A Drop of Mercury
Summary: Blaine Anderson is seven when he first gets a hint of cerulean blue eyes.
Blaine Anderson is seven when he first gets a hint of cerulean blue eyes.
As a first grader, he doesn't yet know the pain and unfairness of the world, so he plays all day. Once a week, Ms. Johnston would come over and make him play the piano until he'd grudgingly admit he liked it. His father came almost every week home with a new toy; sometimes a sports' car, sometimes a children's chemistry set, maybe one dollar as allowance.
Blaine had dreams that one day, after he'd save enough money, he could donate them all to an animal shelter – he loves animals, but his parents never let him have one.
He's seven and he knows nothing else but fun, the pain of a scraped knee and the warm touch of his mother when she patches him right up.
Blaine plays and laughs with his friends, calling each other fun names like "pig" or "toad". James, the tall one, groans in dismay as the bell that signals the end of the recess rings, but immediately brightens up as he yells, "Race you guys back!"
The other boys laugh (no girls. Girls still have cooties, and for Blaine, they'd never stop having cooties) and start running, Michael accidentally shoving Blaine over.
Blaine yelps as he falls down, his nose colliding with the cement. The kids don't notice, just keep on running. Blaine sniffles, tears mixing up with blood messily. He cradles his nose carefully so he doesn't cause himself any pain.
"Are you okay?"
The voice is soft and high-pitched, and the figure is against the sun. The only thing Blaine can figure out from the person is big blue eyes and furrowed brows. He wonders if maybe it's an angel.
"'m fine," Blaine mutters.
"No you're not," the stranger scoffs slightly. He rummages around in his bag and takes out a box of tissues, taking Blaine's hands in one of his palms while the other softly cleans up the blood and dirt and tears.
"Yes I am," Blaine insists, refusing to cry some more. Dad told him crying is for little girls.
The other doesn't answer, just smiles softly and finishes cleaning Blaine up. "There," he says. "You should go to the nurse, though; your nose might be broken."
"Mmkay," Blaine answers. He squints his eyes against the sun, trying to figure the other out. "Are you an angel?"
The blue eyes widen slightly, but then he laughs. "No," he replies. "But if you want me to, I'll be your angel."
Blaine smiles brightly and grabs one of his larger hands, tugging on the fingers. "Okay!" He scrunches his nose up and then winces. "Ow."
"Be careful," the angel says.
"I will," Blaine replies.
The angel smiles softly at Blaine and presses a tender kiss on top of his head. Blaine starts, though, when someone yells out a loud, "Kurt!".
The angel rears back slightly, looking behind his shoulder. "I have to go, Blaine," he says.
"Is that your special someone?" Blaine asks, eyes wide.
"Mhmm," Kurt nods. "I love him very much."
"Mommy told me that boys that get married to other boys are evil."
Kurt's eyes darken slightly, and he tugs Blaine close. "Don't ever think that. It's not unnatural; people are born like this."
"Okay," Blaine says in a small voice. As Kurt straightens out to leave, Blaine tugs on his overcoat. "Mr. Angel?"
Kurt's eyes sparkle. "Yes, Blaine?"
"Will you ever visit me again?"
A moment of silence envelops the two. "You'll meet me again, Blaine," Kurt finally says, smiling knowingly. "But it's going to be years."
"Okay," Blaine says once more. "Goodbye, Mr. Angel."
Kurt presses another kiss to Blaine's head. "Goodbye, Blaine. Take care."
Blaine waves at the angel. Kurt jogs back to the other man, who takes his hands and kisses him without hesitation. Blaine notices the other man is shorter and has dark hair.
Kurt looks once more at Blaine, before the two disappear.
X
Blaine tells no one of what he saw.
And almost a decade later, he sees the same blue eyes on Dalton's staircase, only this time, they weren't soft and gentle, they were wide and scared.
X
Ten years later, or maybe twenty years earlier, he and Kurt look at a small boy with curly hair who waves at them.
X
And the cycle is repeated.
.
.
.