Just_A_Phase
A/N: I actually found this one-shot a week or so ago, and quickly realized I had never posted it. Please keep in mind it was written late-season 2, so I wrote it with my own headcanon of Blaine's family dynamic (for example, in this story Blaine doesn't have an older brother, and I played with the fandom idea that Blaine's family is quite rich). I hope you all enjoy. :)
Jonathan Anderson had never hit his son. Not with the intention to hurt, at least. Not even during young Blaine's youth had his father disciplined him with force, or even small spankings. No, Jonathan was not a physical man…but he was not a very verbal man either. He preferred to think of himself as a strong, silent being; dependable but distant. His wife Anita had always admired that quality about him-the ability to take in information without becoming a basket case, or incoherent. She herself was a very emotional yet reserved woman by nature, and so they both liked to think that they jointly made up for what their significant other lacked.
Jonathan had moved up the business scale by use of his careful thinking and his measured, thoroughly planned out ideas. His co-workers had always aspired to complete their work in the way Jonathan could; quickly, neatly, and orderly. Before long Jonathan began earning more than he ever thought he would, and when Anita became pregnant, they indulged by moving into a large, beautifully crafted Victorian house with almost as many rooms as Anita had fine china plates. Their new house was even closer to the company where Jonathan worked, which provided a much needed convenience; manly due to Jonathan's long hours at the office.
In the beginning of fall, Anita went into labor a month early, and although both mother and son came out of it fine and healthy, Anita still argues that the reason their son never grew as tall as his parents (since both Anita and Jonathan were considerably tall) had something to do with his early birth. Jonathan claims he just still hasn't reached his growth spurt.
All throughout young Blaine's childhood, his parents noticed small quirks they wouldn't have expected from their boy. Like when Anita had asked what he wanted to go as for Halloween when he was seven, and Blaine had stated Belle because; "She has a pretty voice, Mommy, an' when I grow up I'll have a voice like that an' someone will fall in love with me, 'cause princes fall in love with pretty voices. Everyone knows that." His parents had made him go as Spiderman that year. Or when he was twelve and wanted to read Vogue instead of Jonathan's Car & Hunting magazines. Or when he was thirteen and Jonathan asked him if he had a crush on any of the girls in his class and Blaine couldn't finish his dinner.
Anita suspected, but she never voiced any of her thoughts. Jonathan, on the other hand, didn't suspect a thing. So when Blaine came out as gay to his parents over supper on his fourteenth birthday, Jonathan just chuckled; while Anita choked a bit on her shrimp. "My boy, my boy, always the kidder." Jonathan had said, shaking his head. "Jokes like that aren't good to say in public though, Blaine, remember that." He vaguely waved his fork through the air, pointing it at Blaine playfully. "Bad reputation, that's what you'd get." Anita coughed, and then quickly covered her mouth with an embroidered handkerchief, avoiding her husband and son's eye's like the plague. "Jonathan…I think…"
"I'm not joking." Blaine mumbled, interrupting his mother. "I'm not…I'm not. I wouldn't joke about…I'm gay, Dad." Blaine began fiddling with his napkin and looked over at Anita nervously. "Mom, you believe me, right? I'm gay. I like boys."
Anita wrenched her eyes away. "Jonathan…I think he's telling the truth."
"I am. I am." Blaine stared down at the table, speaking franticly. "I'm…I'm sorry Dad. Mom. For not telling you guys until now."
There was silence for a few seconds. Blaine could hear the mahogany grandfather clock ticking away from the outer hallway, languidly and softly.
Slowly, Jonathan stood up, his previous grin vanishing like a snowflake melting on the palm of a child's hand, quickly and harshly, with no promise of returning. "We'll fix this," he said, stone-faced. "Don't worry."
Blaine's hands began to shake. "No…no…wait, what-"
Jonathan held up his hand, causing Blaine to end his sentence. Anita grabbed for one of Blaine's wrists soothingly. "Jonathan, what are you talking about?"
Blaine's father sighed heavily and began putting away the condiments on the table, even though no one was done eating. "Anita, honey, it's obviously a phase. He's just confused." Jonathan patted Blaine's head lightly with a Ketchup bottle. "You'll grow out of this son, don't worry."
Anita held back a sob and let go of Blaine's hand. Shooing him away from the kitchen, she whispered in his ear; "I think you should go finish your homework, muffin."
Blaine never mentioned his sexual orientation after that. And neither did his parents.
Until the Sadie Hawkins dance.
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Toby was Blaine's acquaintance. Toby Campbell. They were not close enough to be considered friends, and definitely not responsive enough to each other to ever become an item. But they were friendly with one another, and when the dance came up at school and Toby asked Blaine to it ("Gays gotta to stick together, ya know? It'd be boring if I went by myself. Come on, Blaine, it'll be fun. Come on."), Blaine agreed. Against his better judgment, yes, but he agreed all the some.
His parents, especially his father, warned him to stay home. "Ignore this phase, Blaine, and you won't get hurt. You'll come out a stronger man by doing so. If you really want to go to this dance of yours…like that, well, don't say I didn't warn you. " His mother wouldn't look him in the eyes.
It made Blaine sick.
He went anyway, in a suit that had always been hanging in his closet for whenever Jonathan had his business associates over for dinner. He and Toby met up at the school's entrance, and entered the dance only somewhat awkwardly, unsure exactly what was supposed to be said to your not-exactly-date. Eventually they just fell into easy, idle chit-chat. The dance itself was uneventful, and aside from a few snide comments thrown their way, they were pretty much ignored. A few teacher chaperons gave them hesitant glances, but apart from that they had a good time.
At least, they did until they went outside to sit on the curb of the school to wait for their drive. Blaine remembers it all, from the first sentence thrown at Toby and him from behind them in a mocking voice: "Hey Jason, you wanna help me stop the spread of fairy dust?", to the last couple punches to the gut while at least five fellow peers simultaneously kicked and pounded at him and Toby, who had been brought down to the ground beside him. Blaine remembers screaming and hearing Toby scream as well, though it was hard to distinguish through the buzzing and pounding in his eardrums. Blaine remembers a crowd beginning to settle around them, some shouting for help to the teachers still inside the school, some clapping and urging the attackers on, and a few had their cell phones out. Blaine assumed it was either to text pictures or videos of the incident to their friends or, if they had any morals whatsoever, maybe to call 9-1-1.
No one tried to step in and stop the assaulters.
By the time the teachers got wind of the fight and came rushing out the school's front doors, Toby was unconscious and Blaine couldn't even begin to stand up.
Ambulances arrived at the scene and police handcuffed the attackers that had remained and not run off, all of them well under the age of eighteen, while teachers shooed students inside the school, probably thinking that maybe the confines of a brick building would be a better place to wait the whole mess out. Or perhaps to give the students a lecture. Blaine didn't care enough to try and find out.
Almost as if looking on from inside a dream that felt like the edge of eternity, Blaine hazily watched as he and Toby were loaded into stretchers and driven to the hospital at a speed that seemed faster than light from inside the confines of the automobile. Blaine drifted out of consciousness during that ride, the squeal of the tries making a sharp turn and the smell of drying blood the last thing he remembered before succumbing to a view as bleak as white.
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The first thing Blaine thought when he woke up was that heaven must be having a pretty heavy population crisis if the best they could offer was a one-room apartment.
His second thought was realizing that he was in a hospital room, not an apartment, if the sheets and devices near the bed he was laying on were any indication. Groaning loudly, Blaine attempted to sit up, only to halt his efforts when the pain in his left side became too much to bare.
"Hello?" Blaine asked into the empty space, his voice cracking hoarsely. "…Mom? Dad? What…"
The door in front of him flew open, and Anita came barreling in, settling down on the side of Blaine's bed and bringing his body next to hers in an attempt to hug the living daylights out of him. Blaine flinched and pulled away at the contact, but Anita didn't seem to notice through her tears.
"B-Blaine, Blaine, Blaine, oh baby, muffin, why, why Blaine-"
"If you would kindly step away from your son, Mrs. Anderson, it would be greatly appreciated. He seems to be in a state of shock at the moment." A graying haired nurse supplied, walking into the room and cutting Anita off in the middle of her rambling. Anita stiffened and halted her voice, but didn't move from her seat on the edge of Blaine's bed.
Blaine looked up at the nurse with wide eyes, and then looked back at his mother, and then back at the nurse. "What…what…where's…what happened?" He croaked out, his throat feeling like dusted sandpaper and his tongue feeling like a piece of dried cement.
The nurse gave Blaine a genuine look of pity, while she handed him a plastic cup with water that he hadn't noticed she'd been holding. He gulped it down with relief, and quickly handed the empty cup back to her.
"Well, you were brought here to the hospital, and your parents arrived shortly after…I suppose one of the teachers from his school alerted you as to what had happened, am I correct?" The nurse said easily, with a certain softness to her voice. Blaine liked her voice. Soft voices soothed him.
His mother nodded. Somehow, without Blaine's knowledge, Jonathan had snuck into his room while the aged nurse had been speaking, and once Blaine caught his father's gaze Jonathan looked away, his eyes giving no hint of emotion. "Do you remember what happed, Mr. Anderson?" The nurse asked delicately.
Blaine's eyes swam, and his breath lodged in his throat. The memory of what had happened to Toby and himself climbed through the crevices in his mind and overtook every gap and rift in his thinking, making his eyes sting and burn intensely. "I…where's Toby? Is he okay?"
The nurse smiled and nodded. "He's fine. The boy wasn't in as bad a shape as you; he only had a mild concussion and a few broken ribs. His parents took him home about eight hours ago."
Blaine squinted, as if trying to see the words she was saying as they escaped her mouth. "How…how long-"
"You've been out of it for about…twelve hours, give or take." Jonathan said from where he was leaning on the wall, speaking up for the first time since he shuffled in. Anita looked over at him, but he avoided her gaze, preferring to stare at the floor stiffly.
The nurse- Mandy, her nametag read, placed her eyes on Blaine's and asked him again; "Do you remember what happened, Mr. Anderson?"
Blaine nodded slightly, but his body had begun to shake. Anita quickly grabbed one of his hands and cradled it next to her heart, her mouth quivering. "I…we were waiting. Toby and I. For our drive. We were waiting…for our drive." Blaine gulped thickly, and his head started to swirl crookedly. "And then a whole bunch of guys…I don't know…the exact number…maybe six? Five? F-five…? Yeah, they started saying a bunch of stuff-"
"What kind of stuff?" Mandy asked quietly. Blaine looked down at his bruised hands, and the recollection of everything that had been said came back to him like a jagged ball of ice bouncing through his ribcage and catching in his throat. "They said…a lot of stuff. To Toby and I. You know, the regular comments, in a way." Blaine tried to shrug, but his arms were too sore to attempt the gesture. "Just with a bit more malice than usual. And then Toby got up and I got up and we started to walk away and they started…I think they started shoving us first, and we tried to stop them, but they had us out numbered and they were tall and they kept saying things and then there was a crowd and there were people egging them on I kept tasting gravel in my mouth and-" Blaine broke off, he voice starting to spasm and his words coming out too fast for anyone to understand properly. Anita let out the sob that she had been keeping back, sweeping Blaine into her arms and mumbling nonsense phrases in an effort to calm Blaine down.
Once Blaine's breathing returned to normal Mandy hummed slowly. "Your attackers are in custody, Mr. Anderson, and I assure you they will not get away free. There are simply too many witnesses and evidence for their parents or guardians to accuse it of being a false accusation. They will pay for their hate crime."
Jonathan cringed at the term.
Blaine let out a shaky breath. "Wha-what are my injuries?" He asked, in a hushed whisper.
Mandy looked down at her clipboard and lifted up the top sheet. "I…well, your head was hit pretty hard, but no internal damage was found, so we're assuming it's just a slight concussion, by the looks of it. You still need stitches on the cut above your right ankle and on the cut above your left eyebrow. Your jaw was almost dislocated, and your right wrist is sprained. Your left hipbone was almost shattered, and you have two broken ribs. After that it's just a whole lot of bruises, cuts, and one heck of a black eye."
Blaine shivered and brought his head down into his hands. Now he could feel more than ever his limp jaw, his pounding hip, the aching coming from his ankle and ribs.
Anita looked over at her husband and motioned for him to come next to Blaine's bedside. Looking out of his element, Jonathan stepped lightly up to Blaine's bed. "I'll just give you all some time alone, then. Don't do anything to exert yourself, Mr. Anderson." Mandy said gently, gingerly walking out of the room.
Blaine slowly slide his hands from his face, and gathered the courage to look up at his father. Jonathan's face was impassive, a blank sheet erased of emotion.
"Dad, I-"
"You're transferring. I've already arranged it. To Dalton Academy for Boys. One of my co-workers-Eddie Wilson-his son Fred…no, Flint; he goes there. I'd rather it be a co-ed school, though…I doubt this will help your problem at all. But it was the only school we could find that accepts mid-term transfers, and it has a no-bulling policy, which your mother thought would be a nice environment for you until…well, until this phase has run its course."
Blaine was dumb-founded. "You…arranged all that in twelve hours?"
Anita let out a small, hesitant giggle. "It wasn't very hard, actually. Just a bit of paperwork, some phone calls, an appointment scheduled with the Dalton headmaster to talk about your grades and boom, everything's more or less taken care of. You were always very intelligent, muffin; we should have enrolled you in private school a long time ago."
Blaine could feel the lids of his eyes growing heavier as his mother spoke, and by the time she was done Blaine was positive he had never felt more tired in his life. He blinked his eyes blearily. "Mom…Dad…thank you. For…for doing all this for my sake."
Anita began to tear up for what felt like the millionth time since she had come in. "Oh baby, you know we'd do anything to keep you safe." She bent her head down to kiss Blaine's forehead, brushing his untamed curls back from his eyes. "Look at that, it seems like you need a haircut again. Your hair just keeps growing like a briar patch." Blaine smiled slightly at his mothers attempt at humor and couldn't stop a yawn from escaping his lips. Jonathan looked down at him and pulled Blaine's covers up at bit higher, to wrap around the boy's shoulders.
"Get some sleep, son. You look like hell warmed over."
Blaine nodded and let the darkened void crash down around him.
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Blaine called Toby only once after he was able to leave the hospital. Their conversation had been short and incredibly awkward; especially since it seemed like the last thing Toby wanted was to have a chat with Blaine. In the end they both agreed to just try and forget it ever happened, and when Blaine hung up he erased Toby Campbell's name off his cell phone's contacts list. It was easier that way.
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Blaine arrived at Dalton with a short haircut, a short stature, and very tall trust issues.
He kept to himself for a long while, not exactly distancing himself from the other students, but rather not actively attempting to make anyone want to be around him.
This was why Blaine almost thought he was hallucinating when a boy named Wesley came up to him at lunch one day at random and asked if he wanted to join the Warblers.
Blaine had stared at him with shock and apprehension, then mutely shook his head. This made Wesley look down at him, giving Blaine a bit of a confused stare. "What…you don't want to?" He said it as though he thought the statement was absolutely ludicrous. Clearing his throat, Wesley began to say what sounded like a memorized speech. "Because, you know, being invited into the Warblers is an honor, and truly one you should not dismiss. We Warblers pride ourselves on our immaculate performances, and our passed down traditions. Being a part of the Warblers lets you become part of the nest, and we treat each of our hatchlings with delicate care. Our harmonies are renown across campus and beyond, and with every song we brake it down until it is stripped raw, to find all the melodies and sounds that breath life into it. We have been praised by numerous-"
"No, no, I've heard all of that. I just…do you even know if I can sing or not?" Blaine said, interrupting, while wringing his hands on top of the table. He had never been asked to join a club before, and he really didn't want to draw much attention to himself. He had done so once before and look at where that stroke of genius got him.
Wesley pointed over to a tall boy waiting in the lunch line. "See him? That's my friend David. He's in the Warblers with me. Anyway, David heard from Nick who heard from Jeff who heard from Flint who thinks he heard it from Thad that you're actually a really good singer. Thad said he heard you singing to yourself a couple of times in the past few days, and he thinks that you carry a tune very nicely. We Warblers admire people who can carry out tunes. Because, of course, we Warblers are masters at our art, for we have perfected every-"
"Okay, okay, I understand." Blaine interrupted hastily, truly not ready for another tirade on how amazing the school's a capella club was. "Well…umm…I guess I could, you know…give it a try. You know…the Warblers." Blaine quickly stuffed a piece of biscotti in his mouth before he made a bigger fool of himself.
Wesley's answering smile was big and bright enough to blind half that cafeteria. "Awesome! I knew you'd say yes, I mean, who can say no to the Warblers? You're going to love it, just you wait." Almost bouncing a little, Wesley stuck out his hand towards Blaine.
"I'm aspiring to be one of the next Warblers on the council. I'd be incredible holding that gravel…" Wesley seemed to shake off his momentary dreamy expression, and waved out his hand a bit more forcefully. "You can call me Wes."
Blaine hesitated for a second, and then shook the boy's hand. "…Blaine."
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Blaine was surprised to find that he completely loved being apart of the Warblers. It gave him a place where he could escape from classes, from bad memories, from nightmares. Being apart of the group made him feel safe, secure, and the fact that they all worked together to create a single harmony made him feel needed in a way that he had been truly missing. Not to mention the way other people looked at you once they heard you were a Warbler; giving you appraising stares of awe and looking at you kind of as if you were a teenage rock star.
Slowly Blaine began to open up to some of the other members, and he found himself making another thing he had been sorely lacking: friends. Underneath his near worship of the Warblers (and his utter infatuation with wanting to hold that gravel), Wes was actually a pretty nice guy. And the same could be said for David, Nick, Jeff, and most of the other Warblers. They accepted Blaine with open arms, regardless of his hesitancy and slightly jittery appearance. After a while Blaine stopped jumping in his seat whenever a door was slammed. He started to look people in the eye more. And little by little, his wings grew.
Blaine's first solo performance was one of the best moments in his life. He adored being able to just fall loose, let everything go, and simply let the song and harmony carry him across the floor. It wasn't so much the spot light that got to him; it was more the feeling of being in control yet unbridled and having the ability to just be himself that made his heart burst. And if he climbed on a bit of furniture during the performance, well, who was to deny him a bit of stage presence?
Blaine quickly became the Warbler council's favorite soloist; maybe because of his natural charm, maybe because of his amazing talent of drawing the crowd into the song. Probably for both.
Wes felt very proud of himself. He had told Blaine that he'd love the Warblers, and like always, Wes was right. And every now and then he would whisper the always irritating "I told you so." into Blaine's ear, because, well, it never hurt for Blaine to be reminded.
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A Year Or So Later
Blaine Anderson was over the moon. Completely over the moon. Kurt loved him. Kurt loved him. Kurt LOVED him. He kept it repeating in his head like a mantra, a chant; until it almost took on a purely rhythmic form to him, a lyric-lacking love song.
So maybe his father still believed him to be going through a phase. So maybe his mother still never had the courage to stand up for him. So maybe he would never forget that horrible night.
Still, for once in his life, he was able to give love to something, someone, who was able to return it unconditionally, without fail. Without wanting him to be something he's not. Without trying to ignore something he is.
And that… that was something beautiful.