A/N – soooooo this idea came to me sometime in the beginning of September and I've only just finished. Ima let you read but I really hope at least SOME people like it, because a lot of time got put into this :P I'll be posting once a week, or once a fortnight hopefully – there's eight parts so I might do it over two weeks. But yeah, hope you like it.
Disclaimer – Glee isn't mine. Matilda isn't mine. Don't sue ):
Everyone is born, but not everyone is born the same. Some will grow to be butchers, or bakers, or candlestick makers. Some will only be really good at making Jell-O salad. One way or another, though, every human being is unique, for better or for worse.
Blaine Anderson was most definitely born into the wrong family. From the moment he was born, his parents didn't appreciate the beauty of the baby in the crib before them. Most parents might believe that their children are the most beautiful creatures to grace the planet. The Andersons' however took a less emotional approach.
"What a waste of time," Harry Anderson said, as he took his son out of the maternity unit. "And expensive too; $9.25 for a bar of soap? Ridiculous." Harry continued to mutter under his breath while carrying the carry seat to the car with Zinnia Anderson trailing after him, blonde curly hair bouncing and stiletto heels clip-clopping.
Harry Anderson threw his son and the car seat into the trunk of the car, not even bothering to buckle him up before slamming the door shut and stomping around to the driver's seat.
Harry took off without another word, Zinnia playing with her make-up and popping gum into the overhead mirror while their daughter Michelle leaned over the back seat to look at Blaine. As Harry came to a quick stop, Michelle jerked backwards and Blaine's seat skidded across the floor of the trunk coming to a halt against the door. His parents remained unaware and continued with their arguing over an exit to the car park and Harry's driving skills. Apparently his quick turns at top speed and Zinnia's lipstick application didn't go together so well.
The most attention so far that had been paid to Blaine had come from the nurses in the hospital, and Michelle who sat on her knees staring at her brother as if he was an alien.
The Anderson's were too caught up in their own messed up lives that they hardly noticed their child Blaine at all. Forgetting him in the trunk of the car on their first day home was just the beginning.
Had they taken any notice of Blaine, they might have realised that they had quite an extraordinary child; scraping his name into his food at the mere age of 10 months, quickly learning to read and other wiseacre antics.
By the time he was two, Blaine had learnt things most thirty year olds struggled with; how to take care of himself. As time went by and Blaine got older, he developed his own style. He dressed in his own dapper clothes and gelled back his hair, ensuring to always put his pocket watch into his pocket each morning.
Every morning, his sister Michelle went to school, his father went to work to sell used cars for ridiculously unfair prices and his mother went to bingo.
"There's leftover meatloaf in the fridge. Pop it in the microwave if you get hungry." She would say before running through the door after her husband and daughter, leaving four year old Blaine alone. Just the way he liked it.
He threw the leftovers into the trash with a smile on his face and began making his favourite snacks. He took the glass bowl out of the cupboard before cracking some eggs, mixing them and adding the rest of the ingredients he had measured out carefully. He mixed the recipe together before placing three blobs of the creamy mixture on a frying pan on the stove – patiently waiting for each to cook on one side before flipping them over carefully with a spatula. Once they were fully cooked, he flipped them onto a plate and sat down to eat them at the kitchen counter, reading the daily newspaper as she ate.
When he was four, he plucked up the courage one day to ask his father for something he desperately wanted.
He walked up to his father confidently in his blue flannel pyjamas and asked him flat out.
"A book?" He said, "What would you want a book for?" A speck of Harry's food spat out of his mouth and hit Blaine in the face as he was speaking. The look of confusion on his father's face confused him.
"To read." Blaine deadpanned, stating the obvious confidently while he looked directly into his father's eyes.
"To read? Why would you want 'a read when you've got the television set sitting right in front of you? There's nothing you can get from a book that you can't get from a television faster." As his father spoke to him, his sister grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him back. He stumbled a few steps before rectifying his posture.
"Get out'a the way!" she said, before settling down once more to watch the TV show which seemed to be constantly on in the Anderson household.
The family went back to watching the television and eating their junk food while Blaine walked away from the living area. He had always known he was different from his family and finally realised that whatever he would need in this world, he would have to go get it himself.
It was another regular morning. Harry ran out of the house once again, kissing his wife on the cheek before Zinnia herself shuffled out, yelling back to Blaine about the 'fish fingers in the freezer'.
After his parents left, Blaine sat down and set off in search of some books.
He took the directory out of the phone cabinet and searched for the nearest public library. He was elated when he realised there was one within walking distance from where he lived. He could finally get what he wanted, and on his own at that.
He set off, remembering the address in his head. Walking along the streets was an adventure for Blaine; he had never gotten to play out as a child. His parents kept him in the house or in the backyard, too lazy to keep an eye out if he were to go to the park or to play in the streets.
He stood patiently while waiting to cross the road with the giant looking people surrounding him, only crossing once the green man on the display lit up. He walked casually across the road and towards the library, head held high.
He had never been to the library before therefore had to ask the kind elderly lady at the front desk where the children's books were.
"Where are the children's books, please?" He asked, remembering the manners he had somehow gained from his up-bringing.
The woman looked at Blaine over the top of her round glassed. She was indeed very kind and spoke with more affection than Blaine was used to from the adults in his life.
"They're right through there. Would you like me to pick one with lots of colourful pictures in for you?" She smiled down at Blaine from her place behind the desk.
"No thank you, I'm sure I can manage." Blaine said, smiling kindly at the woman before turning and walking in the direction she had pointed, eager to find the books.
He quickly found a book which caught his attention and sat down to read it in one of the many soft chairs in the library.
After that first time, every day Blaine would walk the ten blocks to the library once his mother had left to play bingo. He would sit down where ever he felt comfortable, and devour all the books he could find. He would laugh along with the jokes, feel sadness whenever the characters did and soon the librarian came to accept and fascinate over the young child who appeared every day to lose himself in the fantasy worlds in books.
Once he finished all of the children's books, Ms. Phelps the librarian offered him some guidance and library tips in order to find something new.
"You know, you could have your very own library card. Then you can take books home, and you wouldn't have to walk here every day. You could take as many as you'd like." She said, offering Blaine another one of her favourite novels to read.
After that, Blaine took a cart with him to the library. Along with the list of books he had read, Blaine's young mind continued to grow, nurtured by all of those authors that wrote his favourite books.
These books gave Blaine a hopeful and comforting message; you are not alone.
When he would leave the library with as many books as the cart could carry, he would stop by the park on the way. He'd spend a few minutes watching all of the mothers and fathers and children play together before settling down beside a tree to read in peace.
"Any packages come today?" Harry Anderson said storming into his son's room without knocking, interrupting Blaine from the magical world of fiction he had been engrossed in that day. He was sat cross-legged on his bedroom floor, book in his lap and eyes big with interest.
"Mm-mmm" He said, shaking his head swiftly before attempting to find the word he had been reading.
Harry looked down, finally noticing the objects scattered across Blaine's bedroom floor and the one in Blaine's hands.
"Where the hell did all this come from?" Harry said, kicking some of the books roughly with his boot-clad foot.
"The library." Blaine said in the tone he would often use with his parents. They would always ask him such obvious questions and he would always answer in the same way; as if they should know the answer, yet with a light tone as to not project his attitude. He glanced up at his father for the first time swallowing thickly, noticing that this conversation could take a turn for the worst.
"The library? You've never stepped foot in a library. You're four years old."
"Six and a half." Blaine said, trying to hide the hurt that his parents yet again had missed a portion of his life.
"You're four." Harry said, holding up four fingers as if the action would make his words come true.
"I'm six and a half." The child repeated, this time letting his light tone slip slightly.
"If you were six and half you'd be in the school already." Harry wracked his brain for any other explanation about missing over two years of his child's life somehow.
"I want to be in school. I told you, I was supposed to start in September. You wouldn't listen." Blaine pronounced his words clearly and properly, his many years of reading paying off in his dialect. However the ever lessening light tone hadn't gone un-noticed by his father as he grabbed Blaine's wrist and tugged him to his feet.
"Get up...Get up." Blaine closed the book and stumbled to his feet, struggling to keep up with his father's pace.
"Give me that book." Harry said, snatching it from Blaine's hands and throwing it towards the television room. Blaine's eyes shot after it as he watched to ensure it landed closed, not bending any of the pages. He sighed with relief as it landed on one of the cover sides. Harry continued dragging Blaine by the wrist towards his and his wife's room where Zinnia was treating her hair with something which was more likely to make it drop off than make it look better.
"Dearest pie," he spat out, "how old is Blaine here?"
Zinnia looked away from her reflection for a split second before drawling out the wrong age.
"Four."
"I'm six and a half, mommy." He said desperately, trying his hardest not to be rude.
"Five, then." Zinnia said, distaste colouring her words at being distracted from the job at hand; vanity.
"I was six in August." He looked up at his father, hoping that they'd believe him.
"You're a liar." Harry turned to his son, narrowing his eyes and scowling down at him.
"I wan 'a go to school." Blaine said, dropping the act for a second to express his young feelings.
Both Harry and Zinnia snorted before Harry stepped forward to look into the mirror that his wife was still looking into.
"It's out of the question. Who'd sign for the packages? You can't leave valuable packages lying about outside on the door step for anyone to take. Now go watch TV like a good kid."
Blaine turned and walked away, ducking his head uncharacteristically as he walked back towards the living room in search of his book. As he walked away he caught snippets of his parents' conversation and his expression turned from sadness to hurt in a second flat.
"Y'know, sometimes I think there's something wrong with that boy." Zinnia said, and Blaine heard his father grunt in affirmation as he rounded the corner away from the words they were saying.
He picked his book up off the ground and clutched it to his chest, hoping to be able to hide away in his room for the rest of the evening with his fantasy worlds. But he wasn't so lucky this time.
His sister had gotten bored with the re-runs on the TV. As Blaine turned towards his room he felt something hit the back of his head. He sped up; ducking his head and trying to fight the tears which threatened to overpower his sight.
"Have a marshmallow," she said with a full mouth of the mallow substance. "Have another marshmallow, dip face." She was relentless; throwing the marshmallows at Blaine's back, forgetting that the more that she wasted on Blaine, the less she would be able to eat.
"Dip face." She shouted one last time before Blaine got to the safe confinements of his room, shutting the door. He heard another light thud as he threw himself on the floor, diving once again into the book he had been reading.
However he couldn't find the power to stop the tears now that he was locked up in his room. They dripped down his face onto the pages of the book as he tried sniffing away his stuffy nose. He clutched his favourite cuddly toy, kissing it on the head before closing the book.
Sometimes Blaine would long for a friend, someone who was kind and had courage – somewhat similar to the people in the books he read. It occurred to him, though, that talking dragons and princes with blue eyes and brown hair would only ever exist in the storybooks he read.
Blaine was about to discover that he could be his own friend, that he had the kind of the strength that neither he nor anyone else was even aware of.