A/N I've pretty much just been writing drabbles for every idea that pops into my head. I think this one has promise of becoming something bigger...so, here we are.
To Remember: You could describe this as AU, I suppose, but there are real elements leading up to the AUness. This is to be a romance, an angst, a drama. Rated M for heavy swearing and content throughout the entire story.
That Was The Past
"I'm the president
Of the shadow government
The grant governor of the federal reserve
Public enemy of the society."
-33 Degrees
And, now, here he was.
What events had brought him up to this point, he could not recall. He remembered, faintly, of the way his father had looked at him, even when he wasn't looking at all. During then, when his father was down under in a mild but reverberating coma, he had money from different bank accounts to keep himself, and his son, afloat.
But when days turned into weeks, and eventually, the way time does, weeks turned into months. Money was dwindling, and it wasn't as if they could spend it until the very last penny was gone. Even in a desperate time, money surely had to saved as a backup.
So, when nights at the hospital became more and more frequent, and by the time the nurses and even some of the doctors could identify him by his first name when he arrived in the building, Social Services decided it was a good time to intervene. Perhaps they should have made their presence known sooner? It was no matter now. Past is past, isn't it?
Social Services knew by instinct, or possibly by the boy's weak but angry stance, that it would be more than foolish to move this boy more than fifty-plus miles away from Lima, Ohio. They found a happy, adorable family who were more than happy to take him in. The family was the cliche 'seventies clan, where everyone seemed to coexist in their own little world of peace and harmony.
The family consisted of a middle aged couple, with a pre-teen daughter and son set of twins. And when the boy was whisked away from his empty house, he knew this life would be the equivalent of hell. He would take the empty Hummel residence over this smiling wasteland.
Fortunately, though, the family's house was only a half of an hour drive from McKinley, so he was still allowed to attend his high school, all the while partaking in Glee club, which seemed to be the one small shred of light that shone on life.
The boy threw himself into his studies, into his singing, into his friends. The only times when he was really in in foster family's home was at night, and even then, sometimes he would sleep over at either Rachel's or Mercedes' house. Some nights, a sleepover was held at the hospital - party of one.
Three months later, the boy was ready to collapse. Bullying increased by one hundred and fifty percent, and with that along with his nearly sickening 'new' family, he didn't think he could last much longer in this hell. He dreamed of New York, and the thought was the last comfort he seemed to have at many points.
Then, his most focused bully, Dave Karofsky, had nearly assaulted him. At times, the boy could still feel the other's insistent mouth on his. The boy labeled that as the breaking point.
The night of the forced kiss, the boy skipped his normal routine of staying after school in the library until closing time, and headed straight to his 'home'. His foster parents were working, Mr. Johnson at the office, Mrs. Johnson tending to the shrubs in the back. The boy slithered against the wall, as hidden as he could get his body to be, he went to his room. Getting a relatively small bag, he stuffed two of his favorite shirts, a pair of sweats, two pairs of jeans and a few minor accessories. After that came his phone charger, his address book, his wallet, and a black coat. His iPod and charger followed. A picture of his real family, of his deceased mother and his hospitalized father and him, was placed delicately into the front pocket.
Mrs. Johnson was finishing her job on the brush, and being quick, the boy grabbed a small stash of money out of the family's 'For-A-Rainy-Day' stash. The mother greeted him when she walked in the kitchen, and the boy nodded and offered a smile.
That night, at around one in the morning, the boy curled himself out of his window and onto the dew sprinkled lawn. Not looking back, he zipped up his black heeled boots and slung his bag deftly across his shoulders. And he walked.
With the barely audible thuds of his boots on the pavement, Kurt Hummel realized he could go anywhere he wanted. New York? As long as he didn't let his guard down, he could do whatever he wanted.
No one saw him, no one heard him. Because, of course, if a tree was to fall in the middle of the forest and no one was around to hear it, did it really make a sound?
Or, really, if a boy who could be classified as alone was to leave, and no one seemed to care, did it really matter?
Kurt Hummel turned seventeen today. Knowing full well that he was splurging himself, he had ordered (ordered!, even the thought was ludicrous!) himself a two dollar brownie from the bakery down the road from where he was staying. Sticking a match in the top layer of icing, Kurt wished himself a happy birthday before digging in.
It was midnight. He had decided a few nights ago that this would be the last building he would hit for the fortnight. It seemed like a good idea to lay low for a few days, and besides, he had enough money to supply him with a month's luxuries, not counting his tucked away money for a bus ticket to New York. He was set, and this last house was simply a birthday treat to himself.
Stretching gracefully to his feet, Kurt took a deep breath and threw on his usual night time clothes: black leggings, knee-high, heeled boots and a simple, Gucci black tee. His hair was styled as perfectly as always, and he twisted his arms behind his head, looking up at the stars.
His living conditions were not the best, by any means. He lived in an abandoned upper level of a consignment store, the owner using it as storage but never coming up. A large window casted dark light across the room, the stars glinting ominously against Kurt's cheeks. He closed his eyes, resigning himself to meaningless thoughts of robbery, though by now he considered himself an expert on the matter.
He dare not dwell on how he came to be a criminal, if he should call himself that. He knew stealing was wrong, he knew since he was able to speak, and he wished more than anything to go back in time to tell his naive pre-school self of what was to happen.
The old clock ticked behind him. Twelve fifteen. He better get going, if he wanted to make this trip successful. He stored his belongings in an empty box, hidden by an array of other boxes, and he skidded out the window, down the pillar and onto the ground.
While he slunk around the corner, he thought of New York. He could get there, he just needed money.
The house was an hour walk away, but when he got there, Kurt took a moment to softly observe. He had never been fascinated in a house like this before. It was beautiful, with a subtle Victorian hint to the shaping and colors, and the lawn was simply divine. Well tended to, the right amount of decor and it fit the home perfectly.
A selfish part of his brain screamed, 'Get in there!', while his rational and thruthful mind told him to skip this house. Another home, perhaps, another night. The thought of New York's shining lights and opportunity drove his legs forward, and soon, he was picking the back door lock and slinking in.
He forced himself not to get too distracted in the furnishings of the living room and kitchen, instead squinting his eyes for astray money. He hoped that because he only took cash, and not belongings and personal valuables, it would lessen the impact if he should get caught. He knew he wouldn't, though.
Picking up a twenty and a few quarters, he continued around the house. Silently, he climbed the stairs, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the pictures lining the walls. He couldn't bear the faces of smiling families, when his were nonexistent or nearly there.
A bright light obstructed his vision. The light at the top of the stairs had flashed on, and a shadow and footsteps were fast approaching. Kurt swayed on the spot, waiting a second in practice before grabbing a hold of the railing, and flipping himself over it, landing with a silent thunk on the floor. The footsteps paused a moment, as if sensing another being, but continued down the stairs. Kurt dove with a roll under a work desk in the corner.
The overhead light flicked on, but shadows still concealed Kurt's body. He could see slippered feet and old plaid pants crossing his line of vision. They stuttered in front of Kurt's face, and Kurt smirked when they passed on, though he shook with fear. The light was turned off after a moment, and sensing a quick escape, he crawled out from under the desk.
A ten dollar bill was laying desolately on the desktop, and unable to resist the urge, Kurt reached out and grabbed it, but not before the light flickered on above him. Kurt whipped around to see a ruggedly handsome man, around the same age as his father, staring at him in evident shock. Kurt screamed in terror on the inside, though his exterior composure was calm, cocky even. He made a show of putting the ten in his pocket, and sprinted away, unlatching the front door and releasing himself in the fresh air, hearing the man's yells from behind.
Stopping himself in the middle of the lawn, Kurt turned back around to see the man standing in the doorway, but with a woman Kurt presumed to be his wife, and a teenage boy. The woman looked fearful, though angry tears slowed their way down her face. The man still looked shocked, as if the mere thought of someone stealing from him! was unimaginable.
The teenage boy, though, looked curious. His head was tilted to the side, and although he still appeared furious and a bit frightened, his features were mainly constructed into an inquisitive look.
Kurt paused, staring at the boy in wonder, but he recalled his wits and ran away into the dark night.
"Blaine," the woman could be heard saying, "Blaine, sweetie, get me the phone. Go to bed after. Goodnight, darling."
