It was two o'clock in the afternoon.

Blaine Anderson fidgeted in his seat. He was sitting in his last class of the day, U.S. history. The bell would ring in exactly five minutes, and his only objective was to make it safely out of the school and out to the parking lot, where the car he received for his birthday last month would be waiting for him. He could do this.

When he thought about it, Blaine wasn't sure exactly when his life had become one giant game of hide n' seek. Except without the predictability. Or the fun. Okay, so maybe his life had become slightly more like one of those predator specials on the nature channel, and as much as he hated to admit that he was nothing but prey to these angry, ignorant buffoons, it seemed like the most honest comparison.

He tensed on the edge of his seat, as the clock ticked. 56... 57... 58...59...

The shrill sound of the ringing bell echoed through his ears, and he stood quickly, grabbing his bag and easily making his way toward the door before anyone else had even stood. He opened it, glanced out, and then darted down the hall. Through the Science hall, out the side door, around but not ever through the courtyard, dodging crowds of kids gathering together for one last conversation. He saw the buses ahead of him, which meant he was almost home free. He just had to make it around to the back parking lot, and he'd be good to go.

He made his way around the building, through one of his shortcuts, and as he rounded the back of the school, a shadow crossed his path and he stiffened. Raising his eyes slowly, he was met with the face of Lincoln High's resident neanderthal, one Nicholas Ramsey. Nick was smirking, and Blaine felt the cold shudder of dread pressing down on him as he saw a few more jocks making their way towards them.

He swallowed, hard, willing the lump of fear in his throat to subside as he choked out, "Leave me alone, Ramsey, or-"

Nick made a sudden movement as though he was going to hit him, and despite himself, Blaine flinched, and his pathetic attempt at sounding authoritive died in his throat. He could feel something burning in his stomach, some culmination of hatred, fear, frustration, and anger, and he swallowed a few more times and did his best to glare at the boy in front of him.

Nick, however, smiled broadly, turning to his friends, who now surrounded Blaine and left him with not even the faintest hope that he might be able to run his way out of this mess, and crowed, "Look at the little faggot! He's trying to threaten us, isn't that just fucking precious?"

"Yeah," one of the guys behind Blaine shoved him forward, and his knees buckled. Suddenly he found himself on the ground, his hands scraped from the concrete and his eyes stinging with bitter tears that he wouldn't let fall. They laughed. "Yeah, it's real fucking cute."

Blaine made to stand up and felt someone kick him from the side, knocking the wind out of him and sending him sprawling back to the ground again. He heard laughter, again, and his ears were ringing.

He wasn't stupid enough to think he could attack any of them and live to tell the tale, but he was just so angry. He hadn't done anything to provoke them! He had gone out of his way to avoid them, in fact, and they searched him out anyway. He hadn't even really expected anything to happen today, had just wanted to get home so he could hole up in his room and be okay for a while, because it was Friday and he wouldn't have to see this place for two days. Lying on the ground, eyes trained at the concrete, he yearned for anywhere else. He was so tense he could feel his teeth grinding, and everything in him screamed to fight back. It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair! He wasn't sure how many times he'd said that in the past few weeks, but maybe one of these times it would have some effect.

He could hear guffaws and talking and the word "faggot" being thrown around above him, but he stayed where he was. He couldn't fight them, and maybe he was being a coward by staying on the ground, but in that moment he didn't care. He just wanted them to leave him alone.

Getting no reaction from him, someone kicked him again, on the same side as before, but harder this time, and he let out a hiss of pain and his fists clenched underneath him. He squeezed his eyes shut. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. He blocked out what they were saying, choosing instead to sing loudly in his head as he waited for something to happen. For them to get bored, or for himself to lose consciousness, something, anything. His ribs were beginning to ache worse than anything he'd felt before, and he could taste blood in his mouth. He tried to take in a breath and thought he would pass out right then; the pain was excruciating and he just couldn't take it anymore. He let the tears fall, gasping for breath and sending out one last mental plea that this just wasn't fair, please make it stop.

"He's crying like a little bitch!" someone crowed, and Blaine didn't have the energy to even care anymore. He heard more laughter, and heard someone's shoe pulling back from the gravel, knew they were going to kick him again, and tensed, waiting. The blow never came.

"Shit," someone muttered instead. "It's Green."

Just like that, his forgotten bag was being thrown down on top of him, thankfully not coming near his ribs, which still ached like they were on fire. He raised his head as much as he dared, and saw them running towards the parking lot, scattering toward their respective means of transportation. From behind him came a woman's voice.

"Blaine?"

Her tone was soft, concerned, and he turned as much as he could to see the school's current guidance counselor, Shannon Green, leaning towards him.

"Hi," he choked out, trying as hard as he could to sound normal, and failing so hard that he heard a slight chuckle escape him. "It's nothing," he tried, attempting to sit up, but the pain in his ribs flared and he let out another hiss of pain. He knew he wasn't fooling anyone.

Her eyes had been scanning the parking lot, but he knew that they would be gone by now. He was surprised to see that even the buses had left, leaving the back lot with a cold, deserted feeling. She turned to him as he forced himself to his feet, picking up his bag and lending her arm to help him balance himself. His head was pounding and he saw her cast him a concerned, calculating look.

"Blaine," she started, but he waved her off, slinging his bag onto his shoulder (the non-injured side, of course), and spitting on the ground again.

"It's okay. They're just-," he stopped, because he didn't know how to finish that sentence without letting on just how much he hated them, just how much he wanted to inflict on them exactly what they did to him, and then some. "It's not usually this bad. It doesn't- it doesn't normally go this far. Just words, mostly."

She shook her head. "Blaine, I don't care if this is the first time it's happened or not. It is still extremely out of line." She frowned. "Come with me. We're going to go to my office and call your parents. You're going to tell me who was involved, and I'm going to write them up for it. Now come on. I'll carry your bag."

Blaine hesitated, and then realized that he didn't have the energy to argue, and even if he did, she wasn't going to just let him walk away. So he gently took his bag off and handed it to her, and let her lead him back into the school.

-x-

It wasn't long before Blaine found himself sitting in the principal's office with his parents and Ms. Green, trying to explain what had happened. He ached all over, and his ribs were still in a lot of pain whenever he coughed, or stood, or inhaled. He tried, though.

"No," he found himself explaining for the third time, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes for a second. "It's not the first time, but usually they just... say things. They've only hit me once before, a few weeks ago. Ramsey punched me in the stomach," he added before anyone could ask.

"And why did this all start?" Principal Wood asked, looking at Blaine under furrowed brows.

Blaine glanced at his parents. His father's teeth were clenched, staring at the wall behind the desk, but his mother was looking at him with a sad expression. He turned back, and took a deep breath.

"Because I came out three weeks ago."

He didn't remember much else of the conversation. He had been told that they were going to "review matters" and "see what could be done", but he knew the second the words left his mouth that it wasn't going to be taken seriously. The principal had mentioned, off-handedly, that there might be complications due to the fact that no one but Blaine had witnessed anything.

Even Ms. Green had pulled him aside before he left with his parents, to tell him that she didn't think it was fair at all, and that her office was always open if he needed to talk. That had been nice enough, but she had ended the conversation with, "Blaine, I know it's hard, but you're doing an incredible thing here, just by being who you are. Some people just don't know how to deal with it, is all, but you know who you are, and that's what really counts."

Her words left a bad taste in Blaine's mouth. So it was okay for people to knock him around, as long as he knew who he was? What kind of backhanded bullshit was that?

It didn't matter, though. At this point, he was almost used to that sort of treatment.

He climbed into his own car and followed his parents home, trying as hard as he knew how not to think too hard about what had happened. Or how his father refused to look at him. Or his mother's pity.

His hands clenched the steering wheel, and he just felt so exhausted. He ached, everywhere, especially the left side of his body. He was pretty sure the pain came from someone's foot bruising his ribs, and he just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for days.

When he turned into the driveway, his father was already inside, but his mom stood out by the car, waiting for him. He sighed, and then got out of the car. He didn't want to deal with this right now.

"Baby," she said, wrapping him into a hug, and it took everything in him not to cling to her and burst into tears, begging her to fix things. She wasn't always the best mom, but sometimes he still felt exactly like the terrified little boy who had once crawled into his parent's bed after a particularly bad nightmare, and that had to count for something. He felt her hand on his back, rubbing in circles. "It's okay, baby, it's going to be okay."

He sniffed into her shoulder, too exhausted to care, now, that he was acting like a stupid little kid.

"I'm sorry," he told her, a plea in his voice that he was sure she wouldn't catch. "Mom, I'm so sorry."

"Shh, shh, it's okay," she repeated, holding him tighter. He didn't even complain about the pain in his side as she did so, because she was his mother, and he just needed someone to make him feel like things actually would be okay.

She let him go after a moment, though, and looked at him sadly. "I hate to leave you like this, but your father and I-"

He remembered, suddenly, what day it was, and disappointment hit him quickly. "The benefit dinner. I remember."

"If you want, I can stay," she began, but he could see in her eyes that it was an empty offer.

He shook his head. "No, it's fine. Go. It's been planned for weeks. I'm just going to sleep it off anyway."

"Are you sure? We can-"

"It's fine, Mom," he repeated. He turned away from her and headed up to the house, somehow feeling more alone than he had before. "Have fun at the dinner. I'll call if I need anything."

He was in the house before she could respond, making his way up the stairs as quickly as he was able to. Reaching his room, he closed the door, kicked off his shoes, and headed into his adjoining bathroom, glancing at his reflection as the light came on.

He looked like hell. He looked nearly as exhausted as he felt, eyes slightly red and slight shadows under them. He had apparently scraped his chin on the concrete earlier, and stepping back, he noticed that his posture looked exactly like what you would expect from the way his side was aching. He fumbled in the medicine cabinet until he found pain killers, downing as many as he could handle and then stood back to look at himself in the mirror again.

He reached down and peeled his t-shirt off slowly, wincing, and bit his lip at the sight. The skin on his side was already tinged yellow, deeper color showing through in spots that he was sure would be much more vibrant tomorrow. The beginnings of what he could tell would be a horrific bruise seemed to measure about a foot long, running from the side of his chest down to his stomach. He brushed his fingers on it, lightly, testing the pain and clenching his jaw at how tender it was.

He could feel himself shaking.

This wasn't... this wasn't how things were supposed to be, he thought, slamming his fist on the doorframe and feeling his eyes prick with tears for what felt like the millionth time. Coming out wasn't supposed to ruin his life! He had always thought he would be one of the rare cases of acceptance. But now his father wouldn't speak to him and his mother was depressingly useless about everything, and his life at school had turned into some kind of nightmare. His grades were dropping, he was being harassed, and now people were kicking the shit out of him for no reason other than that they felt like it, and he was just supposed to deal with it?

He felt so lost, he realized as he crawled into bed that night. Everything was wrong. Everything.