AN: So I have become quite taken with the idea of Badboy!Blaine and Badboy!Kurt. There is a lot of this going around LJ and Tumblr at the moment. Anyway as it feeds in to my knowledge and experience, I thought it would be fun to write a story from the other side of the fence as it were. I hope this works.

For the premise of this, we are going to assume that Kurt does not have Burt as his father. I like Burt too much to corrupt him as a character. He may appear in this in another form but I think we can assume that neither Kurt nor Blaine's home life is an ideal Disneyland home.

This will probably get intense and dark when exploring the boys' struggles and backgrounds - if you have read Second Chance then this will come as no surprise.

Warnings: minor self harm this chapter.

Blaine looked around him in fear. He could not believe that he had allowed this situation to get this far. What a fucking idiot. He had believed the stories his mother had told him that this would only be a few months. He had listened to her beg and plead with him and in the end he could not stand to see the disappointment in her face one more minute. He had agreed to accept that bastard's request.

A few hours ago they had arrived at this place. He had not bothered to listen to the name. It was irrelevant. He would not be staying. The building had looked unassuming on the outside. The doors and windows were painted bright colours and there was even a mural on the wall. Everything was made to look to an outsider like this was a school, not a prison. But Blaine was beginning to know better. He had only been through the front door a short time and already the reality of the situation was setting in.

Two hours ago his mother and that bastard sat on a nice plush couch in the Director's office. Blaine chose a hard backed chair as close to the door as possible. On the floor was his duffel bag and guitar. The Director was sweet talking his mother with promises of how good this experience would be for Blaine. The bastard was holding her hand and reassuring her stressed questions while hanging on the Director's every word. Hate seethed through Blaine white hot. He thought it would be a miracle if he got out of this room without punching the bastard.

Blaine had allowed himself a tiny smirk at the image. He had wondered idly if the school would refuse him on the spot if he knocked out his own father during the admissions interview. He was almost tempted to try it but he had other plans that he was concerned about disrupting if he got himself in too much trouble straight away. No. He had decided it would be best to lay low and figure out his options for the moment. Instead, he had refused to look at anyone in the room. He spent the minutes eyeing the door and the hallway beyond for possible escape routes. Words like therapy, group and therapeutic activities swarmed over his head. Concepts like milieu, structure, routine, earning points were bandied around as though they were medicine and a cure. A cure for what? There was nothing wrong with him.

Blaine had reached in to his jacket pocket and reassured himself that his cigarettes and phone were still in his pocket. If nothing else, at least he had those. He had already planned an escape route with Wes should the situation be as bad as he feared. He thought that he would stick around for 24 hours tops and then bolt. Let the bastard set the police on him at that point, he would take the Greyhound to New York if he had to. He was not scared to be on his own.

Then disaster had struck. The Director started going through the rules. Blaine may have been pissed off but he was not an idiot. He listened to every word that was said to ensure that they were not going to pull anything over on him. At first the rules were straightforward. Curfews, privileges, boundaries, respecting others, attending school blah, blah, blah, but then… no cell phones… no smoking…bag searches… pocket searches. NO NO NO. This was too much. He had rights. He was not going to allow people he did not know and did not care about to touch his stuff, to touch him, to take away the lifelines that he was holding on to. NO!

He had stood up at that point and started yelling. NO. He had yelled at the Director. He had yelled at his mother and finally he had squared off in front of the bastard and got right in his face. Then he had screamed. He had raised his fist in anger at the bastard. He wanted to wipe the self satisfied smirk from the man's face. This was not happening. He could not do this to him.

Dimly Blaine had been aware that the Director was behind him talking to someone. He heard his mother begging for him to calm down and be reasonable. He fixed his eyes and buried his glare deep in to the bastard's face. It would be worth it. It would. He raised his hand one more time and made to swing at his father but then he was grabbed off his feet and thrown on to the ground in what could only be described as a football tackle. Before he knew what was happening he found himself flipped on to his stomach and his arms and legs were pinned to his sides. He tried to struggle. He was burning with anger and he fought his attackers really hard but he could not get any purchase on the floor. He was not getting anywhere in fact.

This could not be happening. He called out to his mother and begged for her to help him but the bastard held her tight to him and walked her out of the room. He could not see the men holding him but he could hear that at least one was the Director. The other felt like a mountain. He had a hold of Blaine's hands and lower body and was the chief reason why Blaine was not getting anywhere. He could not move an inch.

Blaine decided to keep struggling on principle. He knew now that he was not going to win this immediate battle but calming and quietening down just felt too humiliating at that moment. So he struggled on for as long as he could before his muscles screamed for him to stop and the feeling of sweat running down his forehead and in to his eyes became too gross to stomach. Then he lay there, and slowly felt the hands on him release. He hated to be touched. No one was allowed this close to him without permission. They would pay. He would make sure that they all paid.

After a while he was allowed on to his feet and he realised that his duffel bag and guitar were gone. He did not want to ask where they were but someone must have seen him looking around. He was told that they had been taken upstairs to the dorm already. He did not say a word although he was burning to ask if they had been searched or tampered with.

He assumed that he would be heading up to the dorms too. Instead he was led in to a room with a large TV. He looked around questioningly. A large hulk of a man, African American, with two missing front teeth, sat down heavily on a chair in the room. This was clearly the other man who had been holding him. The guy was a solid wall of beefed up muscle. Blaine suddenly felt very small.

"Son, you need to hand over your cigarettes, lighter and cell phone before you can join the others."

Blaine just stared at him. Oh hell no. This again? Had they not just won this battle? Had he not been beaten enough already? Could they not have just taken the things out of his pocket while he was on the floor? They actually thought he was going to help them to strip away his freedom.

He sat down heavily on an admittedly very comfortable couch and eyed the man suspiciously. He tried to calculate if he would have enough time to get to the door before the man caught him. No chance.

He decided to resist passively instead. When he gave no response, the man seemed to accept this. He took a walkie out of his pocket and radioed to someone outside of the room.

"Could we get dinner and some juice brought to the living room please?"

Blaine looked at the man in surprise. He decided that he was not going to assume that he was about to be fed. He would not put it past the torture of these people to eat in front of him when he was now admittedly very hungry. He turned away from the man in the chair and stared resolutely at the wall.

The man sighed and got up. The heckles on Blaine's neck rose but the man walked straight past him and grabbed the TV remote.

"You like football? The game's on."

Blaine fought down the urge to respond to the reasonable question politely. He was angry goddamnit and going through hell. He was not going to break his silence just to be polite. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and curled them tightly around the cigarettes and cell phone. The game came on. He had forgotten that it was Saturday night and therefore Buckeyes time. He looked at the score quickly and then turned away. He felt like a petulant toddler now. He was sulking and resisting because he was being stubborn, not because it was getting him anywhere. But this did not matter. He was not giving anything else up just yet.

Ten minutes later dinner arrived. A woman brought two trays in with a casserole of some kind and chocolate pudding. She handed Blaine one of the trays and looked at him with interest.

"Hi Blaine, I am Sherry, one of your counselors. It's good to meet you."

Again Blaine fought his natural urge to respond politely and maybe even be a bit charming. He did however grunt a thank you for the dinner.

Sherry walked over to the man in the chair. "Derek, Mike wanted to know if you needed anything."

"No babes. Thanks. We'll be up when Blaine is ready."

Blaine did not know why this comment made him seethe inside. There was something so completely unfair about being treated like a little kid when he was 16 and protesting his rights. He was tempted to throw his dinner across the room to make his point, but then decided that he would then look seriously like a three year old. And the food smelt good. So he ate instead.

The game reached half time and Derek tried again. "You know son, it is getting late. Why don't you give me those things and then I can show you your bed and introduce you to the dorm."

Blaine considered ignoring him again but really this was getting old and he knew that he could be charming, eloquent and persuasive when he needed to be.

"Derek, why do I have to give up my phone? It means everything to me. All my friends are worried about me. My Mum will be stressed if I don't call her frequently to let her know that I am OK. Couldn't I just keep it?"

"Look Blaine, I don't know that much about you yet but you seem like a good kid with one hell of a temper. That's OK, you know? We can work on that. But clearly you are also here because you made some poor decisions along the way." Blaine tried to protest this but Derek put one hand up and bowled over him. "No man, let me finish. You may not see them as poor decisions but clearly for your parents who love you, to put you here, there has to be a reason. Now if you keep your cell phone, we can't help you make better decisions as you will be contacting your friends and looking for ways out instead."

"No I won't…"

"Blaine, don't think I have not been playing this game for a while. I'm sure you already have your escape plan ready, right?"

Blaine looked at the floor and did not bother to deny this. He guessed most kids probably did when they showed up.

"Now we can't help you stay safe if you are going to be talking to every Tom, Dick and Harry with a stupid plan in the greater Ohio area. You must see that makes sense."

"But my Mom…" Blaine trailed off as he was shocked by the lump in his throat that formed and the tears that came to his eyes. He never got emotional. He could not remember the last time he had cried but he had not felt this vulnerable in a very long time and he felt so out of his depth.

"Son, you will be able to call your Mum from our phones here often. You can talk with your counselor and therapist about how often but I promise it will be a minimum of once a week."

Once a week felt like a very infrequent stretch of time. Blaine brushed angrily at his eyes and tried to clamp down on his emotions. He was tired and he just wanted to be left alone to acclimatize. Actually what he really wanted right now was to smoke a cigarette.

He wanted to hold on to his phone for longer but a thought occurred to him. "Do you have my charger?"

"Me?" Derek asked. "No. I'm sure that got sent home with your folks."

"They've gone?"

"Yeah. About an hour ago I think."

Blaine felt so alone. His mother had abandoned him. After seeing him on the floor pinned down by two men, she left him here on his own. And she took his charger… his lifeline to the outside world… his support.

Blaine wanted to howl his sadness but instead he saw red. He stood up and advanced on Derek as menacingly as he could, puffing out his full 5'8'' and letting his eyes flame.

"Fuck you. Fuck this school. I will not stay here where I am not respected and you can not make me. I am going to go outside and smoke my cigarettes and then I am going to call my mother and get her to come and take me home."

Derek stood up to his full size of 6'6'' and looked vaguely amused at Blaine's posturing. He showed no reaction to the cursing but spoke in a level calm voice.

"Outside this door is a courtyard. Go smoke the rest of your cigarettes and then you will hand over your lighter and your phone and I will take you upstairs to bed. You can discuss going home with your parents and the Director tomorrow."

That was not the response that Blaine had been expecting at all but he took his concession and went out in to the courtyard. He had forgotten that it was pitch black outside and the freezing chill of November. He tried the door of the living room but the door was locked behind him. He saw Derek watching him amusedly through the window and felt pure anger burn in him.

He looked around at the enclosed space and saw a few other doors off the courtyard. He lit a cigarette and turned to show it to Derek pointedly, drawing the smoke in to his lungs. It felt blissful even in the cold and dark. Then he nonchalantly walked around the Courtyard trying the other doors. He was hoping to provoke Derek to come out after him as he was now itching for a fight, even one that he would lose dramatically. He wanted the adrenaline release.

But Derek did not move and it was clear that all the doors in the courtyard were locked. He was trapped. In the cold and the dark with only his five cigarettes and his lighter for company. He began to panic as his brain began to whirl. These people really knew what they were doing. They were acting as though he was a kid and they seemed amused that he thought that he could beat them.

He looked around the coutyard as he puffed his second cigarette down. There was an ornamental fountain in the middle of the courtyard and he was tempted by the idea of defacing that. He thought at least he would get a reaction but somehow he knew that he would likely be arrested and then his fading hope of escaping this weekend would be well and truly destroyed. There was no way he would get out of a police holding cell.

Instead he started his third cigarette and hugged his jacket tighter to him. He knew that he would feel sick after five cigarettes but this was a principle again. He was not going to let Derek and his cronies have the satisfaction of taking any of his cigarettes off of him. He took the stubs of the finished cigarettes and walked over to the fountain sticking them in to ears and eyes of the stone statue at the centre. He looked over but Derek continued to watch him stoically from the window.

He lit the fourth cigarette feeling the winter cold nip at his fingers and his nose. He knew that he was losing this round. He knew that he was now just putting off the inevitable. He knew that before the night was out, he would be in the dorm, cellphoneless, facing the prospect of a long time in this fucking dump. He would never admit it but the thought terrified him. He did not understand this place. He did not know what the other kids would be like. He did not know what the staff would be like.

He hated being stuck in this courtyard, halfway between the real world and the insanity that he now found himself in. Trapped. Thoughts and ideas began to swirl in his head and fear began to grip his heart. He would not cry again. He would not. After he finished the last cigarette, he walked up to a brick wall and punched his hand in to it hard, letting out a loud howl of pure rage. He had never felt so alone and vulnerable.

He cradled his hurt hand to his stomach as finally Derek came out to him. The fight had left Blaine and he handed over his cell phone and lighter. They were useless to him now anyway. Without a charger or cigarettes they would not get him anywhere.

He fought down the tears of anger and instead focussed intensely on the pain in his hand as Derek ushered him back in to the warmth of the buildings and took him to see the nurse.

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