sweater was soaked with tears and snot. Eventually Blaine settled down and Kurt handed him some more tissues.
“I'll be right back,” Kurt promised. He went to get Blaine a glass of water, which he handed to Blaine. “Take small sips,” Kurt suggested.
Blaine looked at Kurt, and something passed across Blaine's face, followed by what looked like fear and guilt, and Kurt thought Blaine might start crying again.
“What were you thinking, just now?” Kurt asked.
“Just, well, it's kind of horrible,” Blaine admitted.
“Say it,” Kurt said, “As my therapist says, nothing you're feeling is wrong.”
“You have a therapist.”
“I did, when I was younger,” Kurt said. “I see the guidance counselor from time to time now, but I don't actually go to therapy anymore.”
“I was thinking that you're so good at this. So calm. Then I realized you had experience, and then I felt horrible for not understanding before. Then I felt glad that you're here, and then I felt guilty again, that you know what it's like. Then I felt awful because I don't think I've ever understood what death really meant before.”
“It's okay, Blaine. The fact that this is your first death in the family is nothing to feel guilty about. Just because my mom died when I was eight doesn't mean I wish it on other people. Losing people sucks. I don't know if you get better at it over time, but it's in a way just as painful and less painful at the same time. Everyone you love takes a piece of you when they die, but they leave a piece of themselves in it's place. Tell me something good about your Nana,” Kurt suggested.
“Hmm?”
“Something she did or said that makes you smile when you think about it.”
“Well,” Blaine thought for a moment. “She refused to buy white toilet paper. She always bought pink or blue. She said, 'Just because a task is mundane and repetitive doesn't mean you can't make it fun!' She insisted that pink toilet paper was more fun than white.” Blaine smiled at the memory.
“Very interesting,” Kurt smiled back.
“When I was fifteen my Uncle Jack said he didn't want me around his kids. Afraid I'd turn them gay—like it's catching or something. And Nana waved her rolling pin at him, telling him that he was no son of hers if he couldn't accept me the way God made me. Then she grabbed him by the ear and literally dragged him to me to apologize.”
“She was a feisty firecracker, wasn't she?” Kurt asked.
“She was,” Blaine said. “She once chased a rabid possum off the back porch with a spatula.”
Kurt didn't have anything to say to that, so he just cuddled his boyfriend, stroking his hair and rubbing his back.
“So, why were you in therapy?” Blaine asked.
“I saw a children's grief counselor for a couple years after my mom died,” Kurt explained.
“Oh,” Blaine said. Instead of saying anything, Blaine kissed Kurt on the cheek, then laid his head on Kurt's shoulder.
“Do you feel a little better?” Kurt asked.
“Yeah,” Blaine said. “A little.”
“Let's go downstairs and get something to eat. I brought one of Carol's homemade pies.”
“Can we just lay here a little longer?” Blaine asked, wrapping himself around Kurt, cuddling closely.
“As you wish,” Kurt said quietly. He smiled when Blaine let out a little snort.
“Sure thing, Westley,” Blaine said. He turned his head to catch Kurt's mouth in a kiss, then just laid there cuddled with his boyfriend. He felt better at that moment than he had all day.
*End*