Chapter One: Texts


Dalton was beautiful in the winter, and outside his window the rising sun was melting the topmost snow crystals, leaving the flat grounds shimmering in the yellowish light. His phone next to his bed said it was only six o'clock, half an hour earlier than Blaine generally liked to get up.

A memory and a scream, that ended up being his own, had woken him up about half an hour ago and after a long cold shower to try to shock himself into reality he found himself staring outside, still clad in just a sweatshirt and boxers.

"Dude, shut the blinds," David groaned from the bottom bunk of the bunk beds he and Wes shared. "It's too early."

In his head Blaine saw himself reach out and close the blinds, but in reality his hand remained stuck to his side and his eyes remained glued on the shimmering white outside.

"Blaine!" David growled, throwing a pillow at his roommate that nailed him in the head, but didn't stir him from his trance.

In his head Blaine saw himself turn around and smile reassuringly at David, letting him know that he was just messing, saw himself grin lopsidedly before turning to the window and closing the blinds.

But in reality, he couldn't move his eyes, couldn't move at all, and the sparkling white snow through the window was beginning to look oddly familiar. And the sun hitting the white was beginning to give it an unfortunately familiar red tint. And in his head he protested when David woke up Wes and then ran out to get the school nurse.

But in reality Blaine remained fixated on the snow that was beginning to show the ungodly red color.

"Blaine?" A face directly in front of Blaine's finally broke his trance and he jumped back startled by the intrusion of an older woman's face. "I'm going to help you to the sick wing, okay?"

"No, it's fine," Blaine stumbled, backing away from the women and slipping off the side of his bed, almost hitting the floor if he hadn't quickly be caught by David. "I'm fine."

"Blaine," The woman advanced, and Blaine took notice that the principle had suddenly appeared at his doorway, as well as the older RA. "I think we better get you to the sick wing, alright?" The nurse tried again, and Blaine struggled against David's arms suddenly feeling trapped before he remembered this was Dalton.

He wasn't trapped.

He went limp in David's arms and although he kept his face masked with void emotion, he wasn't oblivious to the sympathetic eyes each and every person on the room had trained on the 'poor, psychotic, gay boy'.

Poor, poor, Blaine.

Wes helped Blaine into a pair of extra sweat pants and threw a blanket over his shaking shoulders, and Blaine mumbled something that was meant to be thank you but got lost between the chatter of his teeth.

Blaine wasn't sure why he was shaking, he wasn't cold, and he was burning up. So fucking hot, and sweating and red as the blood on the snow outside.

Except there wasn't blood on the snow, Blaine had to keep reminding himself that. There wasn't blood this was Dalton.

This was reality, the present not the past.

It was Wes who gripped his forearm as he was led down the quiet Dalton hallways to the sick ward, everyone was still asleep, recovering from the weekend before Monday's classes started at nine.

It took four staircases to get down to the ward and when they entered the strong, familiar, scent of antiseptic burned his nose.

He couldn't stay here, he had to snap out of it, just for an hour. He had to be normal just for an hour. He'd play along for an hour, just long enough to come across as okay, that's all he needed to do.

Be okay for an hour.

So Blaine rested on a bed, his eyes half closed, watching Wes and the Nurse through a crack under his eyelids. He took the pills handed to him, listened to the lecture given, waited as Wes was given instructions by the nurse and exactly 57 minutes later he walked out of the sick wing, fake smile and fake attitude in place.

He'd been okay for an hour, now he just had to make it twenty-three more.

"Drop the attitude Blaine, no one recovers from a breakdown that fast," Wes whispered as the two climbed the staircase, passing through the halls as boys scrambled around trying to get down to breakfast before morning classes began.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," Blaine whispered back, his voice an octave higher than usual, "I'm fantastic."

Blaine and Wes returned to their room and each was in uniform within five minutes, scrambling with the rest of the student body to make it to first period.

David walked into the room from breakfast, and stared at Blaine who was running a hand through his messy hair.

"I call bullshit," David said with a roll of his eyes, "There's no way she'd let you out that fast."

Blaine rolled his eyes and pulled on his tie, "You'd be surprised, you forget, acting is my thing."

"She didn't ask to see your wrist, did she?" Wes called from the bathroom and Blaine winced when he heard a loud clunk in the trashcan, as Wes no doubt threw away to red stained razor. "Blaine, dude-"

"Fuck off and mind your own business," Blaine snapped, unconsciously tugging at the sleeve of his jacket, "I slipped up, sue me."

"We'd rather help you, not sue you," David mumbled but Blaine pretended not to hear as he shouldered his backpack.

"I'm fine," Blaine reassured with a fake, white smile, before he exited his room, slamming the door behind him. It was too easy at Dalton, to convince the authority he was fine, everyone wanted everyone to be fine. They didn't see past tricks.

It'd kill him one day, Blaine was sure of it.

Blaine was only halfway to his first period, U.S. History, when the late bell chimed and half a second later his phone buzzed. Already late, Blaine paused as second to take the phone from his pocket, smirking at the text.

[Kurt-You're late! Saved you a spot :3]

A real smile replaced his fake one for a second as he picked up his pace, and three minutes later he was taking his seat next to Kurt, with only a sympathetic glance from the teacher when he arrived five minutes late.

"Where were you?" Kurt whispered quietly while the teacher was turned around at the board and Blaine felt his shoulders tense up.

Where was he? The answer could lead to so much more, it could end everything. It could help, but Blaine knew it wouldn't. He had to lie, the only way to keep Kurt was to lie, he was sure of it.

"Fixing my hair, I wanted to make sure I would look alright next to you," Blaine said, flashing his famous fake grin that Kurt didn't know better not to believe. "Of course the competition was too hard to begin with, I shouldn't have bothered."

Kurt's tendency to blush at the simplest flirty line amused Blaine to no end and he smirked as Kurt's cheeks turned a rosy color.

Blaine felt his fake smile begin to fade, and his real smile fight to come forward, until halfway through the lecture, when his phone buzzed again.

Discretely, under his desk, Blaine pulled out his phone; four unread texts stared back at him.

[Jacob-R U coming to my BB game tonight?]

[Wes-You tell Kurt?]

[David-You all right broski?]

[Dad—Your mother died, sending a car and driver up there now. Tell your brother.]

And as Blaine stared up from the phone, eyes wide he caught a glimpse of the redness of the glimmering snow outside.

And then he heard sobs.


AN: So I know I jumped into this dramatic story line very quickly, but that should give you a slight understanding of what to expect from it. I hope some of you enjoyed it, feel free to review if you would like, I always appreciate it.