Disclaimer: Glee does not belong to me.

A/N: I know, I know. "You have like, three other in-progress stories! You're starting a new one?" Shut up. When it comes to me, it comes to me. I just write it.

What? What the hell is this? Angst? *le gasp*

Seriously, I don't know where this came from. Hope you enjoy it anyway?


It's a beautiful December night in Ohio. The moon is bright and full, illuminating the streets. The stars are shining, small bursts of light in the black sky. It's crisp and cold, a thin blanket of snow falling. It drifts to the ground in fat clumps, creating a fluffy layer of white on the cold ground.

Blaine wraps his arms around himself tighter, letting his feet lead him, his soles slapping the street, echoing in the silence. His eyes are wet, and the tears that roll down his cheeks soak into his collar of his long-sleeved shirt. The snow clings to his hair, making the raven curls look almost white. His jeans are wet, hanging low on his small hips.

He wipes his nose and turns to look at the street signs. Frankly, he doesn't know where the hell he was. If you would shown him a map, he wouldn't be to tell you where he was located. He doesn't memorize streets, just landmarks. He is approaching one of them, a twisted tree with a swing hanging from a dark branch.

He turns right, walking down another unidentifiable street, hoping he was going in the right way. Apparently he is, because he comes across another landmark. William McKinley High School. He knows he's close.


It takes him two hours from when he originally departed, but eventually he finds himself on the front porch of the very familiar house. He hesitates. He hadn't question the decision to come here when he had left, but now he's beginning to worry. He's not sure if he'll be accepted. Finally, he brings a frozen hand up to push the doorbell.

It rings through the house, and he hears a deep, familiar, voice yell that they're going to get it.

"Blaine?" The voice asks as the door swings open. Blaine can't bring himself to look the man in the eyes, so he settles for staring at the boy's gray sock-covered feet. "What are you doing here?"

"Finn, who's at the door?" A woman's voice asks, and Blaine hears her come up behind the confused teenager. "Blaine, what are you doing here? Where's your car?" Blaine doesn't answer; he just shrugs his shoulders.

"Dude, it's like, ten degrees inside. You didn't walk, did you?" Finn questions, and Blaine nods a little. He brings himself to look up and sees Carole standing next to Finn, her hand covering her mouth in shock. She notices the tears on his cheeks and the hollow look in his eyes. He shivers a little, and his teeth chatter unconsciously.

"Blaine, come inside." Carole commands softly, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the warm house. He lets her lead him into the living room.

"Carole, who was at the door?" Burt's gruff voice calls from the kitchen. Carole ignores it, focusing on the battered and frozen teenage boy following her around.

"Blaine, honey, can you sit down please?" Carole lightly pushes him onto the couch, and he lets himself sink down. "Finn, go get some dry clothes and a bunch of blankets." The tall teen obeys his mother, running up the stairs. Carole goes off to the kitchen, and Blaine hears a plate drop to the ground and shatter. There are raised voices, concerned more than angry.

Blaine closes his eyes. He's numb, and he so tired. He just wants to lie down and sleep. He barely recognizes that Finn has returned to the room until the tall boy slaps him across the face. Blaine's eyes flutter open, and a hand flies to his inflamed cheek. Finn smiles sheepishly, and holds up the clothes and blankets.

"Sorry for slapping you, but you're not supposed to sleep. You gotta stay awake." He hands Blaine the clothes and blankets. Blaine doesn't know what to do.

"Blaine?" Burt comes into the room, followed by Carole. They both have the same look of worry and shock on their faces.

"Finn, show Blaine where the bathroom is so he can change." The next thing he knows, Finn has half carried/dragged him to a small bathroom down the hall.

"You can change in there." Blaine nods in appreciation and closes the door behind him. He begins to peel off his shirt and jeans, hissing when the shirt hits the bruises on his side.

He turns to look at himself in the mirror, wincing when he sees the blue and purple skin of his chest and back. His lower body isn't much better, a small gash on his knee bleeding. The bruises on his hips are turning yellowed on the edges, and he quickly pulls on the large flannel pajama pants to cover them. The large Hummel Tire and Lube t-shirt hangs on his chest, falling almost halfway down his thighs.

His eyes are empty. The usually bright-caramel colored irises are dark, more brown than gold. They don't shine as they would normally. His skin is pale, almost tinted blue from the cold. His lips are tinted purple too, the cut on them stinging when he purses them. He sighs and runs a hand through his wet hair, pushing around the mass of curls.

He exits the bathroom quietly, letting the door creak open. He softly walks back down the hall and into the large living room. The three Hummel-Hudsons are deep in conversation, and they don't notice the frail boy until he speaks.

"Is Kurt here?" His voice is hoarse from the screaming and yelling, and he tries to clear away the lump that seems to have taken up residence in his throat.

"No, honey. He's over at Mercedes' house." Carole answers. Blaine knows his face falls; he doesn't stop it. "He should be home any minute." Blaine nods, casting his eyes back at the floor again.

"Blaine, what happened?" Burt asks, and Blaine shrinks back visibly. He doesn't want to talk, he just wants Kurt and he wants to sleep and he wants everything to just be done. Over. Finn notices his reluctance and stands. He wordlessly takes the blanket and wraps it around Blaine's shoulders, pulling him in for a tight hug.

Blaine loses his composure. He breaks down in bone-wracking sobs, letting his boyfriend's step brother rock him back and forth in a calming manner.

"My mom is dead and my father blames me. He kicked me out." Blaine confesses in between sobs, his voice quavering and shaking. "I just didn't know where else to go."


A/N: It's just the beginning, it's allowed to be short at first! No matter, I hope you enjoyed it anyway. It's a lot heavier than what I normally write, but I hope it's good nonetheless.

Tell me what you think? Should it be continued?

Lessthanthree,

Max