So, I should be working on all my other stuff but then this particular incident happened and I had to write something about it.
My mother had just gotten back from picking my brother up from school and she saw a car parked further up the road. This guy was just awful - he threw this kid, 8/9 or so, out of the car. The kid crawled back in but the dad threw him out again. It was only because he realised he had a witness that he drove off with the kid - otherwise he probably would have just left him there. He was really angry and I dread to think of what that poor kid must live with.
Anyway, because of this I was inspired to write something. So yeah, this is dedicated to a little kid I don't know and probably never will, and I really do hope he's okay wherever he is.
Klaine, past Blaine and future family Klaine, angst, touch of fluff at the end.
I hope you like it.
Side Of The Road
The first time Blaine got kicked out of the car he was six years old.
"Blaine!" Katia giggled, waving her little arms and legs around in delight. The boy giggled as well, making funny faces at his sister to keep her occupied. From the front seats his mother and father smiled to themselves. As the two children entertained themselves, the play began to get more and more annoying. Blaine squealed every time Katia giggled and when he did, he kicked the back of his father's chair. Jack Anderson bit his lip and let his wife tell the boy off.
"Blaine, don't do that."
Blaine poked his tongue out at Miranda, giggling as Katia laughed at him. The six year old decided now was a good time to start singing at the top of his lungs to some song he'd heard on the radio earlier. Katia thought it was hilarious, copying him but in a slightly quieter voice, while Miranda told her son again to stop. He ignored her with a grin.
"Stop that now, Blaine, or I will stop this car and leave you on the side of the road to walk home," Jack snapped. He'd had a stressful day and he didn't want to deal with his son's antics right now – plus, the kicking at the back of his chair was distracting him and he didn't want to drive off the road. Miranda glanced at him before returning her gaze to her son, twisted in her seat.
Blaine giggled, seemingly not believing the threat, and continued to sing loudly. When he didn't stop for another two minutes, even after numerous requests and demands for him to quieten down, Jack had had enough. He slammed on the brakes, hard enough to surprise Katia and make her cry from the shock. Blaine instantly shut up, eyes wide and afraid as Jack got out of the car and opened his son's door.
"Jack," his wife said in horror as he unbuckled Blaine from the seat and pulled him out. Blaine kicked and tried to hold onto his father, saying over and over again that he was 'sorry, Daddy!'. Jack put him down and knelt down to his level, holding his shoulders to make sure Blaine was looking at him. The boy stared at him, fear in his eyes and tugging on his curls nervously.
"Daddy, I'm sorry," he mumbled.
Jack sighed as he stood up and walked back towards the car. Miranda was out of the car by now and was staring at him from the far side as if he were crazy. Katia was still crying in the backseat. As Jack made his way back he felt Blaine latch onto his legs from behind.
"Daddy! Don't leave me here! I'm sorry!"
Jack stopped and turned to his son, kneeling down again. Blaine threw himself at his father and hugged him, crying now. Jack hugged him in return, softening. He only wanted to teach him a lesson – he had never intended to leave him there, even to pick him up in a minute or two.
"You promise you won't do that again?" Jack asked.
Blaine nodded into his shoulder, "Promise. Never ever."
"Okay then." He picked up his son and buckled him back into his seat, Miranda calming the two year old beside him. A few minutes later and they were back on the road. The dark-haired woman in the passenger seat refused to do anything but stare straight ahead and remain silent, ignoring her husband entirely.
Blaine didn't kick the back of the seat ever again.
The second time Blaine got kicked out of the car he was ten years old.
"How was the game?" Jack asked, glancing over at his son in the rear view mirror. The boy was slouched in his seat, arms folded and frowning, eyes downcast with an angry pout.
"You would know if you'd come to watch."
"Blaine…" Jack sighed in warning "You know I would have come if I could. I had…"
"Yeah, I know," Blaine muttered "Important meeting and all that."
Jack gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He really didn't want to argue with his son. He had wanted to go to Blaine's soccer game but an important engagement had come up and he'd been forced to attend. Now Blaine was mad at him for something he couldn't control and it made him angry.
"I really wanted to go," he tried to explain "I didn't have a choice."
"You could have come instead of going to your stupid meeting."
"It's my job, Blaine."
The boy huffed and slumped down further in his seat, picking at his dirty soccer uniform. It irritated Jack and he glowered at his son through the mirror.
"I try, Blaine, I really do. But I can't be there all the time. I have to work to support you and Katia and your mother."
"You're never there!" Blaine yelled, looking up to glare at his father's reflection in anger "You're never there, even when you say you will be! You're always busy with work and it's not fair! I'm the only kid that has to wait half an hour to get picked up after the game because my dad wasn't already there. I just wanted to show you how good I was! I scored two goals today and I kept looking for you in the crowd but you weren't there! I just wanted you to be-"
"That's enough!" Jack yelled, slamming his foot down on the brakes. They both jerked forward, held back by the seatbelts. Blaine stared in confusion and horror as Jack stormed to his door and yanked it open.
"Get out."
"Dad…"
Jack reached over, Blaine shrinking back as the man undid his seatbelt and hauled him out of the car. Blaine hit the ground hard and he rolled onto his back to stare up at his father in shock. Jack stood over him, yelling in frustration.
"Life's not perfect, Blaine! I try to be there when I can, and I'm sorry if that's not good enough for you!"
Jack stalked back towards the car. He moved to shut Blaine's door but his son stopped him with a hand on his arm. He started to speak but Jack shook him off, sending him stumbling back. The man slid into the driver's seat and sighed, but he couldn't close the door in time to block out Blaine's voice.
"Dad? Don't leave me out here, it'll take ages to walk home. Dad, what are you doing? Daddy!"
Jack felt like shit. Blaine had stopped calling him that when he was eight. He didn't pull the 'daddy' card unless he was really upset. But he couldn't back down now. He had to show Blaine that he wasn't going to take that sort of crap from him – that he was strong and he wasn't going to give in to a few tears and 'daddy'. Shit, he's crying.
Blaine stared after his father as Jack accelerated and disappeared down the road. He waited for a few minutes, wondering if he would come back to pick him up. Maybe he'd just gone around the corner and was going to return to ask if he'd learned his lesson. But after five minutes of waiting, Blaine realised that his father wasn't coming back.
"I just wanted you to be proud of me," Blaine whispered as he began walking.
The last time Blaine got kicked out of the car he was fifteen years old.
Blaine was sulking and silent in the backseat.
Jack was fuming in the driver's seat.
Gay.
Who the hell did Blaine think he was? He couldn't just do that. He wasn't allowed to. Blaine didn't understand what stress he was put under because of this, the threat it posed to their family. The kid wanted attention and he'd gotten it – now couldn't he see he was just hurting everyone around him, including himself? The word floated around in Jack's head, taunting and tormenting. Gay.
He'd had enough. When his son had come out a few months ago, Jack had been sure it was to get attention. The boy had always felt like he didn't get enough and this was just a play for more. Then he'd gone to that stupid dance with that stupid boy and gotten hurt.
Jack didn't want to see his son hurt. And seeing him in that hospital bed after having the crap beaten out of him had been painful. But it was his own fault, really. He shouldn't have gone to that dance – he'd said so to Blaine, but the teenager had just yelled at him and stormed off to go anyway. And then he'd gotten hurt. Jack just wanted to make his son see that he was being silly. Not only had he been injured, his mother and sister were upset and worried about him.
He'd suggested Dalton as a place where Blaine would be safe and able to straighten out. Blaine hadn't taken that so well, not wanting to move halfway across the state just so his father didn't have to see him – his words, not Jack's. But he just wanted what was best for his son and Dalton Academy seemed to be able to provide that.
And now here they were, driving to Westerville with Blaine sulking and he was angry. His son had no right to be upset over this. It was for his own good and if he didn't see that, then he soon would.
"I know what you want me to say," Blaine said quietly.
"You obviously don't," Jack snapped, too tired from the three hours he'd already been driving to deal with his son right now "Because I would like you to be quiet."
Blaine continued as if his father hadn't spoken. "You want me to say I'm sorry. That I was wrong."
That would be a start.
"But I won't do it, Dad," Blaine lifted his head and caught his father's gaze in the rear view mirror "And sending me to some private school hours away isn't going to change anything. I'm still going to be me."
"Blaine, I really don't want to talk right now."
"You never want to talk. You never want to be around me. Even when you didn't know I was gay you were always too busy to talk to me. You were never there, just like now."
"Blaine." A warning.
He ignored it with teenage stubbornness. "I know you think you're doing this for my own good, but you're not. You just don't want to deal with me. You're hoping that when you see me next I'll be straight, but I won't. You can't change me, Dad."
Jack swore under his breath and, not for the first time, hit the brake hard. The car skidded to a stop on the side of the road.
"Get out."
Blaine was damn stubborn, he'd give him that. "It's still another half an hour's drive. You're going to make me walk." It wasn't even a question this time – he just knew.
Jack slid out of the driver's seat and walked as calmly as he could to the rear of the car. He pulled his son's things out and left them on the ground, almost throwing the guitar case in frustration. But he wasn't going to blow. Not this time.
"Blaine, get out of the car."
This time, the teenager did as he was told. He shut the door behind him with a final-sounding thud and refused to meet his father's gaze. Jack sighed and returned to his seat, locking the doors securely.
He didn't even look back in the mirror as he did a U-turn and drove away.
Fifteen years later…
"Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy."
"What is it, Paris?" Kurt sighed, tapping the steering wheel in annoyance. Blaine smiled at him which only earned him a tired yet intimidating signature bitch glare. From the backseat, their five year old son giggled and bounced up and down as far as his seatbelt would allow.
"I had heaps of fun at Ryan's," Paris grinned "Heaps and heaps. Can we go back tomorrow?"
"I think Ryan's mom is going to need a break from you two," Kurt replied and then under his breath, said "I certainly do. One hyperactive five year old is enough for me."
Blaine laughed, twisting in his seat to face his little boy. He poked his tongue out, gesturing to Kurt as he did so. It made Paris giggle more, tugging on his fringe of light brown hair, hazel eyes sparkling with laughter. He kicked out his legs and decided to make a game out of targeting the back of Kurt's chair.
"Paris, stop it," Kurt said as calmly as he could "You'll make me crash."
"Silly Daddy," the boy said with a smile "You can't crash. You're too good!"
"Why thank you," Kurt rolled his eyes "But please stop kicking the back of my chair."
Paris ignored him, continuing to attack the seat with his little feet. Blaine tried as well, reaching back to grab his arm gently to distract him. But he refused to stop, just pulling his arm out of Blaine's grip and carrying on his assault. After a few more minutes of the behaviour, Kurt snapped.
"Paris Hummel-Anderson, I will stop this car and make you walk home if you don't stop."
The five year old thought it was hilarious, his giggling getting louder and stepping up his kicking. Meanwhile, Blaine froze. He stared at Kurt in silence before shooting his hand out to grab his partner's shoulder. Kurt glanced at him, confused.
"Blaine…"
"Don't."
"What…" it took him a split second to realise what Blaine was talking about and his expression changed from confusion to horror "Of course not. It was just to get him to shut up – although it obviously didn't work." Paris was laughing hysterically and still kicking "But I would never just leave him on the side of the road. He's five, Blaine, why would you think I'd actually do that?"
Most of the conversation took place as Kurt kept his eyes on the road, though flicking back occasionally, so he only caught a few flashes of the guilt and panic on his husband's face. But he saw enough to understand. As calmly as he could manage, Kurt spoke again.
"Blaine, can you let go? I can't drive properly-"
Blaine's hand whipped back faster than lightning and he sat staring straight ahead with a blank look on his face. He whispered quietly, "Sorry."
Kurt just nodded. Paris seemed to have picked up on the tension in the car and had stopped, looking at his fathers curiously.
"Is Daddy sad?" he asked, sounding genuinely worried.
"I'm okay, Paris" Blaine replied, faking a smile to his son.
But he and Kurt both knew that he wasn't.
The second Paris was out of his seat he wrapped his arms around Blaine and hugged him tightly.
"Sorry Daddy. I didn't want to make you sad."
"It wasn't you," Blaine smiled as he carried his son towards their building, Kurt close behind. It took a few minutes but finally the three of them were safely in the apartment and Paris was running off to play in his room. It left Kurt and Blaine alone to talk – but Blaine didn't want to.
"What happened?" Kurt asked, but the other shook his head, walking away "Nothing. Just… nothing."
Kurt grabbed his shoulder and spun him around to face him. "Blaine, that wasn't nothing. Talk to me. What's wrong?"
The brunette moved them to the couch and pulled Blaine into his lap, rubbing his back – Blaine hadn't even realised he was shaking.
"It's stupid…"
"Nothing's stupid. Please, tell me. I want to make it better."
"Just… my father…"
And then the whole story came out. Kurt listened in silence as Blaine recounted the times his father had almost – or had – left him on the side of the road to walk. He recalled how scared he'd been as a young child, how it had taken him an hour to walk home after the soccer game incident, how he'd been dumped miles from anywhere to make his own way to Dalton. By the time he was finished he was still shaking though not as much, with his head in Kurt's lap and a hand running comfortingly through his curls.
"I had no idea…" the brunette said quietly "I'm sorry. I certainly won't be saying that to Paris again."
"It's okay," Blaine said for the hundredth time that night "I got over it."
And he realised how pathetic and stupid that sounded when Kurt glanced at him with a raised eyebrow and a disbelieving look. But he wasn't called on it and for that he was grateful. He thought he'd gotten over it – after all, it had happened fifteen years ago and longer – but the incident with Paris had reopened those scars and reminded him that no, you so do not get to be over this.
"How did you get to Dalton?" Kurt asked quietly "You didn't walk all the way, did you?"
Blaine smiled at the memory. "No. I had some help."
With his guitar slung over his back, a box under one arm and dragging a trunk behind him, Blaine was pretty sure he looked like some Harry Potter reject. Or just sad and pitiful. Either way, none of the few cars that passed him stopped to help. Blaine resigned himself to a couple hours of walking – and damn, it was going to get dark soon – with a sigh, almost tripping over his own feet as he walked.
The sound of tyres on the road grinding to a halt made Blaine turn around. An innocuous yet decidedly expensive car had pulled to a stop behind him and a dark-skinned boy about his age was getting out of the passenger seat to walk towards him.
"You need a lift?"
Blaine sighed again. He had no idea if he could trust this guy but hours of dragging his stuff around wasn't so appealing either. He shrugged in indecision and the stranger just smiled.
"Where are you headed?"
Blaine hesitated before replying, "Westerville. Dalton Academy, actually."
The look on the boy's face was nothing short of incredulous. "Seriously? That's kind of weird, to be honest. I'm on my way there myself before the term starts."
Blaine frowned. If he were honest with himself, it all sounded a bit suspicious. But it was either take the risk and possibly end up murdered and lying in a shallow grave (oh, how his father would love that) or try to make his way there on his own – which would take forever. In the end he gave the boy a tentative smile and nodded.
"I guess I could use a lift."
The other grinned and walked closer, taking the box from his hands and gesturing for Blaine to follow. They headed to the rear of the car and loaded his things in beside what were obviously the boy's own belongings, the guitar case placed carefully so as to avoid any more damage than had already been caused by being thrown around earlier. Then cautiously Blaine slid into the backseat, the other taking the opposite side. From the driver's seat a woman smiled and spoke.
"Where you headed, sweetheart?"
"Dalton," the stranger answered for him "Isn't that weird?"
The woman raised an eyebrow but drove back onto the road and resumed the trip to the school. Suddenly, surprising Blaine, the other boy swore.
"Shit!"
"Language!" came the call from the front.
"Sorry," the boy called, not sounding apologetic in the least before turning to Blaine with a smile "I haven't even introduced myself. I'm David, David Thompson."
"Blaine Anderson," Blaine replied with a small smile.
"So you play guitar?"
Kurt chuckled, "No wonder you're all such close friends."
"Yeah," Blaine smiled to himself "Once I was settled into school David introduced me to Wes and the Warblers, and the rest is history."
"I am sorry."
"What for?" Blaine sat up, looking at his husband worriedly.
Kurt shook his head, "It was a horrible thing to say, even if I was joking and even if you hadn't had those experiences. I should never have said it."
Blaine just leaned in and kissed him firmly, effectively shutting him up. After a moment they broke apart and Kurt asked him curiously, "What was that for?"
"For being amazing," Blaine answered with a smirk "But do I really need a reason to kiss you?"
"No, you most certainly do not," Kurt said deviously, pulling Blaine back and kissing him again. But just a moment later a small voice piped up.
"I'm hungr – Ew, kisses!"
The pair separated and laughed, Blaine hauling Paris up onto his lap to tickle him. The boy squealed and fought but he was no match for both his parents at once. Finally he managed to wriggle his way out of their grip and run away. Blaine followed him, stalking.
"Watch out for the kiss monster!" he called to a high-pitched giggle from somewhere else in the apartment.
He finally found Paris hiding under his bed. Blaine pulled him out, the boy yelping as his father kissed the top of his head.
"No Daddy, don't want kisses!"
Blaine laughed and sat on the edge of the bed, Paris on his lap. The five year old wrapped his arms around his father's neck and looked him in the eye seriously, though with a little grin.
"You're not sad anymore?"
Blaine shook his head. "Not anymore, Paris. Not anymore."
I used to play 'kiss monster' with my brother when he was little :) This just reminded me of it.
Have any of you guys ever actually been left to walk home? Or picked up a few minutes later? I've been threatened a few times but I've never actually been kicked out.
Please review.