A/N: Please read!

... Yes, yes I know this is a bit of a dark topic but I've become super obsessed with the TV show "Bates Motel" recently (a spin off series based upon the book Psycho by Robert Bloch) and I was like oh man, this could make a great angsty fic so here we are. It's a bloody fantastic show and I seriously recommend you check it out.

Also, I know this chapter is quite short by it's only the prologue and future chapters will be longer.

I'm not really the schedule type of person so uploads won't have a set time but they will be up ASAP.

OK, sorry for blabbing on, enjoy . . . I guess.

Disclaimer: I sadly do not own Glee or Bates Motel.

Prologue

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Blaine shivered. An icy essence hovered over his skin; tickling, waiting, watching. The cold air that slithered in from the outside world into the small room with sly motives possessed Blaine's internal system, touching everything inside his body with an heavy dominant pursuit that, in turn, made his skin feel like the end product of a paper mached balloon.

He was ready to crack, ready to cave in to the hollow vacancy that devoured his being a fraction more as every forlorn day passed. It threatened to break him, and he was ready to be broken. The daunting vacuum that perused his life had begun to edge closer and closer, and it was now advancing towards him at full speed. No matter how hard he tried, there was no escaping the inevitable end. He knew it was close, and it was only a matter of time before it completely consumed him whole, no residue of his existence visible to the human eye. And Blaine was OK with that. He wouldn't want to face the end knowing that the quintessence of the excruciating torture he faces with every quiver of the Earth's beating heart still lingered in the innocent air. He wouldn't want his father to feel that element of pleasure, even with him gone.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Pain is an arousing feeling. The short term adrenaline makes you see things you haven't seen before, hear things you haven't heard before, think things you wouldn't have thought about before. It wipes away any sense of oblivion, hoping to successfully manipulate the human body into doing reckless, unspeakable things. It fulfills your mind with a icy clarity, making the world clearer; a lot less vulnerable. Blaine happened to be a victim. Once the source of pain was within a few inches of him, he doesn't hesitate to lean into the hit, desperately grasping for some sense of motivation to pursue life until the very end, although the end is only a matter of inches away; ready to pounce and win the fight.

With the last fragment of dignity he managed to sustained, Blaine attempts to grasp onto the nearest surface available in his periphery, only resulting in another slash from the infamous Anderson belt.

"What do you think you're doing? Fucking pathetic fag," Mr Anderson, Blaine's father, questioned. The familiar unhinged twinkle of darkness pulsed through his perpetual, soul less eyes.

Blaine knew better than to answer him back, so he stayed quiet and tried to back away, like a mouse sheltering away from its predator.

Mr Anderson only smirked at this, a compound of amusement and satisfaction radiating from his slender figure. The resemblance to a twig was uncanny, but that only made him more daunting to look at as it seemed like the blob of evil could been strained even further, leaving a thin red line amongst a black canvas.

Blaine was disgusted how this unit of evil could host itself in his own bloodline. He couldn't decipher the reason for his curse family, and why he had to be placed in the middle of the battlefield of corruption. It messed with his head, making him feel dizzy and distant from the present as another bruise worthy smack crossed his face, followed by a sickening crack. Blood raised in his throat, forcing its way out of Blaine's mouth, choking him violently.

Mr Anderson reached for the camera that was carefully balanced, unbeknownst to Blaine, on the decaying cupboard in the far end of the room. Without warning, he pressed it into Blaine's view. "Smile for the camera you piece of shit. Let everyone know how much you're enjoying spending time with your Daddy. Come on, SMILE!" Mr Anderson kicked the fragile boy hard, aiming for his ribs.

Blaine cried out, spluttering more blood, the red substance covering the lens forced in front of him. Through his squinted, battered eyes, he could see the anger flare up in his father's eyes, igniting them with a fiery incline.

"You son of a bitch! Do you realize how much this camera costed me? Huh, more than you're worth," He spat; the slimy substance landing on Blaine's forehead. Mr Anderson laughed silently to himself, although the menacing sound could fill a stadium of people.

The noise ripped through Blaine's ear drums, and he was sure that this was the end. The black was ready to annihilate his presence any second, filling the air with a metallic warning. He could feel himself losing consciousness with every pulse of pain that rippled through his delicate frame. Out of habit, he looked down at his pathetic, limp state. His light blue checkered shirt that his mom had bought him specially for his 18th birthday had been torn in two as a consequence from the sharp edge of the belt, meaning the dark bruises were visible for him to observe with defeat. They stood out like a kind word in a sentence of bitter remarks; the blue, purple, and even black areas controlling his once tanned skin. His underwear were halfway down his legs, exposing him entirely. Blaine wished the darkness would hurry up and arrive.

"Look at me," Mr Anderson viciously commanded. The aggression in his voice could easily penetrate ten glass walls.

Blaine didn't hesitate, and instantly looked up, his eyes meeting the deceitful holes of his father. He was certain there was nothing behind them, nothing that filled his skull except hatred and continuous belligerence for everything and everyone that intrudes his wake.

"Look into my eyes and see what you've become."

Blaine was looking. He was searching, scrutinizing, exploring the dark rooms he had now entered. He was ripping through the solid layers of tenebrosity with vigorous desperation, the heavy pants that erupted from his mouth colliding with the murky air. But he found nothing. He was nothing.

"You're nobody, do you understand that? You're nobody," Mr Anderson said, slapping Blaine square in the face, a tingling sensation clawing through his senses. "Nobody wants to deal with you, and now they won't have to." He reaches for his back pocket, only to reveal an odd long shape.

Blaine's face twisted with confusion, but then ironed out into ultimate fright as his father removed the case hiding the object, releasing a sharpened knife. He noticed the way his hands didn't tremble as he lifted the knife up high, almost as if he had used one in this situation before. This was it. This was the end. The cloud of blackness had finally caught up, and now it was time to let go.

He tightly squeezed his eyes, waiting for the impact of the knife. And waited . . . and waited . . . and waited, but it never came. A feeling of curiosity bubbled up through his emotions, rending his eyes open.

He expected the unexpected, but didn't expect the expected as the sight before him squeezed him hard.

His father stood in front of him, mouth open, eyes wide in shock. Through his chest, a silver object tinkled in the light, covered by dark material; an Angel in the presence of Hell. As the life drained from his body, he dropped to his knees, making his mother's manifestation visible as she stared down at Blaine's father with darkness of many Bill Anderson's combined together.

But Blaine couldn't concentrated on his mother in that moment in time, as the final words of his father caught him by surprise.

"Corruption is inevitable, boy."

Bang.