AN:

Hey everyone! I am SO sorry I haven't posted in a while. A LOT has happened in my life that prevented me from posting.

I spent a few days in the hospital and now just got out. Don't worry I'm fine. :)

But after this I am going to take another mini break to recover.

So I'm trying to update and post as much as I can. :)

Thank you to everyone that supports me. :)

On to the story, we are skipping ahead some. Just a couple of days.

This chapter explains how Kurt can see Blaine... Kinda. And what Blaine's punishment is for stealing.

I'll shut up now. Thank you all for reviewing, favoriting, and following. :)

Please review. Please be kind.

Have a great day!-ILOVESMESOMEGLEEX3

Chapter 4

"You understand that you're in big trouble, young man. Do you understand that?"

Blaine didn't often chew gum. He preferred his Lucky Strikes. But since you can't smoke in a court room, the gum would have to do. His arms were folded over his standard white t-shirt. Blue jeans clung to his trim waist and he couldn't really look at the judge. His right foot tapped impatiently on the tiled brown floor.

"Yes, Judge Green."

"And," Green continued, forcing his authority, "you cannot continue to act like this. If you must, then I have the right to put you in jail for thirty days."

Blaine came to a halt for a split second and then he resumed his typical, rebelliousness.

"YES, Judge Green."

But Green scowled. "Listen, Anderson. I have a full caseload today and I don't need your attitude, you little punk. So, it appears you won't learn your lesson until I put you in the slammer."

Blaine came to a complete stop and realized his doom. Green straightened his glasses on his hawk-like nose.

"But," the arrogant judge added, "it appears you might be in luck this morning."

Blaine looked at his dirty fingernails. "Yeah?"

Green scowled. "Look at me, Anderson!" Blaine stopped chewing his gum, wishing he could have a cigarette right then. But he complied and calmed his body as best he could.

Green added. "As I said, you're in luck today. You seem to have some surprising advocates on your side. I have a request from the plaintiff to become an assistant."

"What?" Blaine nastily asked.

Green peered over his glasses at the punk. "Calm down, Mr. Anderson. Your attitude will not help you out of this." Then, Green folded his hands together, resting them on his chin. "So, you have a choice. You can go to jail for thirty days or become the Hummel's assistant for the same amount of time. It's your choice, Mr. Anderson. What will it be?"

Well, what could Blaine do? It's not like jail is any fun. It's boring and repetitive. And an assistant to the victims could look good for any trouble he might get in, in the future. So, in the end, Blaine relented.

"Fine." He said.

Green wasn't satisfied. "Mr. Anderson, I firmly believe you should be forced to face your crimes. And yet, I admire what this…" he looked over his paperwork, "this Mr. Burt Hummel has asked of you. And his son probably would need your help."

That got Blaine's attention. "Why?"

Green looked away. "Never you mind. Judgment is for thirty days in the service of the Hummel residence. Any failure of just one day results in jail time for the remaining time period. Your public defender has already been appraised of this decision. Do you understand, Mr. Anderson?"

Blaine sighed, thinking he'd get his cigarette very soon. "Sure, pops."

Green had already moved on. "Next case!"

.

The following day, Blaine arrived at Burt Hummel's house. It certainly wasn't anything special. A one-story, semi-Art Deco layout that reminded him of any house he'd seen in the suburbs. The '50s were a perfect time for this kind of property and Blaine just didn't care. Instead, he lumbered his way towards the front door. He could see empty milk bottles on the front steps, waiting to be picked up. Glass could bring in money. And money means paying bills and helping his dad. Blaine considered taking them. After all, would anyone really miss them?

The door suddenly opened. Burt Hummel stood there, imposing and hard. They stared at each other for a moment before the elder Hummel spoke.

"Anderson." He simply said. Blaine didn't reply. "Come in."

Blaine walked in without shaking the excess dust off his boots. The inside wasn't much better than the outside, to Blaine. A tri-level house, complete with a black and white TV, a glass cigarette table, and ugly furniture in the living room. To the left, an ordinary dining room table with family photos on the walls. A small hallway in the center with a short staircase almost straight up.

TYPICAL, Blaine thought. He reached for a cigarette in his rolled up sleeve.

"No smoking." Burt said. "This way."

The brat put his smokes away and followed Burt through the house. They ended up in a kitchen nook, staring at the back porch beyond.

"That's my son."

Blaine squinted his eyes. Kurt was reading in a lawn chair, apparently soaking up some sunshine. It was fairly warm that day and Kurt looked like he was sweating. But Blaine just watched him, feigning interest. After a few seconds, he put his hands on his hips and glared at Burt.

"So, what is it you want?" Blaine asked.

Burt turned to him and looked him up and down. Blaine scoffed.

"I ain't into that, mister."

Burt resisted rolling his eyes. "Enough of that queer stuff, boy. I want you to help around here."

"Yeah," Blaine asked, taking a few steps towards him. "How?"

"You'll see."

Burt turned and opened up the glass door. "Kurt?! Come in now!"

Kurt closed his book. But before he did so, Blaine watched him. The punk could see that the print in the book was incredibly large. But he lost interest. He yawned just as Kurt walked by him, standing near his dad. Blaine noticed that Kurt smelled of sunshine, suntan lotion, and perhaps honeysuckle.

"I believe you two know each other?" Burt asked.

The two looked at each other for a long moment. Then, Kurt turned and said, "Yeah…kinda."

"Yeah, kinda." Blaine echoed.

Kurt glared at him for a moment and Blaine just smarmily smiled.

"I'll leave you two," Burt said, backpedaling through the kitchen, "to get acquainted. Blaine? You do as he says."

"What?!"

"That's right, Blaine." Kurt calmly said. And then, he half-smiled. "Come along, boy!"

Kurt turned and waved Blaine through the little room and up the stairs. Blaine did not like this at all and noticed Kurt had to reach for the banister a couple of times before he clasped it.

"I'll follow you on one condition." Blaine said to Kurt, was halfway up the stairs.

Kurt stopped and turned his head. "What?"

"You let me smoke up there."

"No. Come on."

Kurt left. Blaine scowled. And somewhere else, Burt was probably smiling.

.

Over the course of the next half hour, Blaine found his new enslavement to be almost as bad as jail. He had become a maid for the homeschooled boy. And when he tried to sneak away for a smoke, Kurt was right there to send him elsewhere. Blaine discovered quite a few things that morning. Laundry is boring. Dusting is boring. Checking homework is boring. Sweeping is boring. And helping fix lunch is even more boring.

So basically, Blaine had become a slave to a boy who seemed like he might've been a nice kid if he wasn't abusing his position of authority. Blaine sneaked peeks at the kid now and then. He could've sworn Kurt was quickly putting glasses away whenever Blaine reentered the room. This time, Kurt was lounging on the bed, reading a textbook. But Blaine was a little surprised – Kurt was holding the book just an inch from his nose. Suddenly, Blaine understood everything.

"So!" Blaine said, sauntering towards Kurt, "You don't see very well, huh?"

"That's none of your business." Kurt primly replied.

"OK, OK. That's solid, pops."

"I ain't no pops! I'm seventeen years old!"

"Old enough to be a dad."

Kurt looked away and closed his book. "Just…get back to work or somethin'."

"Solid po-" Kurt glared at him. "I mean, solid, Kurt."

The boy on the bed stared for a moment longer and refused to see how the folds on Blaine's shirt hugged his rib cage and waistline. Instead, Kurt focused on turning on the radio and listening to his favorite radio station. Blaine moved on to a dresser and noticed something odd about it.

"Hey."

Kurt wouldn't look at him, favoring the dial on his Zenith radio. "What?"

"What's wrong with this?"

Kurt looked over. "Nothing. Get back to-"

"No," Blaine insisted. "It looks like the finish isn't the same."

"What?"

"C'mere."

Kurt hesitated. Blaine was kneeling down in front of the dresser and looking at him.

"Come onnnn!" the brat whined. "Just look at this."

"You try somethin' funny and my dad will-!"

"Just come over here. I ain't funny!"

Kurt relented and got up. He walked over to the dresser and peered at it. "So?"

"So?!" Blaine exclaimed, pointing at a corner near the top. "Look at this finish!"

"What about it?"

Blaine suddenly understood that Kurt didn't know anything about furniture repair. "Well, see this right here?"

Kurt looked and pretended to know. "Yeah?"

"Well, see this right here and how this," he pointed at the other end, "are different colors?"

Kurt once again looked and pretended to know. "Um, yeah?"

Blaine's hand dropped. "No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't!" Blaine roared, standing up. "You don't 'cause you're blind!"

"Am not!"

"Am too!"

"Am not!"

"You are too, Kurt! Why the hell am I even here listening to a blind cripple who can't do a goddamn thing for-"

"GET OUT!"

Kurt walked away, folding his arms over his belly. Blaine didn't say anything, a faint ripple of pain in his abdomen.

"Look, Kurt, I didn't mean-"

"At least I'm not a thief!"

Blaine stared at him while silly music played on the radio. Kurt wouldn't look at him and the brat didn't know what to do. In the end, he knew he screwed up and in a very annoyed fashion, slammed his hands on his hips.

"Awwww, Kurt! Don't be sore!"

"I'm not sore!"

Blaine took a heavy step towards him. Kurt heard it.

"I ain't mean nuthin' by it, Kurt."

That voice. Blaine's voice softened a bit and Kurt's head perked up a little. But Blaine was far from done.

"Listen, Kurt." He said, sitting down on the bed and looking up at Kurt, "I'm sorry. Don't be sore. I just…" he scratched his lacquered head, "I ain't usedta doin' stuff like this, ya' know? I don't even know what I'm doin' here!"

"You're HERE," Kurt said, STILL not turning around, "because the judge said so."

"But-"

"No buts!" Kurt loudly said. Annoyed, he reached for his glasses and stormed out of the room.

Blaine sighed. Now, it was just him and some stupid music on a new radio. He didn't really know what to do, then. His eyes drifted throughout the room and found their way to a window.

Casually, he slid it open. Around the neighborhood, suburban life went on. Men mowed their lawns, women in polka-dotted dresses unloaded groceries from their Jalopies or Fords, and little kids played with Big Red wagons. Lawns were neatly mowed, traffic drove slowly, and life just seemed so perfectly easy.

Blaine scoffed. Without turning to see if anyone was around, he reached for a Lucky Strike in his shirtsleeve and smoked a cigarette.

.

"Anderson! Get down here!"

Only five minutes had gone by and reality slammed its ugly head in his face. Sighing, he threw the last bit of his cigarette out the window and bounced downstairs. There he was greeted with Burt and Kurt Hummel. They were anything but happy.

"Listen, boy!" Burt began, emphatically pointing at Blaine. "You did good today, overall, and you're coming back here tomorrow. Now, I don't wanna hear anything MORE from you two. I can't stand it that you two don't get along, but tough. Tough, tough, tough! So, Anderson, you will come back here and you will not be disrespectful."

Blaine started to protest but Burt held his hand up.

"And Kurt," Burt said, "you be respectful of Blaine. He's here for a while and I need you two to work together. Got it?"

No response.

"GOT IT?!"

"Yes, dad."

"Yes, Mr. Hummel."

"Alright then," Burt said. As he walked away, he looked over his shoulder. "And no smoking in my house, Anderson!"

He left. Blaine recoiled. Kurt hid a smile.

That left the two boys together in the little foyer. Blaine was surprised his day was so short with the Hummels but he didn't seem to mind at all. He was getting out. That's when an uncomfortable silence hit them. They didn't really look at each other but it was clear that Blaine was allowed to leave. When he finally did look over at Kurt, the boy was rubbing his eyes.

"You alright?" Blaine asked.

Kurt immediately stopped and looked at him. "Yeah. Fine."

"Alright then. I'm leaving."

"Alright."

Blaine opened the door and galloped down the walkway towards the street. Kurt advanced and held the door open with his right hand. Blaine checked for his cigarettes and other valuables on his person when Kurt suddenly spoke up.

"Hey Anderson!"

Blaine stopped and turned around, near the mailbox. "Yeah?"

Kurt loudly whispered, "You can smoke…in my room or somethin'."

Blaine cordially nodded and walked off. Kurt watched him go for a little while and then shut the door. It was mid-afternoon and Blaine had nothing to do. He wondered if he should get back to his "other" job. But that didn't feel right. He also considered checking on his dad. He didn't want to think about that.

He reached for his Lucky Strikes in his shirt and realized he was almost out. With a little smile on his face, he turned and headed towards the nearest Five And Dime store. It was such a nice day and the walk would be nice. He wondered if Kurt would keep his word.

That crazy song from the radio crept into his mind as he turned on Main Street in downtown Lima. He didn't even care that he didn't like it. Kurt did. And he wondered, as he saw an advertisement for Lucky Strikes in a store window, if Kurt would keep his word.

Smile now firmly on his face, he entered the Five And Dime and got his smokes.

.

AN: I promise to post when I can. Thank you all for reading. Have a great day!-ILOVESMESOMEGLEEX3