A/N - Welcome welcome, one and all. For those of you who read my other fic, this is something quite different, but enjoyable all the same. It's definitely Blam, definitely AU, and a little bit angsty to start. As always, M rated for a reason.

Huge shout out to Loki Firefox. I'm collaborating with Loki big time on this one. He's my plot master and has me wrapped around his little finger. I'm loving every second of it. :)

Title is inspired by Sara Bareilles' song, "Let The Rain"

As always, I own nothing. Sigh.

Enjoy, peeps.


William McKinley High loomed over Blaine like a storm cloud, daunting and menacing in ways that an institution of education really shouldn't be. To any passerby, it probably looked harmless enough, perhaps even welcoming. But Blaine knew better, having just watched a nerdy looking boy with frizzy red hair get hoisted up and thrown into a dumpster by a group of boys in red and white letterman jackets.

He shouldered his backpack with a sigh, thrusting his chin upwards. He was a mid-year transfer, about to finish his Junior year inside those public school walls, and he was going to try and make the most of it. Nobody here knew him. He could redefine himself if he wanted to, or at least keep his head down and mouth shut until he graduated, which would hopefully only be in a year's time, assuming his AP classes went well.

He started the walk up the front path with confidence, but not too much, just enough to blend in with the crowd. He breathed easier after he'd evaded the jocks, making his way to the administration office to get his class schedule and locker assignation. On the way to his locker, he saw sign up sheets for mid-year sports and hesitated, considering trying out for the lacrosse team at a session that would be held after school that day. He was good at the sport, and it might help him to make some 'socially acceptable' friends. He might survive this public highschool thing yet.

Signing his name with a flourish, he continued on, finding his locker and stuffing his books inside it haphazardly. His first class of the day was AP English, and, judging by the crudely sketched map in his hand, it was on the other side of the school. He grabbed a notebook and a pen, slamming the locker shut and speed-walking through hallways, not meeting anyone's eyes, just hoping to get through his first day unscathed.

And his technique was working, too, up until try-outs for lacrosse.

"Anderson!" Coach Beiste -a beefy, intimidating woman- barked, "You're up. Show me what you can do."

And he did, showing off all the skills he'd learned from his years on the team at Dalton, knowing that he was rather impressive on the field. The whistle blew, signalling the end of his run, and he jogged back over to the try-out bench. Coach Beiste clamped her hand on his shoulder as he came off the field, giving him a strong squeeze.

"You did good, kid," she told him, smirking. "Unofficially, I'd say there's a good chance you'll be on the team."

He beamed at her, pushing a sweaty bit of hair back off his forehead. "Thanks, Coach."

When he turned back to face the others on the bench, a few offered him their fists to bump and he complied happily. Then a surprised voice sounded behind him.

"Blaine?"

Blaine turned to face whoever had spoken, and he found himself face to face with a tall, blond muscular boy. "Uh...Sam?" He asked, a little unsure on the guy's name as it had been a while since he'd seen him around, and they'd run in completely different social circles to start with.

Sam nodded and stepped closer, smiling at the blast from his past. "Wow. Blaine Anderson. What are you doing at McKinley? You were kind of the poster boy for Dalton."

Blaine shrugged, "Things change." He said simply, not wanting to alert anyone at the school about the soap opera that had become his life. "What about you?"

The blond's cheeks flushed a little. "Dad's company went under, tuition was pricey..." Most of the other students at McKinley knew his story, so it wasn't as though he had anything to hide. He extended his arms and did a slow spin. "So here I am."

"You guys know each other?" A guy with a mohawk asked Sam, despite the fact that Blaine thought the answer was pretty obvious.

The blond, however, just smiled and nodded. "Yeah. Blaine and I went to school together at Dalton until I left last year. But we were in different classes and stuff anyway."

"Cool," the other boy responded, before looking Blaine up and down, almost dismissively. "You were pretty good out on the field."

"Thanks."

The guy with the mohawk stuck his hand out. "Puck."

"Puck?" Blaine repeated, shaking the other boy's hand firmly. "Like...hockey?" Because there was no way this guy was named after a playful Shakespearian sprite. He was all muscle, from what Blaine could see, and looked like 'Trouble' should be his middle name. Just the sort of guy Blaine should be avoiding, not stopping to ponder whether he'd be even slightly bi-curious.

Puck laughed, a short barking sort of sound. "Ah, no. Last name is Puckerman, so I go by Puck for short."

"Because your given name-"

"Dude," Sam cut in, "Don't go there. Puck's just Puck. It's the way it is."

Puck clapped Sam on the shoulder. "See, Evans, you can be cool. I don't get why you want to hang around losers all day."

"Because they're also my friends, dumbass," the blond replied with a roll of his eyes, like this was a frequent topic of conversation. "And I have things in common with them."

"Singing and dancing, Sam. Not cool. And don't get me started on the wheelchair kid."

"C'mon, man, leave Artie alone. He's funny. And he likes the same comics and tv shows as me."

Whatever Puck was going to say next was interrupted by the line of cheerleaders that strode past them, dressed identically, their high pony-tails and tiny skirts swishing almost in sync. The jock wolf-whistled after them. "Lookin' good, ladies." He nodded at one blonde in particular. "Baby Mama."

She flipped him the bird, not sparing them a second glance.

Blaine blinked as she stalked off, her head held high. "Baby Mama?"

Puck shrugged, though his nonchalance seemed forced now. "I knocked Quinn up Sophomore year."

"Oh." He didn't know what to say to that.

Sam came to the rescue, or, at least, tried to. He slung his arm around Blaine's shoulders. "Not like that'll ever be a problem for you, right?"

Blaine winced. He wasn't planning on coming out at McKinley. He hadn't been planning on being closeted either, exactly, but keeping a low profile after everything he'd been through seemed like a good plan. He'd even left his bowties at home when he'd dressed that morning, concerned that they'd draw too much attention. Thankfully, Puck and the other jocks around them were slow on the uptake.

"What's that mean?" Puck asked, sounding almost sympathetic, "Your junk doesn't work?"

"Actually, yeah," Blaine said, ignoring the way the arm across his shoulders tensed, refusing to look in Sam's direction, "There was an incident. I shoot blanks." Wow. He'd been at the school less than an entire day and he was lying. Great. He felt awful, never having been the kind of person to be anything but honest and proud of who he was. Then again, a lot of things had changed recently.

"Blaine..." Sam said, sounding confused.

"So, yeah," Blaine continued shrugging, cutting the blond off hurriedly and disentangling himself from his one-armed embrace, "I don't, uh, talk about it, y'know? And I'm gonna go hit the showers. So, yeah, I'll see you around."

"Blaine, wait up!" Sam was following him at a slow jog, catching up quickly. "Dude, what the hell?"

Opting to play dumb, Blaine looked sideways at the other boy. "What?"

"You just lied back there." Sam looked affronted, as though the action had personally offended him.

Blaine felt his frustration bubbling. He didn't know why Sam was taking a little white lie so personally. Stopping just outside the entrance to the locker room, he glared at the blond. "So? What's your problem?"

"It's just..." Sam floundered for an adequate explanation, "You were different at Dalton. Out and proud. That," he pointed back towards the field, where try outs were still happening, "wasn't the Blaine Anderson I knew."

"Newsflash, Sam," Blaine spat, "You didn't know me. We maybe had one class together. And I don't think I ever said anything other than hello to you before today."

"That's 'cause you were intimidating, man. You were like a rock star at Dalton. Captain of the Warblers, Co-Captain of the lacrosse team, First Chair on the debate team...and you were a Sophomore! You were so confident and popular and I was a dyslexic nerd." Sam shook his head. "I wanted to be you. So, when I came here, I reinvented myself a little."

Blaine was sort of taken by surprise, flattered that this athletic, attractive guy had thought so highly of him. But then he remembered the rest of their conversation and frowned. "Well, things change." He reiterated. "And I'm taking the opportunity to reinvent myself a little, too."

Sam's brow furrowed, suddenly piecing the puzzle together, coming to the conclusion that Blaine's family must be going through similar financial strife to what his own had the year prior. He still didn't understand the other boy's firm stance against being himself, though. "Dude, I know how you're feeling right now. But, believe me, McKinley's not that bad. I mean, Unique and Kurt get by." He shrugged, forgetting that Blaine was new and had no idea who he was talking about. "Once you settle in, everything will be great, I promise. Pretending to be someone you're not...that's not going to make things easier, even if for some strange reason you think it will."

"I appreciate the advice, Sam. And I'm not pretending anything. Just drop it, okay?"

"But-"

"What are you guys still doin' out here?" Puck asked as he trotted over, looking directly at Blaine. "I thought you were going to shower?"

Blaine nodded. "I was. I am. Sam just wanted to catch up some more."

"Huh." Puck cocked his head at his quasi-friend and checked his watch. "Don't you have to be with Homo Explosion right now?"

"Shit!" Sam exclaimed. "I totally forgot."

"Homo Explosion?" Blaine asked, already feeling justified in his decision to keep his private life, well, private.

"Glee," Sam supplied, still not making a move to leave. "Puck's just being a dick. We're national champs. It's not the coolest club in the school, but we have some street cred."

Puck snorted. "I'm giving it another month, tops, before the glow wears off and your gay-ass friends start getting slushied and treated to dumpster dives again."

"Puck," Sam's tone had gone from jovially exasperated to completely hardened, "Stop it. Phobic isn't a good look on you."

"Dude, it's just us here, chill."

Sam folded his arms. "You're offending Blaine."

Blaine's eyes widened as a pair of hazel peepers turned on him suspiciously. "No, I'm good," he said, forcing a chuckle. "Puck's just kidding around anyway."

Sam huffed. "Dude, seriously, stop lying."

"Sam..." Blaine said warningly, at the same time as Puck asked what he meant by 'lying'.

"Blaine's gay," Sam blurted, "And you're being offensive."

Puck took a large step away from Blaine. "Dude, not cool." He said. "You can't join the team if you're gay. It's weird."

Sam snapped his neck around in wide-eyed surprise. "What? Puck, don't be an idiot. You don't treat Kurt like this."

"Yeah, well, Princess' big brother is...was...is my best friend. Besides, Kurt knows his place in this school. And he doesn't wanna shower with us."

Ignoring Sam's muttered 'You'd be surprised', Blaine scoffed at the jock. "Who said anything about me wanting to shower with anyone?"

Puck took another step away, shaking his head. "You'd better watch yourself, Anderson," he threatened, twisting his expression into one of disgust before stalking away.

Blaine turned his frustrations onto his former Dalton peer, his eyes glued to Puck's retreating form. "And you just illustrated my point, Sam. Bravo. What part of 'just drop it' didn't you understand?" The blond's expression was genuinely apologetic, but Blaine wasn't about to let him speak again. "Do me a favour, okay? Just...leave me alone."

Sam didn't have a chance to reply, forced to watch in bemusement as other boy stormed away.