Okay, I have to explain this one. This is a Blaine/Sam Friendship, Only romance if you squint. I plan on this having at least three chapters, if well recieved, I plan on continuing the plot in other stories.
I have this mental image that Sam's home life was terrible. And Blaine and him have known eachother and grown up with eachother and eachother's problems for forever. It'll be explained more throughout the story. Stay with it.
Disclaimer; My Sam's past is DEEPLY influenced by rubyliss' "From Unexpected Places". I fell in love with the storyline, so it's got roots in that. I used the same Dad, basically. This is not a Kum story, so there are differences. But I give her full rights to any resemblence with Sam's father.
I do not own Glee, if I did, Sam would be dating someone who loves him. Kurt would be back home. Blaine would never wear a shirt. And they would both always be making out.
Italics are flashbacks, Regular is present day.
x.x
Sam just stared, eyes a little wider than usual, lips pressed into a straight line. Why didn't they see this was a bad idea? Like. A VERY bad idea! Oh, right. Glancing around, looking at all the positive response, all the excited smiles and peppy conversation it hit him. Oh yeah, it was because their parents weren't mentally deranged, psychotic freak shows. Whose purpose in life was to preach the word of god and torture anyone in their way. He keeps forgetting that that isn't the norm. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed himself long enough to put on a warm façade; the one he wears too often.
Mr. Shue declared they were all going to revisit their childhood this week; sing a song for the club about their parents. More directly; to there Dads, for fathers day. This was, hands down, the worst idea on the entire planet.
x.x
His had cracked harshly against the doorknob. But he didn't scream, he didn't react. It was always better if he didn't scream. Biting his lip, he waited for the kicking to stop. It never seemed to. But finally. The man let out a long slur of laughs, then told him not to do it again. Lest God to find out. And to be a good kid, and go clean up.
The seven year old Sam swallowed, looking over to watch the retreating drunken form walking out the doorway.
"Yes, Daddy." A croak, and then he picked himself up, on autopilot. He put a bleach soaked rag on his blood on the carpet, lest it stain. Then went into the kitchen to put away the peanut butter that he had be caught with before dinner, glaring at it with hatred. As though it were its' fault that it hadn't told him his Father had been right there. Just another black eye to hide.
x.x
He was going to have to lie, right? Right. But singing a song about love, about affection for that man. It made him sick. But it was the only way, he couldn't risk child services showing up again and realizing he wasn't living at home. He couldn't live in one of he foster homes for the next year and a half, and he couldn't live with himself if they blamed Blaine. No, lying was the only choice.
x.x
Sam sat in math, fazed out. He had just gotten out of the hospital less than 24 hours ago. Wow, Just… Wow. He wasn't even sure why he had been allowed to go to school. But, honestly, he was grateful. He didn't have anywhere else to go, and it was probably best for appearances. No one at school had a clue. But that didn't make it any easier to focus, and was, instead of working on algebra, was going through all his choices. He'd most likely go into a foster home, and change schools. He wasn't sure if he could deal with that. But, in the long run, it would be alright. Anything was better than what he came from. Wait! Maybe he could run away! Get on a train, never come back. Wait. No. That wouldn't work. He needed a football scholarship to get into College.
His mental rant was interrupted by the teacher, classroom phone in hand, telling him to go to the Main office. He nodded numbly; sure it was a social worker or something. But when he entered the office, though, it was an entire different story. Dark curls ungelled and loose, in a dusty blue V-neck and darkwash skinny jeans, pea-coat thrown over the ensemble; Blaine somehow was able to pull of mature, put together, and casual, all at the same time. But that's just how Blaine was (Or, well, that's how Blaine was when he wasn't screaming the lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of his lungs, jumping up and down on the couch, spazzing out on the guitar. But he never let that Blaine show. Only for Sam.)
Blaine turned and looked at him, hazel eyes concerned, dark bags under his eyes. His cheeks were stubbly, and he looked like he hadn't slept in a while. He walked across the room to meet Sam, arms automatically wrapping around him into a familiar sturdy hug. Then, his arm still around him as a guide, he pulled him over to the front desk. Sam just blinked, his head not able to catch up to what he was seeing. Why the hell was Blaine there? The woman at the desk said something, her eyes pitying and untrusting. Sam just blinked, and he heard Blaine's warm voice.
"He'll be back by 6th Period, thank you for your help." Sam looked at Blaine, He was going somewhere? But Blaine offered no explanation as they walked out of the building.
He slid into Blaine's old van, his feet sliding onto the dashboard out of routine. The radio was on, per usual, low and playing shuffle of all the eclectic music Blaine had accumulated. They drove in silence, the only sound being that of Bon Jovi's "Living on a Prayer", the tension practically palpable; Blaine was the first to speak.
"Damn it, Sammy. Don't you dare block me out." Sam's head whipped up, looking at the dark haired man who's attention remained on the road, surprised to see the tears threatening those hazel eyes. Sam opened his mouth to respond to that, but came up with nothing.
Red light, "You should have called. You KNOW I would have come and gotten you. God, Sam. You need to know that. I need to know you know that." Blaine's voice faded, he turned his head, eyes on fire, Sam nodded desperately.
"O-of course. Of Course I did- I do. I just, I didn't even know what's going on. I still don't! No one tells me anything." Blaine's face softened, and he sighed, running a hand over his face before starting to drive.
"Well, let me be the first." His voice broke at the end, he knew the system. "You'll be staying with me, I'm eighteen and you're almost 17. I'll be going to court with you on Saturday, we need to pick you up a nice shirt, I think you've grown at least an inch over the past year", his mind traveled to stores, until he realized he hadn't finished his sentence. Sam chuckled. Typical Blaine. He's always been a nervous rambler. Blaine shot him a look, "We'll just be there to give over the paper work, which I requested there be a spot for you to sign. Of course, it's your choice." Blaine's eyes flashed angrily, "It's always your choice. We've got to be at the lawyers by 10. We'll spend the weekend moving you in; I've already cleared it with your coach to miss Friday's practice." Sam just sat there, staring at him. They pulled into Blaine's parking spot.
"I'm moving in with you." It wasn't a question, and it came out more like a hopeful murmur.
Blaine glanced over at him, eyebrows furrowed. Sam looked over, but not at Blaine. He was looking at the apartment complex that had held so many happy memories, some of the only, over the past few years. He had spent countless nights there; he knew where the spare key was (under the ugly sculpture of a squirrel holding an acorn) for every time things got out of hand at home. He always had an escape. When he had been at Dalton, it had been their dorm. During the summer, and then after he had transferred,, it had always been this apartment. This apartment; with it's old worn corduroy couch, the peeling wallpaper, the ancient radio that was stuck on the station and you couldn't actually turn off (you had to just turn the volume all the way down), and it's constant old-book-baked-bread-smell. He looked at it now, and saw what he always saw. He saw home.
So then, much to Blaine's alarm, Sam burst into tears, despite the huge smile that stretched over his face.
"Everything's gonna be alright now." He mumbled; closing his eyes, resting his head against the headrest, feeling as though he was breathing for the first time in years.
"Everything is going to be okay."