So, this idea popped into my head a couple of weeks ago, and refused to leave until I'd written it down. And here you have it.
Klaine meets 'Meet the Robinsons'.
'T' for language and viewpoints that I do not condone.
Disclaimer; I own absolutely nothing of anything here.
Fourteen year old Blaine Anderson hates life.
At least, right at this moment he does.
Normally he tries to keep up a fairly cheerful demeanor- you know, 'have a positive attitude and so will everyone else' 'you smile and the world smiles with you'. All that crap that was hung on the guidance counselor's puke colored walls, covering up the awful color with too-cheery posters of bullshit sayings that hurt your eyes with the bright color-schemes. If he'd been sitting the uncomfortable lumpy chair reserved for the 'troubled youth' that visited the guidance office, the counselor would look over her horn-rimmed glasses at him and asked him to try and look back and focus on who or what his anger was directed at.
Blaine snorts to himself. Years of using bleach on her bee-hive hair-do must have permanently damaged the woman's brain. Or maybe it was the excessive bright red lipstick; could years of eating dyed wax affect your brain?
He sighs, and shifts his backpack to a more comfortable position on his shoulder as he continues walking.
He knew exactly who he was angry with right now.
Himself, for not keeping his mouth shut for five more minutes and landing himself in this predicament.
His mother, for not trying harder. But the majority of his rage was towards his father.
His mother at least tries to understand; his father refuses, point-blank, to accept him until he 'puts his head back on straight and starts acting like a normal teenage boy'.
His hand tenses around the strap of his bag as he recalls the last hour and a half.
He walks in the door, trying to stay as quiet as possible so that he can escape to his room and avoid his parents. Maybe try and clean-up his face before dinner.
Blaine manages to get the door shut silently and make it to the bottom of the stairwell.
"Blaine? Is that you?" His mother calls from the kitchen.
He wants to ask her who else it could possibly be, but instead freezes with one foot on the steps, trying to stay invisible. This is an awful idea, he realizes about two seconds too late, as his battered and bruised body screams in protest as he tenses his muscles. An involuntary whimper of pain escapes him.
"Baby?"
His mother comes walking out of the kitchen and turns on the foyer lights. Blaine tries to escape up the stairs before she can see just how bad...
She grabs his arm, but when he winces, takes his backpack and forces him to turn and face her by holding the straps.
"Oh, honey. Again?"
He flinches away as she raises a gentle hand to caress his face. He has a split lip to go with the black eye this time, as well as the handprints on his arms were they'd grabbed and held him, and the smattering of bruises along his ribcage and stomach where they'd knocked the wind out of him...and then some.
She sighs and lets him go.
"Go get cleaned up, sweetheart. Dinner's in thirty minutes."
He just nods stiffly and retreats as fast as he can to his bedroom.
When he walks quietly back downstairs, he hears raised voices. Blaine almost runs back upstairs, but curiosity makes him inch forward until he can hear the conversation fairly clearly.
"...third time this month that he's come home with bruises like that!...should lodge a complaint with the school..."
His mothers voice is equal part pleading and angry. Blaine edges closer, heart pounding. His father sighs. There is a rustle of paper as he puts down the business section of the newspaper that Blaine knows he always reads before dinner.
"I could file a complaint with the school, but I see no reason too. He is bringing this upon himself. If he simply gave up this...attitude, they would leave him alone. The school won't do anything anyway, so I see no reason to go out of my way and waste my time on something that he could prevent on his own if he just...manned up." His tone is detached and cool.
There is a rustle of paper as Blaine's father resumes reading his paper. Blaine suddenly feels as though the hall in closing in on him, suffocating him. Crushing him. His mother slams a dish onto the table.
"He. Is. Your. Son. Who has been coming home and hiding from us because of what his peers are doing. You should 'man up' and defend your only child."
Another rustle of paper and sigh from his father.
"If he would just give up on this...this faggy nonsense, and stop bringing this on himself, I could do something. But until then there is simply nothing..."
Blaine can't take listening anymore. He walks into the dining room, shaking.
"...I can do."
"Will do, you mean."
His parents look up when he speaks. Blaine clenches his fists at his sides, trying to keep them from shaking.
"You won't do anything because if you dare to defend your gay son then it's like you might actually approve of me for once. And you can't have that. Not when your son is a fag." He spits the words at his father, relieved that his voice doesn't shake. "People at work might talk, and you are so concentrated on keeping up your stupid reputation that you are scared of what might happen to you. Because you are a coward. You have no idea, no idea, what I go through at school everyday." He lets out a harsh laugh. "I would be on cloud nine if all people did was talk about me behind my back. But they shout it at me in the halls, paint it on my locker, and shove it in my backpack. Homo, faggot, cocksucker..."
His mother flinches at his words. His fathers face is impassive, merely waiting for him to finish.
"Blaine, sweetie, don't say things like that about yourself." She interrupts his angry rant.
"Why not?" He challenges. "It's not like I don't hear that, and worse, at school everyday. That what they think of me. What he thinks."
Blaine nods jerkily at his father.
"Why should I think any differently?"
Blaine is breathing heavily by this point, trying desperately not to cry. Real men don't cry, son.
His father merely looks at him over his paper, seemingly unfazed.
"Blaine, you are an Anderson man. You know full well why I have to uphold my reputation. I can't have a negative attitude like this under my roof. If you are going to continue with this unreasonable conduct, you cannot stay in my house."
He makes to go back to his paper. Blaine stares at him, hurt and outrage making him unable to form coherent words. His mother stands to the side, looking nervously from husband to son. Blaine gapes for a moment, then finally recovers.
"Fine." They look back at him. "I'll go. I don't want to live with cowards anyway."
He runs out of the room before they can say anything else.
No one comes after him when he slams the front door behind him.
Blaine shakes his head and tries to focus on happier things in his life. Not that there are many of those, but there are some.
Not the fact that his father wouldn't accept him. Or that his mother couldn't stand up for him when it really counted.
Happy thoughts, he reminds himself. Like the Sadie Hawkins Dance.
Blaine allowed himself to grin giddily. The dance was two weeks away and he was going with another boy.
Just as friends, but still.
He began to drift off into cheerful daydreams when a flicker of motion caught his eye.
Instantly, he tenses, watching the motion with his peripheral vision. Blaine suddenly feels very exposed and venerable. He is sitting on a park bench near the small playground at the end of his neighborhood. There is a strip of wooded area a few yards in front of him, but it is nowhere near enough coverage for him to hide in. The rest of the area around him is open grass fields, broken only by carefully planted baby trees in a strict straight line.
Whomever is currently trying to sneak up on him is darting from one thin tree to the next, apparently under the illusion that the tiny stick-trees hide them completely. Blaine rolls his eyes and sighs.
"Look, I can see you, alright? If your going to beat me up, at least be up front about it. Someone's already beaten you to the punch anyway."
He winces at his choice of words. At least his voice didn't shake.
"I'm not gonna beat you up."
Blaine bites back a scream and jumps out of his skin as a soft voice speaks right in his ear. Clutching his chest as he tries to slow his heart rate down to normal, Blaine turns to find a boy, slightly younger than him, standing next to the bench. He is frowning down at Blaine.
The other boy is decidedly odd-looking. His jacket is made up entirely of oddly cut angles and strategically placed buttons. Dark skinny jeans (the kind that Blaine wants to wear, but is to afraid to at school) are tucked into high, laced up black boots. Weird, bright purple, fingerless gloves cover his hands. It is early spring, and a nice day, but the boy has a thick, knitted, dark-green wool hat on that covers more that the required amount of his head. It completely covers his hair and falls below his ears, and nearly covers his dark eyebrows. Bright, green eyes are staring at Blaine with concern.
Blaine realizes that he's staring and looks away. The kid sits down on the bench next to him, still staring at him.
"Sorry I scared you. I didn't mean too. I just had to make sure that you were the right person."
Blaine sighs.
"Look, kid, I don't know who you're looking for, but I've not had the best day and I can't deal with some weird stalker on top of it. So if you could just leave me alone and...WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
Blaine jerks away suddenly as the kid reaches out a hand to touch his face. The kid is staring at his black eye, a faintly horrified look on his face.
"Someone hit you!" Blaine snorts at his shocked tone.
"Yeah, I noticed." The kid is still staring, shocked.
"But you're Blaine Anderson."
"Yes...I know that too." He eyes the boy cautiously. "Um, who are you?"
The kid jerks out of his daze.
"Sorry! I forgot that you don't know me." He sticks out a hand for Blaine to shake. "I'm Eth-um...Evan. Evan Hu-...Anderson. Evan Handerson."
He seems quite pleased with himself at being able to remember his own name. Blaine does not shake his hand.
"Okay. Evan. I'm gonna be really blunt right now. You're kinda freaking me out. So if you could just, you know, go home and leave me alone, that'd be great."
Evan gives him a strange look before his words sink in. His face drops.
"Oh. Right. Sorry, I tend to come on a little strong." Evan gives him another long look. "Why are you sitting on a park bench at time of day anyway?"
"Maybe I can't go home right now." Blaine snaps. He's tired and achy and this kid will not leave him alone. Evan frowns at him again.
"Why don't you just go to Lima then?" He seems genuinely confused. Blaine stifles a laugh as he stands up to walk away, grabbing his bag.
"Why on earth would I go to Lima? That town is even smaller and more backwards than this one. People like me get treated just as badly there, if not worse."
He starts to walk away, feeling Evan still staring at his retreating back.
I'll go somewhere else for a while, he thinks, then come back here when the kid is gone and sleep on the bench.
He hears Evan start to yell after him, and just walks faster.
Behind him, 'the kid' stares after him, a faintly nauseous feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.
He checks his fingers and wiggles his toes. All accounted for. Well, there was one good thing.
But that didn't change the fact that he had screwed up big time. He heaves a sigh.
"Well, shit. Dad's gonna kill me."
A/N; Well well well? What did you think? Do you want more? Should I keep going? Tell me tell me tell me tell me. Please.
Pllllease.
~commontater