A/N: Chapter two is finally here! Sorry for the super long wait. I'm a pretty busy person, so my updates probably won't be very frequent. But I figured that I'd rather write fairly long, well-written chapters rather than short, sloppy ones. So next time, please remember that I haven't given up on this story! I'm most likely still writing it. Anyway, enjoy! xx

First, Blaine needed to convince his parents that he was indeed upset about not going. This was all a ploy, of course. Blaine was going, and he was overjoyed in the fact that he was. Overjoyed wasn't even the right way to put it; he felt a rush of excitement throughout his whole body whenever thinking about leaving. Blaine had never faced his rebellious side before, and sneaking off to another state was certainly a way to introduce this part of him.

Second, he had to lie to Sam and his family. Surely Sam's parents wouldn't fly Blaine across the country if his parents didn't give the okay. The day after his dad had went-off on him, Blaine went to school and told Sam that his parents had said yes, which caused the blonde-haired boy to question him.

"Are you serious, dude? No offence or anything, but your parents never let you go to like, anything," Sam had said. This had made Blaine even angrier; even his friends saw how unfair his parents could be. He wondered if they all had a discussion about he and his family, where some not-so-nice words were probably said. Nevertheless, Blaine insisted that his parents were fine with the matter, but he warned Sam not to call his father or mother, saying that they were very busy with work and that if Sam's parents bothered them, they might not let him go after all.

Third, he needed a way to sneak out of the house, without being heard. Both his front and back doors were out of question, due to the fact that the hinges on both squeaked extremely loudly whenever you opened or closed either door. Luckily, Coach Beiste kept around twenty, long rope ladders in the gym storage room. On the last day of PE class, Blaine slipped into the storage room and stole the longest rope that Beiste had, hoping it would be long enough to cast out his window and safely climb down. To his luck once again, it was. Blaine had tested the rope late at night, right before junior graduation, and it fit perfectly between his second-story window and the hard ground below.

Now it was the morning he would sneak out, and just one problem remained: his luggage. Blaine had packed the previous night, afraid that his parents would find his readied suitcases before he got the chance to escape if he packed before then. But Blaine had spent hours puzzled as how he was going to get his four enormous suitcases safely out of his room without making the whole neighborhood wake up. He only found one solution.

"Hey Blaine! I'm here dude!" Puck's voice sounded from outside. Blaine had asked Puck to help him with his luggage, knowing that he would be the best one to ask for this sort-of task. In order to do this, Blaine had to explain to Puck that his parents had no clue that he was leaving, and that that was why he was about to send his bags flying out the window. Puck assured him that he could be trusted, and in fact even shot Blaine a proud look, as if he had influenced this risky action.

Blaine walked over to his window, looking down at Puck. "Dude, can you keep it down a little? I don't want you to wake up my parents."

Puck rolled his eyes. "Send 'em down, Anderson."

Blaine threw each suitcase down, each of them landing with a soft thud in Puck's muscled arms. With each suitcase also came a new slam from the boy, such as "Dang, Anderson, how much gel does a guy need?" or "I know you're gay and all, but you pack more suitcases than any girl I've ever met." Each comment simply made Blaine chuckle to himself, knowing that they were all true.

Now, everything was ready, except Blaine. He was dressed in his normal polo and capri-pant outfit, despite the warming weather outside, and his hair was freshly pulled back and gelled, but Blaine's mind was in ruins. Although he had planned perfectly well, he was still more nervous than he had ever been in his life. He knew that his parents would notice his absence, and probably be furious, but they wouldn't call to yell at him, or fly to California themselves. That, to them, would require too much time spent punishing him on their part. They would most likely wait until Blaine returned home to bash out on him, which made the wait all the more nerve-racking.

"Bro, hurry up in there! We're going to miss the flight if you keep moping," Puck called, growing impatient. Blaine sighed, knowing he was right; it was now or never. He took one last look around his bedroom before beginning his own descend from the window. When his feet finally landed on the grass, he let out a huge breath, realizing that his plan had actually worked.

"Coming or what?" Puck yelled, once again a little louder than Blaine would have liked.

"One sec, Puck." Blaine answered, pacing toward the bottom of the window. He pulled hard on the ladder, catching the other end of it once it came sailing down. He was certain that his father would be angered to find Blaine's escape route, if he wasn't angry enough from his son going missing. Blaine rolled up the ladder and jogged toward Puck's convertible.

"I have to admit," Puck began, as Blaine rested himself in the passenger seat and shut the door behind him. "I never took you as the badass type, Anderson. But this is a pretty badass thing to do."

Blaine grabbed his nearest suitcase to shove the ladder in while letting out a laugh. "Thanks, Puck. I'm really not the badass type, but getting that from you is a compliment, I suppose."

"You bet it is, dude. I don't just strut around giving those to people, so I suggest you cherish this moment." Puck started the engine, which made Blaine flinch. "Relax, Blaine. Your parents aren't going to just assume that you're running away from a car engine starting."

"I know, I'm just really nervous, 's all. Haven't you ever been nervous before? I mean, you do a ton of stunts like this. Don't you ever worry about. . . you know. . . getting caught?"

The Mohawk-sporting teen simply laughed. "I have been caught, remember? Multiple times. Sure, it's pretty damn scary, but it's worth it. The adrenaline rush I get, the reputation, the way people look at me. All of it."

"Whoa, slow down. This is more of a one-time thing, Puck. I'm not planning to do this again anytime soon." Blaine laughed, rolling his eyes at the other boy.

"Whatever, man. You know who to call if you ever decide to release your inner badass again."

Blaine bobbed his head toward the window, staring at the large houses as the vehicle drove through his neighborhood. He took careful notice to each house, noting the smallest of details. How every other house had a black mailbox, and the others had dark green ones. How the corner houses seemed wider then the ones next to them. How you could see the property lines of each house, by the length of the grass, and the occasional fence. Finally, he took note of the sign reading Greyson Hills at the entrance.

Something was going to be different when he returned. Blaine could feel it in his bones. The thought totally scared him, yet excited him greatly. This had nothing to do with his parents; obviously things with them would completely change. It was something else. Something huge. Something Blaine would never forget.

He wondered if this is why he decided to sneak out. Maybe this whole plan was leading up to something extraordinary. Blaine was a huge believer in fate. Well, he actually wasn't, until a certain band came into his life.

"Help!" Blaine screamed. "Please, somebody help me!"

"Don't you get it, you little shit, nobody can hear your pleas. Nobody will help you," Steve laughed, punching Blaine roughly in the shoulder. The boy's father was drunk, as Blaine found that his breath smelt of whiskey and his eyes were bloodshot, pupils dilated. Nevertheless, each blow hit just as hard as it would if the man were sober, and his mother would stay locked in her room, as she always did, to avoid hearing the beating.

Blaine felt like he had been crying for hours on end, when in reality, he had only returned home fifteen minutes ago. Fifteen minutes ago he had been fine; untouched, dry eyes, and only a few bruises left over from a previous beating he had received a week or so back. His mind, however, was another story. Blaine could already feel his father's fist connecting to his face on the bus ride home.

Homeroom had started off as it usually did: Sam spouting a bad impression, Tina yammering on about a guy that she liked ( whom was usually, if not always, homosexual ) , and Blaine, tweeting about a new PamLan picture, trying to conceal his squeals. That day, it was a picture of Elliott and Kurt, just simply hanging out at the studio, which was almost enough to make Blaine drop his brand new iPhone out of his hands. Those two boys were the definition of perfect, especially Kurt. Blaine loved every band member, but he always had a soft-spot for Kurt. Maybe it was because of his perfectly styled hair, or perfectly colored eyes, or those skinny jeans that he wore. . .

Yup, definitely the skinny jeans.

"Class, please settle down. Blaine, phone away when the bell rings please." Mrs. Bell, one of McKinley's two sophomore world geography teachers scolded, making her way to the front of the class. Blaine shyly slid his phone into his back pocket, turning his attention to the board. Mrs. Bell went on and on about the precipitation in Spain, or something in that nature. Blaine wasn't paying attention; he never did in this class. It was too close to the end of the school day to focus, and with the picture Blaine had just been drooling over, his mindset clearly wasn't centered around rain.

The sounding of the final bell made Blaine jolt awake from his beautiful daydream about a beach date with Kurt, right as they were about to kiss. Blaine sighed, slightly annoyed at the PA system before realizing that it was probably a good thing that the bell had stopped his thoughts. From where things were headed. . .

Let's just say Blaine was happy to have been cooled off.

"Don't forget to grab your first semester report card from the table on your way out, everyone. I already emailed all of your parents, so they know it's coming home with you today. Don't even try to throw them away, and that means you, Mr. Nelson."

Blaine shoved past a groaning Rick Nelson, reaching for the envelope with his name printed on it in bold letters. He set off down the hallway, tearing open the flimsy paper, confidant that he would receive straight A's, as he always did. His report card, however, did not bring this expected news. Checking down his report card, Blaine's small grin turned into a mortified, gaping face as he reached the final class on the list.

World Geo. Soph Course, Session 1: B

Blaine's breathing became uneven as he nearly sprinted toward the school bus, shoving anyone in his path. This couldn't be happening. Blaine Anderson, the straight A student couldn't have gotten a B. There was no way. Impossible.

Blaine took the very back seat of the bus, earning some questioning glances from students around him, as he usually sat near the front. But not today. Sitting near the front would mean he would exit the bus quicker, and Blaine did not want to go home.

The lowest grade he has ever gotten on a report card was an A-, and even that had made his parents angry and disappointed. But a B. . . He didn't even want to imagine what would happened once his marks were shown to his father.

Everyone seemed to have their eyes glued on Blaine, all shooting him worried looks. Or were they disappointed? Blaine knew that they were disappointed. Everyone already knew. He was sure of it.

Blaine huddled his knees to his chest, staring out the floor the entire ride. His breaths were sharp and uneven, but quiet enough to go unnoticed by most of his schoolmates. He was paranoid, he thought. Nobody on the bus knew of his grades other than him. No matter how many times he told himself this, he couldn't bring himself to believe it.

That bus ride was both the longest and shortest of the teen's life. He wanted it all to end; for the disgracing, terrible thoughts to leave his head and never return, but he also wanted to retreat on the small bus for the rest of his existence, never having to face the wrath of his father. Life was unfair.

Life was unfair.

Blaine thought of the same statement as he received the third blow from his father. One of his cheeks had turned a deep red from the ongoing impact, however, he had lost feeling in this part of his body by the second punch. Blaine was weak. You'd think that after getting hit so many times, that your body would grow a tolerance for it. If only. . .

"I give you everything! I give you a home, feed you, raise you, even pay that blasted phone bill of yours." Steve's eyes widen at the thought of Blaine's mobile, which earned the boy a forceful kick in the shin. "I bet that's it, isn't it? You spend so much time looking at that faggy band of yours that you don't give your studies the time of day!"

"N-No sir, they have nothing to do with my grades! Things have just. . . gotten harder. So much harder. I promise to try more, father. Please, let me go," Blaine cried, not daring to look into his father's drunken eyes. He'd been scared of the reaction of his sober guardian, not expecting for his father to have had a few drinks.

"Don't talk back to me, boy." Blaine's father pinned him against the wall by the front tussles of the boy's hair, breathing heavily onto his neck. This was it, Blaine thought. His father would draw his blood. It was a rare occurrence to do so, but Blaine could tell by the dark look in the man's eyes that he wished to. Just then, there was a knocking at the door.

"Shitting fuck, who the hell is that?" Steve growled in anger, releasing his grasp from Blaine's hair. "Go up to your room. Don't make a fucking sound up there, do you hear me?" Blaine quickly nodded a yes before scampering off to his room, locking the door behind him, sending himself a mental reminder to ask who was at the door later on. He would have to thank them in his future prayers.

It was only a matter of seconds of being in his room before Blaine noticed the blood dripping from his leg. His father's shoe buckle must have caught his skin. Blaine dug through his drawers until his hands found his half-used roll of gauze.

Ding!

Blaine's phone went off as soon as he finished tending to his newly acquired wound. For the first time in a while, he was scared to check the notification, in fear that it might be his father telling him to return down stairs. Hesitantly, Blaine picked up his phone and flipped it over so that the screen was facing him.

PamelaLansburyOfficial via Twitter: I felt the need to make this today...Enjoy :) -Kurt

A link to a Youtube video followed the tweet. Blaine smiled for the first time since he had received his report card. He needed an escape from his hell of a reality, one that only a certain band member could provide. Still grinning wildly, Blaine unlocked his phone and tapped on the underlined blue link.

It didn't take long for the buffering bar to be replaced with a bashful Kurt Hummel, wearing a red sweater scattered with holes, complemented with a creamy white undershirt. Despite 3/5 members of the band being female, Kurt had always been proclaimed as the most fashionable of the bunch. Blaine had known that if Kurt hadn't made it as an entertainer, he would've made his mark in the world of fashion and style.

"H-Hi everyone," Kurt stuttered. "There is no way to explain this without making myself sound utterly strange. . .

"But after recording in the studio today, I had this urge to make a video. This video. I normally don't talk much about my personal life, and yes, I'm trying to loosen up a bit, just for you guys. What I'm about to tell you is very personal. In fact, it changed my life forever." Kurt took a deep breath. Blaine noticed that when Kurt did actually talk, he tended to run on and on. It was kind-of adorable.

"So here it goes. This is the story about how I found Pamela Lansbury. Or rather, how they found me."

Blaine watched the small, glowing screen in awe as Kurt shared his story, his heart quickly picking up pace. How the boy closed the video seemed to make Blaine's heart sink deeper into his chest more than it ever had before.

"So for all of you watching. . . no matter what situation, no matter how hard life is, or how far your dreams seem to be from you, don't loose hope. If you don't stop believing in yourself, then one day you'll find that miracles happen in everyday life. I can't imagine where I would be without the band, and without all of you guys. You all mean the world to me, each and every one of you. Never forget to believe. I'm a big believer in fate. Keep hope, and stay strong." Kurt gave a little wave to the camera before the screen went black.

Tears were rolling down Blaine's cheeks at a rapid pace. He had taken Kurt's words to heart more than he ever thought he would. It was as if he had been speaking directly toward him, and no one else. As if he knew that there was a boy out there somewhere who needed the encouragement to keep going.

He suddenly became a big believer in fate himself.

"Uh Blaine. . . Anyone home in there?" Puck knocked on Blaine's skull teasingly, knocking Blaine out of his gorgeous daydream. "We're at the airport, dude."

"W-What? The airport? That was fast." Blaine took attention to the view outside, which had seemed to change magically from the outskirts of his neighborhood to the Fort Wayne airport. Blaine was amazed; the drive from Westerville to Fort Wayne was over an hour. Had he been spacing out for that long?

"How much did you sleep last night, bro? You're lookin' a little loopy over there." Puck pulled into an empty parking spot, bringing the car to a full stop.

"Don't know. . . maybe two, three hours?" Blaine replied, coincidentally yawning. The anticipation had been too much to let Blaine fall asleep easily. He had slept for a short while at a time, waking up not an hour later. In total, out of this cycle, he had gotten almost three hours of rest, if you could even call it that.

Puck laughed, stepping out of the car. "Nerves, huh? Man, I can remember when I used to get those. . . good times." Blaine mimicked his friend's actions before punching his shoulder gently.

"Shut up, Puck. Not everyone's a badass like you." Puck merely laughed, beginning to unload the many suitcases from the back. Only one really belonged to himself, though. And it was no where near the size of Blaine's biggest piece of luggage, which, by the looks of it, was three-times the size of Puck's tiny suitcase. It must have contained something delicate or valuable, because as soon as Blaine laid eyes on the massive bag, he sprinted toward it.

"Be careful with that one! It's really important." Blaine snatched the suitcase away from Puck, setting it gently on the ground.

"Important as in your life savings or as in your entire bow tie collection?" Blaine received a knowing smirk from the other boy, which only made his eyes roll even further back in his head.

"Gel, actually."

Puck snorted, picking up half of Blaine's bags on top of his own. "You're lucky we're late, Anderson. Or else you'd be stuck carrying your own shit."

Blaine trotted along Puck's side, lugging his remaining bags. It had been irresponsible of him to take so long this morning, but that wasn't the first thing on Blaine's mind. The feeling of abnormality from the drive to the airport had not gone away. If anything, it had grown stronger. He was becoming even more nervous about the travel, if that was even probable. Blaine had never flown in an airplane before, if that had anything to do with it. His parents had always insisted on driving everywhere, which made for long, boring road trips. . .

"Dude, you seriously need to sleep on the plane. I've never seen someone sleep walk before, but it sure looks like you're about to." Puck popped Blaine's daydreaming bubble, as it seemed they had miraculously already made it to the security check point. Blaine shook his head as a dog would, in hopes of fully waking up.

"Yeah, I probably should doze off on the flight. As long as you guys promise not to draw anything on my face. . ."

"You've got no promise from me!" Puck laughed, stepping into the security scan. This was going to be a long flight.

Because the best way to welcome California is for a dick and a mustache to be drawn on your face.

"Two times a day, two pills." Kurt thought as he stared into his bathroom mirror, having just swallowed his nightly medication. His reoccurring sleep problem had only seemed to get worse; so bad, in fact, that he almost fell asleep at the wheel on the way to his father's house. Burt had insisted that he see a doctor, who later prescribed him sleep medication pills. He took two in the morning, which were supposed to help him stay awake, and two different pills before bed, which were supposed to help him sleep. Kurt had decided on taking them early tonight, since the rest of the band was coming over.

Kurt was still uneasy over people being in his home. Even after talking with his dad about it, who was super helpful and supporting, he still got the chills every time he thought about it. He eyed his reflection in the reflective surface, going over his checklist.

Hide all childhood pictures. Check.

Put away all trophies and awards. Check.

Take the yearbook from my bookshelf and put it in the box under my bed. . .

Kurt's eyes widened as he realized that he had forgotten the most important step. He dashed out of the bathroom and straight to his bedroom, headed to his bookshelf. The darned thing had to be there somewhere. . .

Bingo.

A fairly thin, blue and red cover flashed across Kurt's line of vision. He quickly grabbed the book and gently moved his hand across his old school's crest on the cover. He questioned why he kept the old thing out in plain sight almost every day, but he couldn't bring himself to put it away. Part of his life was in that book. Even if it wasn't an overall good part, there were some things that he wanted to remember. And some that he defiantly wanted to forget. . .

Ding Dong!

The sound of the doorbell ringing nearly made Kurt jump three feet in the air. He scurried down the floor, pulling out a large, rectangular box from under his bed. He rushed to place the yearbook inside, covering it with other items in the box in case his friends decided to be nosy. Pushing the box back under the bed, he stood to his feet, brushed himself off, and headed for the front door.

"Kurtie!" Rachel was the first of the four to greet him, pulling him into a tight hug. She had always been the closest to him, due to their similar interests and hobbies outside of the band.

"Rachel," Kurt choked out. "Did you plan on strangling me before even stepping foot inside?"

Rachel let go with a laugh, and let Kurt be greeted by his three other band mates. Once they were all inside, Kurt shut the door with a smile. Perhaps this wouldn't be as bad as he predicted. Despite his constant worrying and hesitation, the other four members really did calm him down a bit. They gave him a sense of comfort that reminded him of the past. The good past. Imagining living a life without them seemed almost impossible. Kurt didn't even want to think about it. The only memories that Kurt enjoyed remembering at all were of his mother, and of events that happened after that rainy day at the diner, where his life and changed forever.

"You haven't forgotten to refill the salt shakers again, have you? I remember that you have in the past, especially on Wednesdays. . ."

"Yes, Gunther. The salt shakers are filled to the brim." Kurt rolled his eyes at his boss. He was always reminding him what to do, as if he were a young child. Well, he was the youngest employee there. And sometimes he did need a little reminding.

"Great. You're free to leave, Kurt. Or rather stay. . . "

Kurt never left when his shift ended on Wednesday nights. Wednesday nights were the best out of the entire week. Known as 'The Spotlight Diner's Open Mic Night,' the evenings were Kurt's only chance of performing ever since he had moved. Kurt's shift ended toward the end of the diner's open hours, so he had to hurriedly change to make in on stage. He usually made it just in time to be the last act, as he insisted on looking flawless before stepping onto the small platform to sing.

However, this time, it was different. When Kurt made his way out of the back room, the sign-up list was being carried away. He looked at the fellow employee taking the sign, who only shrugged in return and disappeared into the back room.

Kurt could almost hear his heart drop out of his chest and onto the cold, hard floor. This was the only highlight of his week; It had always been. But this week had been particularly hard as it was. His father had fallen ill, and Kurt had been worried throughout the past few days that the man might have another heart attack. He needed to be cheered up, and cheering up was something only music could do for him.

Searching to find an empty seat, Kurt sat down with two other employees, sighing deeply. If he couldn't make the music, he might as well listen, right?

"Hey porcelain, you're looking down. Did something happen?" The tan-skinned workmate asked, a slight grin forming across her lips.

"It's nothing, really," Kurt replying fingering the buttons on his shirt. "Just personal stuff."

"Aren't you performing tonight?" The paler workmate questioned. "Santana and I have only been working here for a couple weeks, but I always love hearing you sing. You're really good."

Kurt blushed, taken aback by the compliment. "T-Thank you. I usually do perform every week, but the last spot was filled tonight. I suppose that's why I'm upset." He looked over to the stage, where a middle aged woman was taking her place as the crowd's applause for the previous act faded. Behind her stood a boy about his age, only much more flamboyant. He was dressed in all black; black jeans, black boots, black trench coat. Hell, the boy was even wearing a black top hat, which hid is dyed-black hair fairly well. He must be the closing act.

"Wait, did he take the last spot?" The tanned girl, Santana, Kurt assumed, motioned in the direction of the boy, in which Kurt slowly nodded. "Figures," she mused, holding back a slight chuckle. "He's always been one to steal the spotlight."

Kurt gave her a questioning look. "What she means is," the other girl took over. "He's our friend. And that we could talk to him if you wanted."

Kurt shook his head. He couldn't take a performance spot from someone. "No, that's alright. I-"

Before he could finish, the two girls were waving the boy over. "Hey Elliott, think you could make a last minute arrangement?"

"I have somewhere around fifty songs buzzing through my head right now, Rachel. Of course I could." The boy, now known as Elliott, laughed. "One of you two decide to join me after all?"

"Glitter, meet Porcelain. Porcelain, meet Glitter. You two are singing together." Santana shoved Kurt in Elliott's direction, much to his protest.

"H-Hi I'm-" Kurt was cut off yet again, but this time by the loud cheering of the crowd. The act had finished.

"No time, we're up!" Elliott grabbed Kurt's hand, pulling him to the stage. "How well do you know The Darkness?" Kurt had heard of the band before, though he only knew a few songs. He let the other boy know of his knowledge level before the boy whispered something to the band and stepped forward to one of the empty microphones. Kurt followed, silently praying that this wouldn't be his first failing performance.

As soon as the guitar chords played out through the diner, Kurt knew that the duet would be a sure success.

"Can't explain all the feelings that you're making me feel

My heart's in overdrive and you're behind the steering wheel."

Elliott's voice was spectacular and already had the crowd standing in excitement. Oddly, Kurt didn't feel nervous at the slightest when it was his turn to sing.

"Touching you ooh ooh ooh ooh

Touching me ee ee ee ee

Touching you, God you're touching me."

The crowd was instantly in love with the pair, screaming the lyrics along with them throughout the rest of the song. The boys jumped all over the stage, full of energy and adrenaline. Kurt smiled wide as the song came to an end. They were a hit.

Elliott held out his hand as the crowd finished cheering, speaking over the other loud voices. "I'm Elliott."

"Kurt," he smiled wider, taking the offered hand and raising them both into the air. He felt as if he were on top of the world.

Little did he know, that very incident would cause him to truly be on top.

Kurt smiled at the memory, one of the best ones his brain withheld. After he and Elliott's hit performance, he had been formally introduced to the girls at the diner, as well as Dani, all of whom were very impressed at the chemistry they had seen as the two boys performed. Later that night, after a round of ice cream, Kurt had been asked to join his newly acquired friends' band, in which he couldn't refuse.

"Uh, Kurt? You okay? You're kinda spacing out on us," Dani teasingly waved a hand in front of Kurt's face, snapping him out of his daze and back into reality, where his four band mates stood, looking at his with curious eyes.

Right, he had guests to entertain.