A/N: Hello! This is the first story that I plan on actually continuing on this site! I would love your feedback so that I can make this story the best that I can!
Warnings: Child abuse, swearing, and homophobic slurs. If any of these are triggers for you, I suggest that you read another story.
Disclaimer: I in no way own Glee, Ryan Murphey does!
Blaine's fingers tightened around the Cheerios! uniform in his hands. Twist. Untwist. He bit his lip, realizing that he had no choice.
The day before, someone had discovered raccoons in the boy's locker room. Figgins' had the boys changing in the bathroom until someone else found snakes in the toilet. By that point, a frustrated Figgins' had ordered everyone to change at home. Not a problem for most people.
Of course, Blaine Anderson was not 'most people'.
Blaine sighed as he began unbuttoning his shirt. His father was downstairs. Blaine knew that he was drunk off his ass, which was both good and bad. Good in the sense that there was a bigger chance that he wouldn't notice his son's clothing, but bad because if he did… Blaine didn't even want to think about it.
He was still stressing by the time his uniform was on. Blaine wished desperately that he was on his way to Glee club, and not cheerleading practice. Sue had switched their practice to the exact day and time that Mr. Schue had scheduled Glee. Well, at least he had Tina.
After quickly making sure his gel helmet was still in place, Blaine cautiously opened his door. Stomach churning as he looked left and right, he bit his lip. Okay, the coast was clear.
He tip-toed out of his room, praying, praying, praying that his father wouldn't see him. Down the stairs one step at a time, sweat shining on his forehead. There was a clear path to the door. Just had to sneak past his chair, which was holding Mark Anderson, a bigger, balder, straighter, version of Blaine.
One step at a time. Blaine was afraid his father would hear his heart hammering in his chest. The T.V was on, playing a football game. Blaine's stomach rolled when he saw the amount of beer bottles on the ground.
He didn't make it one step to the door.
Mark turned his head, hazel eyes not quite looking at Blaine, but full of anger. That anger quickly turned into rage as he saw what his son was wearing.
"What the fuck are you wearing!?" Mark jumped to his feet while Blaine simply jumped. His mouth was opening and closing as Mark walked closer.
"Is that-is that a cheerleading outfit?" His rage was making him soberer. Before Blaine could move, do anything to defend himself, Mark, his father, had slapped him so hard that Blaine was on the floor.
Blaine cried out when Mark started to kick his sides. He punctuated each with a word. "I. Will. Not. Have. A. Fag. For. A. Son!'
Blaine's eye filled with pained-both emotional and physical-tears, but he knew better than to let them fall.
Mark bent down and bodily hauled Blaine to his feet. He pushed the teenager into a wall, getting right into his face which was already bruising in the shape of a hand.
"I'm done." He growled. "I'm done having a fag for a son. You leave, right now, or I'll kill you. You hear me? I'll kill you."
Blaine was shocked. He had dealt with slurs constantly, an occasional hit here or there, but this was next level. Blaine had no doubt that his father was serious.
"Dad-" He started to plead, but an amazingly painful punch to his gut made him shut his mouth so hard that his teeth trembled, as did the rest of him.
"Don't you ever call me that again." With those final words, He shoved Blaine so hard he went flying into the door. Blaine scrambled to open it, flying down the porch steps when he did.
Blaine bolted, ignoring his smarting cheek and the bruises on his chest and stomach. He bolted and bolted with no idea where he was running, just that he had to get out of there.
His mind was in shock. The words 'I'll kill you' were floating around his head, blocking any tears that Blaine had.
By the time he reached Mckinley, He came to his senses. This had happened before, just because it was worse, way worse, too worse, didn't mean that he could forget what to do. Plaster on a smile. Turn up the charm, stand tall and proud. However, he couldn't stop the trembles that made his body vibrate or the huge purple, black, and red handprint the was on his cheek.
Just had to hope no one noticed.
The words still floated around his mind, but they were more of a whisper now, not a scream.
He made his way to the field like a smiling robot. When he got there, he realized that he was twenty minutes late.
"Anderson!" Sue called. Blaine's smile faltered a bit. She was going to notice. She was going to notice. She was going to-
"I'm sorry, Coach Sylvester. My Dad couldn't drive me, I had to walk. It won't happen again, I promise."
But, of course, Sue was no longer listening, instead squinting at Blaine's cheek. "What happened, Anderson?" She asked bluntly, although, Blaine swore that he could hear the tiniest bit of worry in there. It made him feel worse.
"Huh? Oh, my cheek." He smiled at her. "Nothing. I just tripped on my way here. I'm fine."
Sue studied him closely for a moment, her lips pursed. From the second she saw that smile, she knew something was wrong. That was the falsest smile she had ever seen. Her suspicions grew when she saw the handprint, and she knew for sure when Blaine answered too robotically. It was his father. She knew why she knew. She knew everything. She's freaking Sue Sylvester.
"Go home, idiots!" She called through her megaphone. The Cheerios! stared at her, confused. "I said go home!" No one had to be asked twice. Except for Tina, who glanced worriedly at Blaine and didn't leave till Blaine gave her a thumbs up.
When Blaine started to walk away, knowing perfectly well that Sue wanted him to stay, she quietly said, "Not you, Anderson. You're coming to my office."
Blaine gulped, staring at Sue with eyes full of terror.