Here, have some little!Blaine and little!Danielle sibling love.

Disclamer: I don't own Glee.


Word Is On The Street
by littlemusings

a compilation of stories pertaining to the dance / fettucine 'verse


II. Rainbow Marshmallows...For Courage!


"Hot chocolate with rainbow marshmallows. This tradition started when we were kids. Some kids were messing with him at school one time, and I was in kindergarten when I gave him that first mug of cocoa to alleviate his stress and anger. Of course, my mom made it and I added the marshmallows and awesomeness."

- Chapter 11, 'Always'


2003, Westerville, Ohio
(Blaine: 9, Danielle: 5)

In her world of crayons, Disney, stuffed animals, sandboxes, and Pixi Stix, Danielle Anderson loved her older brother more than anything. He was the one, when her parents weren't home, or their maid was busy cleaning some room, who comforted her when she stubbed her toe on that stupid bed frame last Monday and climbed on a chair and stole a lollipop from their mother's Halloween stash just to make her feel better. He liked to watch 'The Little Mermaid' and countless other Disney movies, singing every single song with her loudly, to their father's chagrin.

All in all, her 'Kuya' (as their mother told her to call him as a term of endearment, but she forgot to sometimes) was absolutely the best person in the world, and no one could tell her otherwise.

So when she heard little Mikey Schmidt from Miss Applebee's daytime section-A kindergarten class (she was in Ms. Micah's section-B) call her brother a weird name, she wondered – who in the name of Crayola would say such a thing?

"Hey, Danny-elle," Mikey scoffed, walking up to where she was playing in the sandbox. Danielle looked up from her creation and frowned, clapping sand from her hands impatiently.

"Whadda 'ya want, Mikey?" she pouted, folding her arms irritably. Mikey sat on the edge of the red sandbox and shrugged.

"My poppa saw you and your big brother walking around the connie-gress building yesterday with your poppa."

"So what?" she asked defiantly. Mikey shrugged.

"My poppa points your out big bro to be a fag someday," he said simply.

"What's that?" she asked confusedly, her face scrunching up thoughtfully. Mikey rolled his mud-brown eyes and shrugged.

"How 'm I supposed to know? He just says your brother's a fag 'cause he walks around like a girl and sings girly songs."

"But Disney's for everybody," Danielle said confusedly, tucking a stray strand of curly black hair behind her ear. "That's what Kuya Bee told me."

"Not accordin' to my daddy," Mikey sneered. "An' my daddy's always right, 'cause he's a big guy in the connie-gress place. He helps make the laws an' stuff."

"So's my daddy!" Danielle exclaimed angrily. "Why do you gotta go around and call my Kuya a fag when you don't even know what a fag is?"

"You know m' daddy isn't the only one who says Blaine is gonna be a fag. Even my older brother Dean thinks so too, 'cause they're in the same fourth grade class. Says that your brother doesn't play flag football or stuff like that. He says that Coach Regan always lets 'im be the kicker 'cause he can't do anything else during P.E."

"That's 'cause Bee isn't good to be a quarterback or linebacker," she retorted, already getting ready to kick sand in his face. "Even my daddy says he's got the stru-ky-ture or something of a kicker."

"Structure," Mikey said, attempting to sound intelligent. "Your brother's a fag."

That was it.

Danielle pulled him towards her and stepped aside as he fell, face-forward into the sand. He immediately sat up, spluttering and spitting sand, tears in his eyes. "You pushed me!"

"No, I pulled you," she said, clapping her hands together and dusting off her plaid uniform skirt. "Now, I dunno what a fag is, but I can tell it's bad, so next time you call my big brother a fag, I'll sock you in the face, Mikey Schmidt!"

"Miss Applebee!" Mikey wailed, pointing towards Danielle, whose eyes widened as the tall, kind, blonde teacher from the daytime section-A kindergarten class walked over, a disappointed gleam in her eyes as she saw Mikey crying in the sandbox, Danielle looking guiltily at him.


"Danielle Marie Anderson, why did you pull Mikey Schmidt into the sandbox?" her father, James Anderson, asked sternly, looking at her with his arms folded as she sat on one of the kitchen counter stools. Miss Applebee and Miss Micah had called her father's office and he and her mother, Maria, had to pick her up from school for 'bad behavior'. "You know that's not how we deal with problems in this house."

"He was calling Kuya Bee a bad name, daddy," Danielle complained. "I didn't know what it meant, but I knew it was bad. And I wasn't in the house, I was at school."

"It's the same thing, sweetheart."

"What on earth did he call your Kuya?" Maria Anderson said, distraught, her hands on her hips. "He probably didn't mean it."

"No, mommy, he really meant it even though he didn't know what it meant. He said that his daddy and his big brother called Kuya the bad word."

"What word?" James said exasperatedly, collapsing onto another chair, running his hands through his dark, chestnut hair.

"He said an 'f' word."

Maria and James looked at each other uneasily. "Honey…anak," Maria began, "There are plenty of words that start with the letter 'f'. It depends."

"I don't wanna say it though, 'cause it's bad for Bee," she pouted. James kept his composure and looked at his daughter gently.

"Honey, if it's that bad, you can say it only once."

"But, daddy…"

"It's okay, Dani. Just say it once."

"Okay…but don't get mad at me, okay?" Danielle sniffed, tears forming in her eyes. "It was…f…f…fag."

Maria and James fell silent. Only Danielle's sniffs were heard in the high-ceilinged kitchen.

They heard a sudden movement outside the kitchen and turned around as the kitchen door opened and their maid, Ellie, entered hesitantly. "Sir, Ma'am, Blaine is home. What should I tell him?"

"Tell him to start his homework already. He has piano lessons at six," James said, his teeth gritted. Danielle looked at him, frightened.

"Daddy, what does the word mean?" she asked in panicky voice. "It's bad, isn't it? I knew it!"

"It's bad, honey. Don't say it, okay?" Maria said, rubbing her daughter's back gently. "Come on, I'm going to make you some hot chocolate."

Danielle hopped off the stool and grabbed her mother's hand as they made their way over to the stove. Maria turned to face her husband, who looked absolutely distressed.

"Baby, go and pick out which colored marshmallows you want in your cocoa," she said, gesturing towards their large, plastic jar of soft, luscious marshmallows. Danielle nodded, rubbed her eyes, and grabbed at the jar, piling the marshmallows little by little in a small bowl. Maria walked over to her husband and sat next to him, gripping his hand tightly.

"I will not let my family be mocked like this," James said defiantly. Maria looked down then looked back up at her husband.

"Maybe he's just in a phase," she said gently, patting his hand. James looked at her in disbelief. "We should just leave him alone for now."

"Alright…hopefully," he mumbled. His grip on her hand loosened. "Maria, I agree. Maybe this is all a phase, the Disney princesses, the lack of interest in football…people change, right? Especially Blaine. We're raising him, right, aren't we?"

"Of course we are," Maria responded sweetly, kissing him on the cheek. "Personally, I think we should let him be and let him decide who he wants to be."

"When I bought Mulan for them, I thought he would like the fighting aspect of it all, not Mulan's singing and such…"

Maria rolled her eyes. "…James."

"Okay, fine. It's probably just a phase. We'll just talk to him about this later on," he said hurriedly, dismissing the conversation with a wave of his hand. Maria smiled at him and her eyes widened when Danielle was overfilling the bowl with different colored marshmallows.

"Dani, honey, that's too much!" Maria exclaimed, running over to the five year-old, who was grinning brightly at her mother. "Oh dear."

"It's like the rainbow, mommy!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands excitedly. "See, there's pink, purple, yellow, green…"

"Honey, you're going to have more marshmallows than hot chocolate in your mug if you use all of them."


Little, nine year-old Blaine was furious.

He had a horrid day at school, to say the least. First, Dean Schmidt had tackled him to the ground during physical education class, dirtying up his PE uniform; second, half of the boys cornered him in the locker room, stealing his math textbook and homework to get the answers; third, they attempted to sling gum in his hair, but he quickly avoided that by scurrying right back into his fourth grade classroom, in the safe haven that was Mrs. Smiths' room.

Unfortunately, Dean Schmidt was in his class.

Dean was the true "bane" (a word he coined for Dean – he found it in a very good book he forgot the title of) of his elementary school life. Throughout the entire geography lesson, Dean was flicking bits of rubber eraser at the back of his head, causing little chunks to be caught in Blaine's dark, messy curls. Blaine tried to maintain his dignity by sitting still and paying attention, but Dean was beginning to get on his nerves.

He asked Mrs. Smith if he could go to the nurse's office. Taken aback, Mrs. Smith nodded, asking him if he were okay, and Blaine shook his head furiously, his face turning red as the chunks of eraser fell from his hair.

The entire class laughed at him, especially Dean, who just could not stop.

Mrs. Smith, he remembered, stared at the class darkly, and merely asked, "Who did this?"

No one confessed. Mrs. Smith looked at Blaine, who merely stared at the floor.

"I will find out who did this," she warned. She crouched down to match Blaine's height, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Blaine, who did this to you?"

Blaine shook his head and shrugged.

"Blaine," Mrs. Smith said slowly, "Will you tell me who did this?"

The small boy blinked and looked around the classroom; Dean began cracking his knuckles.

"Dean Schmidt, I'm sending you to the principal's office," Mrs. Smith commanded, reaching into her desk drawer and pulling out a pink slip.

"Mrs. Smith, I didn't do anything!" Dean said innocently.

"Your actions say otherwise. Come here, now."

And with that, Dean was sent to the principal's office, and let back into the classroom ten minutes later with a smug smile on his face. Blaine looked horrified. As Dean passed by his desk, he left the pink slip on Blaine's, with a note that read: You'll get it after school, fag, in a messy scrawl.

Blaine shuddered; he kept his eyes on his geography workbook, and pretended to get back to work.

So, as soon as the bell rang, Blaine shot out of his seat and was the first one to leave the classroom. He heard Dean's voice call out his friends in the hallway, so he quickened his pace and pushed the doors of Saint Joseph Elementary School, hurrying to walk home. Heart beating wildly, eyes stinging, he had to hide and wait behind a large dumpster when Dean and his buddies walked by, calling out his name.

"Hey, Anderson, I know this is how y'get home! Come on out!"

Blaine remained behind the dumpster for a few more minutes. When he was sure they were gone, he ran for his life down the street, and two blocks down to his house.

And now, he was home. And frustrated, since his parents were talking in the kitchen and obviously not caring about him. For the third time that school year. He lay on his bed, body eagle-spread, staring at the ceiling. The contents of his backpack were strewn across his bedroom floor, and his face was scrunched up in a scowl in his attempt to fight back tears.

Daddy said crying is for sissies. You're not a sissy, Blaine.

Blaine picked at his curly hair, pulling out the chunks of eraser that didn't fall out earlier that day. He chucked them violently towards the trashcan by his study table, grumbling incoherently every time he missed his target. "This sucks," he whined, and then he moved to hug his pillow, the tears beginning to flow freely down his cheeks and onto his bed sheets. He pushed his face deeper into his pillow to stifle his choking sobs – his father would be furious if he saw or heard him cry.

His bedroom door opened a little, and he nearly shouted, "Go away!"

"Bee?" Danielle called out. Blaine immediately sat up and wiped his eyes on his blazer sleeves, and saw his younger sister standing by his door timidly, clutching two mugs of hot chocolate. "Mommy said I should make you some hot cocoa, too. She wanted Ellie to bring the cups up just in case I dropped them and broke them, but I told her I was a big girl and I wouldn't drop them."

Blaine patted the space on the bed next to him, and Danielle walked carefully over to the bed, handed him a bright blue mug, and sat down next to him. The two siblings sat in silence, sipping their hot chocolate.

"Why were you crying, Bee?" she asked in a small voice, looking at him pleadingly. Blaine shrugged and sipped cocoa, chewing on the marshmallows idly. "I knew you were crying, 'cause I heard you down the hall."

"Did dad hear me?" Blaine croaked; his voice suddenly sounding scared. Danielle shook her head.

"He's downstairs with mommy. They're…talking and stuff, drinking grownup coffee," she mumbled. "Bee…can I ask you something really 'portant?"

Blaine nodded.

"Mommy told me not to say this…but…but—don't get mad at me, 'kay?" she whispered shyly. "But…but what's…what's a f-fag?"

The older boy winced at the word and blinked back tears. "I don't know, really, but the boys in school keep calling me it, and they keep on messing with me and I don't know what to do. They call me 'girly' and 'f-fag' and all of these other really bad names and no one seems to notice 'cause they all like Dean Schmidt and Kevin Johansson and all of them—" He wiped his eyes and cheeks furiously. "They told me it's bad to like Disney and they took my math homework and threw erasers at me—"

"'Those bitches'!" little Dani grumbled. Blaine spun around to face her, his eyes wide. Danielle shrunk. "Sorry, Bee, I heard that in a movie mommy and daddy were watching the other day."

"Don't say that," Blaine warned. "It's bad. Dad told me before that's on his list of really bad words."

Danielle shrugged.

"Okay. But I think bad people should be called bad names, because they hurt good people, and that's really not good," Danielle said matter-of-factly. "I pulled Mikey Schmidt into the sandbox durin' playtime today! His face went kablooey, and he got sand in his butt, I think."

"What?" Blaine said in disbelief, nearly choking on his marshmallows. "Don't, Dani, don't do that ever again!"

"He was calling you that f-word, so I pulled him 'cause he was being mean and I don't like it when people say bad things about 'ya."

Blaine bit his lip, smiling at his little sister.

"So's if ever Dean Schmidt does stuff to you ever again, I'll push Mikey into the trash can by the school. If Dean Schmidt throws erasers at your hair, I'll throw pencils at Mikey's butt. If Dean Schmidt steals your math homework, I'll take Mikey's backpack and throw it in the sandbox."

Blaine took his and his sister's mugs of hot chocolate, stood up, and put them on his study table. And that was when he walked up to his little sister and hugged her tightly. "You don't need to do that, Dani. But…but thank you."

"You don' need to thank me, Bumble Bee, 'cause you're my big brother," she mumbled, a tear falling down her cheek. "And I need my big brother to take care of me when he gets older, so I gotta take care of him, first. And remember what the lion learned in Wizard of Oz?"

"Courage," Blaine said simply.

"Yeah, that's what you gotta have. I guess I've got that."

"That, you do," he said. Blaine separated from her and smiled. "Wanna watch The Little Mermaid again?"

"Yeah! But then mommy told me you gotta do your homework."

"I did it in class and turned it in already so that they wouldn't steal it tomorrow," Blaine said, his voice sounding more confident.

"We gotta clean your stuff off the floor, first then. I think mommy would get mad if she saw your stuff there," Danielle warned, pointing to the floor. Blaine nodded, and the two siblings stood up together, and began to clean up.


An hour later, Maria Anderson walked up the stairs and into her eldest son's room to find Danielle and Blaine sitting together on Blaine's mini-couch, singing along to 'Part of Your World,' looking like they were having fun, a smile creeping upon her lips.

"Blaine, it's almost time for your piano lessons. Did you finish your homework, sweetie?" she asked. Blaine nodded, and turned back to sing with his sister and Ariel. "You have thirty more minutes, okay? Get ready now," she added. Blaine nodded furiously and continued to watch.

She sighed and turned around, walking back down the stairs.


(Little Note: MY BLAINELLE CREYS. SDLKFJASLFJASF. There you have it, the origin of the rainbow marshmallows and Blaine's usage of the word 'courage' as his mantra. Pppfffttt. My heart.)