Title: A badass by any other name (1/2)
Pairing: Puck/Kurt/Blaine friendship, Kurt/Blaine
Rating:PG-13
Warning:crack, language, deviant behavior
Summary: When Puck and Kurt start an unlikely bromance, Blaine becomes a little concerned. When Kurt questions his badassness, Blaine goes into a fugue. Shit just got real.
AN: Set between AVGC and SSS, written during winter hiatus. Obviously jossed by character development & current storyline, but still amusing. I will always love goober!Blaine.
Blaine Anderson was usually a humble man. He didn't let his popularity from being the Warbler's lead soloist get to his head. Sure, it was always flattering to have the other Dalton boys part the hallways and look at him like a god, or get an extra helping of lunch with just a charming smile to the lunch staff, or even have the freshman flush and fumble and worship the very ground he walked on... But, Blaine was a good guy. So he'd always sidle up with a friend (usually normally always Kurt) and walk him to class, or insist on paying an extra dollar for lunch, and he always, always let the freshman down as easy as he could, making them a pity sundae and having a nice long talk about feelings.
But sometimes, in the early morning, when Blaine was alone in the halls of Dalton, he would stop and look at his reflection. Sharply dressed in his uniform, hair perfectly gelled...and Blaine would raise his hands, Bond-style.
Checking his profile, his imaginary hand gun raised, he'd think to himself, "BA doesn't stand for Blaine Anderson anymore...but badass!"
And Blaine would grin widely as he thought of all the outrageous things he could do, and savored the fantasies of him breaking all of Dalton's rules and turning the place on it's head. But then the bell would ring, and Blaine would guiltily readjust his tie and go help a teacher carry folders or find Kurt and walk him to class.
But still, underneath all that goodness, Blaine knew...
Badass.
It wasn't until a fateful encounter in January that Blaine's self-perception as a badass was systematically destroyed.
At the (deliciously soft) hands of Kurt, no less.
It had started off as another fine day at Dalton. Blaine had gotten a perfect score on his Latin test, had a perfect lunch with (perfect) Kurt, the banter between them playful and easy, and harmonized perfectly with the other Warblers during practice.
And then he went to the first session of compulsory community tutoring. And Blaine though it started out rather perfectly, despite what the orientation leaders had warned the seniors about back in December.
'These boys may be your age,' they had warned, 'but they are labeled juvenile delinquents for a reason. They are dangerous, they are aggressive, and they have nothing to lose. Don't provoke them. Don't give them anything that could be used as a weapon. And if they threaten you, absolutely, positively DO NOT fight them. Just keep calm and let the correctional officers handle the situation.' And from there all serious talk shifted towards what everyone was planning for Winter Break.
So Blaine remained genial as the grey bus with Mondale's School for Boys written on the side pulled up to the front entrance. A mixture of boys in jumpsuits and regular clothes piled out and were being divided into smaller groups by their officers. Blaine looked around at the other seniors muttering to each other, already divided into what sections they were tutoring, scattered across the expansive library. He then clapped a hand against a nervous Wes' shoulder and gave a bright smile.
"Everything will be fine." Blaine said, as they both watched five boys and an officer join their remedial math group.
Everything was not fine.
Blaine began to figure that out as he sat across from Eduardo "Killface" Sanchez, a hulking mass of tattoos and scars, as the latter began crunching the end of his pencil in frustration. His mechanical pencil.
"I just don't understand-", Eduardo growled, his voice becoming angry and emotional.
"Hey, hey, it's okay. We'll just break the problem down more," Blaine replied patiently, trying to soothe the beast.
He could hear several other boys muttering angrily around him, their tutors trying to respond as calmly and collectively as possible. Blaine noticed that poor Wes was actually shaking, sitting across from a large mohawked boy in a red letterman jacket as he retried explaining Law of Reasoning. Blaine turned back to Eduardo, who had begun drawing a rather crude drawing of Blaine getting attacked by a shark wielding explosive nun-chucks. Or something.
"Well," Blaine chirped, bringing a fresh sheet of paper and placing it over the drawing, " I didn't realize you're an artist,- no wonder you're not getting my explanation of the equation! I think we may get somewhere if we visualize it. Here- let's draw it out, okay?" And just like that, Eduardo's oncoming look of rage lessened.
"Okay, so if Tommy has five apples-"
"-I'LL SPELL IT HOWEVER I WANT TO BITCH-"
The sound of upturned tables and books clashed explosively over the dull thrum of the library. Blaine turned to see a bodybuilder of a man grabbing the lapels of one of the English tutors.
"Y-you can't SPELL WITH NUMBERS," the Dalton boy screamed back, half in hysterics, but a grammar nazi to the core.
Several of the correctional officers jumped at the scuffle, which just exacerbated the other delinquents into joining the fray. Their assigned officer slipped past Blaine's table, getting in between a book tossing fight. Blaine winced, because those history books looked heavy. And then he heard a strangled choke from Wes' corner, making Blaine turn around quickly in concern. Wes was sitting there, pale-faced, but the chair in front of him was empty. Blaine gave a half glance at Eduardo (who started drawing again) before moving over to Wes' table.
"You okay?," Blaine asked, getting a little worried when his friend did not answer right away. Wes gulped, before nodding, and leaning close to Blaine.
"Th- that guy-P-P-Puck!-is looking for Kurt-h-he threatened to key my BMW if I didn't tell him where Kurt is," Wes blurted out, so nerve-wracked that his car could have been mutilated.
"What! How could you just tell him that?" Blaine threw back, getting angry and concerned for his (sweet, fragile) friend.
Blaine was already going through Kurt's weekly routine in his head, something that was totally natural for him to do, since they were close friends and all-anyway. Focus. It was a Tuesday. Where was Kurt on late Tuesday afternoons...?
"He had a McKinley varsity jacket on, I-I-I thought-" But Blaine was already gone, running towards the Warbler practice room, where he knew Kurt liked to practice piano in the early evenings.
He could only hope that all his shortcuts would get him there in time.
Before Blaine even got to the practice room, he knew he was too late.
Just as he turned the corner, a bit breathless from his run, he could see two figures down the hall, up against closed doors. Blaine got ready to charge in, channeling this sudden and unexpected rage at seeing Kurt pushed high up against a closed door, while simultaneously trying to ignore the hot urge of something else as well. But then Kurt started laughing, a strange sound as it echoed down the hallway.
"Honestly, Puck...," Kurt said in an almost breathless voice, eerily clear sounding from where Blaine was standing.
Blaine hesitated, suddenly caught between saving Kurt and hearing whatever scathing comments Kurt had to say. Kurt certainly didn't sound frightened, but almost...happy? Blaine leaned back behind the corner, his head sticking out just enough to keep a clear line of vision on the two boys.
"What's a-matter, princess? Don't you miss looking at my fine ass?" This Puck person practically purred, and Blaine could almost feel the arrogance coming off him in waves. It made Blaine queasy to watch the taller boy push Kurt against the door so easily.
"Oh please," Kurt replied airily, a soft and sweet sound before his words plunged into a deep pool of snide.
"There's nothing 'fine' about you. You smell like a Molotov cocktail of perfume- from those nymphomaniac housewives, no doubt; your clothes look like a reject outfit from 'Saved by the Bell'; and you've obviously been stress eating your 'special' brownies since Quinn dumped your fat ass." Kurt sniffed prissily, before turning his head in disdain.
"You used to lift me a lot higher than this, Puckerman." Blaine was pretty sure if that guy wasn't bracing Kurt against the door with his forearm, Kurt would have crossed his arms in satisfaction.
"Are you getting lazy without me there to mock?"
"Hey," Puck's voice went from from teasing to serious straightaway.
"Okay," thought Blaine, "this is it. Now Kurt's gone too far-"
"I stopped all that when I joined glee club, bro. And I was pressganged into a port-a-john for calling you out as my boy. And I was in there for a whole day. A whole twenty fucking four hours-" Kurt patted the arm crushing him sympathetically.
"Okay, okay, don't go all Rachel Berry on me, Noah," Puck snorted at the implication, "It's just hard for me to process you being kind to anyone-not that I mind-but, hey, if you're not going to toss me into a dumpster for old time's sake, could you put me down?" Kurt emphasized his position by letting his feet bang against the door.
Damn, thought Blaine, that shouldn't look so hot. Then he flushed and guiltily readjusted his tie for cursing and having dirty thoughts about Kurt. Again.
"Shit, sorry dude. Old habits are hard to break, y'anno? " Puck let Kurt down, and did a halfway movement between fixing his blazer and wavering in Kurt's personal space. Kurt just swatted the hovering hands away as he adjusted his uniform.
"Don't call me dude." Kurt said, annoyed. "Or bro". he added in afterthought, sneer palpable.
Puck just slung an arm around Kurt's shoulder and chuckled.
"Whatever, Hummel. Please tell me the cafeteria food here is better than McKinley," Puck asked, dragging Kurt farther down the hallway.
Kurt struggled against the larger boy's grip, muttering, "We're going the wrong way, idiot!" and turned the two of them around.
Blaine jumped back, and dove into the nearest classroom. He could still hear Kurt and Puck talking, though, and smiled fondly at Kurt's analysis of public vs private school food. "...I mean it's a trade off, Puck. Better salads here"-Puck snorted again- "and there aren't any slushies. But McKinley did have the best tater tots...but you can actually chew the meat here. It's actually steak! If it wouldn't throw me off my diet, I would totally eat it. But bonus for you" -Blaine could sense a witty remark coming up- "the silverware is actually worth stealing-" and then Kurt's voice faded as the the two laughed down and out of sight.
Blaine looked down at his pocketwatch and calculated the shortest route to the cafeteria.
He had time.
Blaine gets to cafeteria in record time, planting himself between the salad bar and the water fountain alcove. He brushed off the lapels of his blazer, giving a passing cafeteria cook a genial, if a bit breathless, smile. Hopefully Kurt would come by with his old 'friend' and help corral him back to the library. Surely by now the correction officers will have calmed down the rioting, and will be looking for him and this Puck fellow. And Blaine would rather Kurt's friend didn't get into anymore trouble.
It had absolutely nothing to do with Kurt being friendly with the other rougishly handsome boy.
Ten minutes later, Blaine heard the other boys approach. It sounded like Kurt was getting annoyed with his companion. The thought had Blaine smoothing down his tie in satisfaction.
"-that was probably an antique, you hircismus behemoth! If someone finds out-!"
"Oh relax, Porcelain, nobody is even gonna care about it. I bet they have about fifty of those things in storage." Puck breaks off from Kurt as he enters the dining hall, giving a low whistle.
"Holy shit," he breathes, and Kurt gives him a superior look of Dalton pride. Blaine and Kurt had many a discussion on the beautiful architecture of the dining hall-it's vaulted ceilings, the marble inlay in the floor, the intricate mahogany carvings-
"-are those porkchops?" Puck sounded almost reverent, "They're the size of my head."
Well then.
"I thought you were Jewish," Blaine could hear Kurt say, and as he peeked out from where he was observing. Blaine could see Kurt's profile. He was definitely a fine piece of art, with elegant posture and a small pompadour, the cute roundness of his nose and the flat lines of his stomach...
Oh right. Must focus on the delinquent.
Puck seemed satisfied with grabbing one of everything and set his tray down with a resounding clatter. He jumped into the food with apparent gusto, making the most obscene noises, replying to Kurt in some heathen half language around a turkey leg.
Blaine couldn't understand a word, but Kurt seemed fluent in Barbarian English, because he sat across the other boy with a snort and an eyeroll.
"So, if we can get back to the original conversation we were having before you broke that vase-"
"Hey," Puck says on an inhale of breath, putting his steak knife with speared baked potato and hand of half eaten pizza down, "that vase came outta nowhere. It attacked me."
"It was a floor vase. It was almost as tall as you, how could you not see it?"
"...whatever man. Anyway, you wanted to know what I'm doing here at gay Hogwarts, right?"
Blaine bristled at the indication. Just because Kurt and Blaine were gay, didn't make this place a gay Hogwarts...(Though it would explain some of the phenomenons that sometimes happened in the hallways...)
Kurt rolled his eyes in fond exasperation.
"Ugh, yes. Because I seriously doubt you're here to visit little old me," Kurt leaned forward, giving Puck a long, lascivious look up and down. Blaine wasn't sure how Puck could act so unfazed, hell, Blaine was getting shivers and he wasn't even getting this seduction technique-!
Wait, seduction?
From Kurt?
Blaine peeked out from his spot again, trying to gauge when he should nonchalantly start heading over to the table.
Puck leaned forward too, and with a exaggerated wink said, "Trust me, princess, when I say that coming to Hogwarts and finding you has been the highlight of this whole damn fiasco. Seriously, ever since Artie has been tutoring me in math, this whole thing has been a huge waste of my time."
Kurt sat back and quirked his head adorably, asking, "Then why...?"
Puck pushed his tray away to lean against the table.
"Eh, juvie makes us go to these stupid tutoring sessions in the winter. Something about it being too cold to pick up trash and shit in the snow. So here I am, stuck with fairy brains trying to convert me with numbers to join your little club."
Kurt makes a uncommitted sound, before thinking about it.
"Wait," he asks, "who's your tutor?"
Puck shrugs before picking at his plate again.
"I dunno. Some asian." Puck looks up at Kurt with a shit eating grin. "He nearly pissed himself when I asked him where you were. It was kinda sad how easy he was to break, but I guess the pecking order here is out of whack when the place is overrun with ladyboys."
Blaine jumped out from where he was standing in outrage, determined to defend Wes (and Dalton's) honor. The nerve of this boy-!
Holy hell, he had huge arms.
Blaine threw himself behind the salad bar, before the other boys could see him. Maybe he could jump in a little later?
Yeah, good plan.
"Why Kurt? You afraid I might scare your big gay crush away?" Puck's voice got higher and more condescending with each word.
"No," Kurt sounded resolute, before adding, "and I don't have a crush."
Blaine didn't know why, but his relief at Kurt's lack of crushes felt like bitter, bitter disappointment.
Maybe out of guilt?
Blaine thought about it hard, before deciding to help Kurt find some cute guys to ogle this weekend. It'd be a nice friend outing between them, talking about cute guys together, totally platonic and not at all a creepy plan to see how many of those boys held similar traits to Blaine.
Nope.
...maybe they should just see a movie, instead.
"Was there a shorter boy there, with an inordinate amount of hair gel and an air of 1950's wholesomeness?"
Puck screwed his face up in concentration, thinking hard about it. And then something must have clicked in place, because his face went from mildly confused to thunderous.
"You mean that showstopper hobbit from Regionals?"
"Sectionals," Kurt corrected him.
"Yeah, he was there. If I had recognized the smug bastard sooner-"
Kurt gave a surprised laugh. "Are you, are you jealous of Blaine?"
Puck pouted, which was absurdly badass looking. The mohawk probably helped.
"Whatever man. He looks like a giant tool. And he got all the solos, and was swaggering all up on the stage like he owned the place. It made me kinda want to punch his face out."
Blaine was very glad he stayed behind the salad bar, then.
Kurt scoffed with a roll of his eyes.
"Oh please, Puck. Blaine is one of the sweetest, kindest, most sincere guys I have ever met. He only got those solos because he earned them...and because the Council has serious mancrushes, but I'm pretty sure two-thirds of them are platonic. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that Blaine didn't try and Rachel Berry his way into getting all the solos, it was a unanimous decision. And those are just show faces, Puck. He can't help himself if they are over the top ridiculous."
Blaine frowned and touched his face, worried. Did he really make ridiculous show faces? He'll have to practice in the mirror later, to see if it's true.
"So do you hang out with this Blaine guy a lot then?" Puck settled back in his seat, arms crossed.
Kurt nodded his head, giving a thoughtful smile. "Yeah," he said with a little blush, "I guess we do hang out a lot."
Puck must have made some sort of face, because Kurt stumbled on his next couple words. It made Blaine want to edge closer, watch this rare occasion where Kurt didn't use his quick wit. It was unusual to see him have to pull at words.
Blaine furrowed his brow and inched closer to the other boys, staying low and behind the salad bar. He was passing under the croutons and salad dressing when he heard it.
"Blaine's pretty harmless," Kurt finally said, "a real old fashioned gentleman. You know the types here, Puck, the dapper do-gooders, all stiff and old money charm. To be honest, Blaine can sometimes be a little boring."
Blaine sucked in a sharp breath, hurt by Kurt's words. He was boring? Kurt thought he was boring?
"Oh," Puck sounded deflated, "I was kind of hoping he'd be like a miniature Bruce Wayne. You know, a total badass ladies man."
Kurt gave a giggle, and then-
"Blaine is probably the least badass person I know."
...least badass...
...least badass...
...least...badass...
Kurt and Puck eventually leave the cafeteria, ribbing and sniping at each other, but the sound just fizzled out from where Blaine was curled up, trembling and trying to pick up his self image. He failed.
Then everything fades to black.
The next time he opens his eyes, Blaine is dressed in a tattered uniform and holding a machete on top of a flaming hot rod. He looks around bewildered.
"W-where am I?"