So, this is something I'm dabbling with... one of many things, honestly. I'm throwing it up here, unfinished, because I need some help. I'm hoping to find a beta-reader to help with cohesion and just to generally give me encouragement or whatever, brainstorm, the like. But these days, I have no idea where to look. Used to be, I could go on LJ or Yahoo!Groups/eGroups and whambamthankyouma'am. Nowadays it seems like everything's on Tumblr and I'm not well versed. And a little shy, to be honest. So yes... help?

Anyway, this idea started simple: Kurt was at Dalton before Blaine (same grade, same age). World-building: Dalton has history because baroque architecture is cool! Things for Kurt were a lot worse than in the OU. Other details of the Glee-verse have been changed (in my head, as yet) and will come into play as I get to them, as they come up. I have a vague plan and I hope it will entertain. Don't worry, Kurt isn't all hiding and silent/skittishness. He's more... awesome smart and talented with serious issues? But as this is (as yet) from Blaine's perspective (third-person limited), we only see what he sees and know what he knows.

Please read and comment, offer help, kudos, delicious tempeh wraps, 85% dark cocoa bars, whatever. Feedback is fuel. Just, no hate mail please. Don't like it, just move on.

x-posted to AO3

~Amy

Chapter 1: A New Hope

The Dalton Academy for Boys was a renowned institute of learning. It also boasted a zero-tolerance bullying policy that was strictly enforced.

It was, in words, perfect. Its prestige would keep his parents happy and its policies would keep him safe. A win for everyone. Even his mid-year transfer was no fuss – not given the circumstances... and a hefty donation to the school.

Blaine was sure he would have been allowed entrance even without the donation, but his parents liked to make their name shine and such 'philanthropic' actions were par for the course with them.

"Remember, call us if you need anything," June Anderson told her son, placing a well manicured hand on his wrist delicately. He could see her restraining herself, her eyes telling him she wished to hug him tight and never let him go while her body sang with the tension of holding back, of maintaining decorum.

"I will, Mother," Blaine assured her, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek – the most affection he was allowed to give in public.

She smiled at him gently, squeezing his wrist one time before letting go and taking her husband's arm.

His father, Devon Anderson, reached out to pat him on the shoulder. "Son," he said in lieu of 'goodbye' and turned with his wife to leave. They hadn't even stayed long enough to see him to his dorm room, to see him settled and handed over to the care of whatever mentor they had picked for him.

Blaine knew from the outside, his family looked cold and formal – and perhaps they were, a bit. Appearances were important for people such as the Andersons and if that left others with the impression of coldness, then that was just how it would be. He knew how they were at home. He knew his parents loved him. That was all that mattered.

~o0o~

"Each wing has its own commons," Wes was explaining as they walked through the marbled halls, a hand idly gesturing as if to indicate the grandeur surrounding them. "Though all of the common areas are open to any student who wishes to use them. Additionally there is a Senior Commons room in the Main House which is primarily used as the Warblers' practice room due to its relative isolation."

"Warblers?" Blaine asked, speaking up for the first time since the tour began.

Wes grinned. "Our show choir. An acapella group uniquely run by a council of students rather than by a director. We have a sponsor, but he only is there to provide a chaperone to competitions and events. Otherwise, we're autonomous."

It was a standard practice at Dalton, Blaine was coming to learn. Students were expected to take control of their education, an exercise meant to prepare them for navigating the real world. A slipping of the leash, as it were. No public school Blaine had ever attended would be so brazen as to allow students to control any aspect of their learning. It was a bit thrilling and worrisome in the same note.

"Do you sing, Blaine?" Wes questioned, drawing the youngest Anderson out of his consideration of the school's self-governing practice and back to the topic at hand.

Receiving a nod in response, a bright grin spread across Wes' face crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Then you should audition! The Warblers are always looking to incorporate new talent into their ranks."

There it was again, the genuine and welcoming kindness that Blaine was finding exceptionally confusing. Then again, he was sure only a few yet knew the reason for his transfer, so it was only a matter of time before things changed and the coolness (at the very least since harassment and bullying of any kind were grounds for expulsion) returned.

After all, he had been fairly popular amongst his peers before he came out. A good looking boy with an ever-present friendly smile, Blaine seemed to make friends wherever he went. It had been naïve of him to think that coming out, being open and honest about who he was, would have no impact. He wasn't unaware of the trials of others, he'd just not thought it would happen to him. Even if this was Ohio.

What was more shocking was the quickness with which things had escalated. One minute he was everyone's Prince Charming and the next he was their punching bag. Because at first it hadn't seemed like anyone cared, not really, but the dance...

The worst part wasn't even the beating or the hospital stay. No, the worst part, to Blaine, was that the bastards got away with it. Completely and utterly. Scot-free.

Once he'd recovered, his parents had offered him Dalton on a silver platter and Blaine had accepted without a second thought. Escapist though it may be, it was a chance to start over, clean slate and he couldn't find it in himself to regret that – not yet.

"I think I'd like that," Blaine told Wes with a smile.

~o0o~

"So, Blaine," began one of the boys who had joined them in the East Wing's Common Room after the last bell rang. "How are you liking Dalton, so far?"

"A little overwhelming, to be honest," Blaine replied, hazel eyes round and bright.

They'd made their way through seemingly endless buildings, Wes pointing out classrooms and libraries – "Yes, we have multiple." – and dining halls and the student lounge complete with its own coffee bar – "You'll be an addict in no time!" – as well as the gym and pool area, eventually returning to the dormitories.

"It can be at first," the boy – Jeff – agreed, brushing pale blond hair from walnut brown eyes. He reminded Blaine of a surfer: tall, gangly, and sun-kissed.

"You'll get the hang of it soon enough," the other, a shorter brunet with a gentle smile who had introduced himself as Nick, soothed.

"Unlike some schools, students here are placed in a wing based on personality and background – in an effort to create a safe and happy environment for everyone," Wes explained, gesturing around at the boys milling about. "This wing is mostly private rooms, though Nick and Jeff opted to room together."

Jeff beamed. "We've been besties since we were six," he proclaimed proudly, ignoring Nick who rolled his eyes. "When Nick's parents decided to enroll him at Dalton, I begged mine to let me go, too."

Blaine stared wide eyed at Jeff wondering if he had any clue just what it cost to attend Dalton... or if that kind of thing even mattered to his family. Certainly, the Andersons were fairly well off, but it had been a long discussion, balancing the pros and cons, before the decision was made – even if the conclusion was forgone.

He knew, realistically, that most of the students at Dalton were from well-to-do families – between the cost of tuition and the prep-school aspect, the school tended to appeal to a very specific crowd.

A slight movement caught Blaine's eye, drawing his attention to a slender boy who slipped quietly out of the room. From what Blaine could tell he looked young, medium brown hair hanging down into his eyes, hiding his features in the shadow of his fringe. There was something almost phantasmic about him as he vanished through the door.

Noticing his distraction, the others turned in the same direction, but the boy was gone.

"Who was that?" Blaine asked, frowning, unsure if he'd really seen the boy or merely imagined him.

"That would have been Kurt," Wes said with a sad smile. "Our resident Ghost."

"Ghost?" Blaine asked incredulously, imagining wispy specters drifting through the halls as they teased and taunted the students. He might have enjoyed Harry Potter, but having his very own Nearly-Headless Nick or Moaning Myrtle was not something Blaine wanted to experience.

Wes shook his head. "Not a real one. He's just..."

"Wraith-like?" Jeff suggested, earning himself a jab in the ribs from Nick. "What?!"

"Kurt's really shy," Wes offered, ignoring the officious boy. "He was a midterm transfer, like yourself. Came in last spring. I know it's not kindly, to call him a Ghost, but it's what he reminds us of. He drifts in or out with hardly a sound and there's a sadness about him. If you didn't see him, you'd never know he was there. Other than responses in class when he simply can't avoid it, I don't think he's spoken a word to anyone."

"Not to anyone? How is that even possible?" For someone as gregarious as Blaine, the concept was one he couldn't fathom. His frown deepened.

Wes shrugged. "Everyone has their own story, I suppose. We have a number of boys here, in this wing, with stories similar to your own. Abuse and bullying are as common of reasons to attend Dalton as wealth and academics. I wasn't Kurt's mentor when he came here, so I wasn't privy to anything about him. I know he's very smart, extremely shy and quiet, obviously. He's openly gay, as well. But that's about it."

"He's here on an academic scholarship," Nick put in, shifting awkwardly as if he were uncomfortable gossiping about the boy behind his back.

Jeff, however, had no such compunctions. "I heard he was awarded the Dean's Scholarship. Full ride. They don't give that out to just anyone."

Blaine was impressed, but Wes wasn't.

"Enough gossipmongering," he ordered, mouth tight and defensive. "Let's head to dinner, shall we?"

~o0o~

Dinner was a relaxed affair, it appeared: blazers off, ties loosened, even a few shirt-tails untucked revealing that, underneath all the pomp, at the end of the day boys were still boys and Dalton was no exception.

Jeff had heaped his plate with meatloaf and mashed potatoes, slopping the mess in thick, dark gravy with a scattering of peas and translucent rings of onion. "I love meatloaf night!" he declared, practically throwing himself into the chair beside Nick.

"No, really?" his friend teased with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

"I can't help it! It's just so good!" Jeff moaned around a mouthful, earning himself a glare from Wes.

"Talk or eat, Jeffrey, but do not do both at the same time," he insisted haughtily, carefully shuffling peas onto his fork.

Jeff swallowed, eyes sparkling mischievously from beneath the fringe of his hair. "You know, it works better if you mix them in with the mash," he grinned, licking errant gravy from his lips. Wes made a face, almost twitching at the suggestion and Jeff snickered, turning to Blaine. "Wes hates for his food to touch. He once petitioned for Dalton to look into those cafeteria trays they use for kindergardeners. You know, the ones with sections and a place for your milk carton."

Wes sniffed primly and proceeded to ignore him, turning instead to Blaine. "You know, Blaine, Dalton has quite a history," he commented with pride.

"Here it goes!" Jeff hissed excitedly, almost bouncing in his seat with enthusiasm as Nick shushed him.

"Dalton is a not just a school," Wes explained, waving a fork about to encompass the whole of the school and the grounds beyond. "Mr. Dalton was a business mogul originating in California, but his biggest investments lay in Ohio. In the late '20s he decided to settle closer to his assets and purchased land on the outskirts of Westerville. For the design of what is now known as the Main House, he contracted an architect by the name of Lionel Bresson – impressed by his studies in Baroque design at the American Academy in Rome and the Ecole des Beaux Arts in Paris. Many of the House's design elements, even those of the stable and equestrian grounds, are taken directly from the famed Chateau de Vaux-le-Vicomte – which itself was an inspiration for the Palace of Versailles. An odd choice for Ohio, but Dalton would not be deterred.

"Despite the Depression, they broke ground in early 1929, employing local craftsmen for the majority of the work. It was a boon to the community and Dalton was honored for his assistance in such a time of struggle. When construction finished the following year, Mr. Dalton had an inspiration – or so it is claimed. It's said he took in the grandeur before him and the men around him, the sprawling acres of the estate, and saw that it could be more. His family only resided in the house for the two or so years it took to design and build the rest of the estate which would become Dalton Academy. During the same time, the Daltons built a smaller home closer to the center of Westerville proper that would eventually become the Mayor's House. Westerville made it through the Depression quite well off and Dalton has been a celebrated part of the city ever since," the Senior boy finished with a flourish and a rumble of his stomach.

"I love when he gets on a tangent about Dalton," Nick sighed out amid bouts of giggles as Wes resumed his dinner.

"That's not all, either," Jeff put in, sweeping the last of his potatoes onto his fork before licking it clean. "Dalton set aside a small fortune for assistance programs with the intent that the school would be a safe place for boys in need. These days it doesn't cover much, even with the Alumni donations, but they offer scholarships in varying amounts to those of particular need and those of particular excellence, I believe is how it's worded."

Nick nodded. "A fair amount of the boys attending have some kind of scholarship – covering mostly dorm fees and meal plans, even partial tuition," he said, then soberly added. "And occasionally, a Dean's is handed out. It's very rare and the qualifications are strict, something along the lines of exceptional need paired with academic excellence. I think the circumstances have to be pretty extreme for them to hand out a Dean's Scholarship."

Blaine considered what Nick had said with a frown, wondering if what he was implying was related to Jeff's earlier supposition about Kurt. He felt like he was missing something important that would give him a clearer picture, but he couldn't for the life of him grasp what it may be.

"Dalton is a haven, let's not forget that," Wes told them all, giving the Jeff and Nick a stern look and cutting off Blaine's train of thought. "Let's finish up here and take Blaine to the Common Room to meet the others, shall we?"

~o0o~

The East Wing Common Room was packed with boys when the quartet entered. A number of them were gathered around a large television watching a pair duke it out in some fighting game, cheering now and again as the opponents landed a good combo or knock out. Others were sprawled out on the floor or across various pieces of furniture, entertaining themselves or chatting with each other.

"East Wing!" Wes boomed, throwing his hands out to the sides dramatically as all eyes turned to him. Someone had the presence of mind, and maybe the audacity, to pause the game before giving over their attention. "We have a new resident! This is Blaine Anderson. Make him feel welcome!"

It was like a flood, or some strange magnetic force, as the boys hauled themselves up and practically swarmed over to meet their new dorm mate.

"Hi, I'm Trent!" said a bubbly, round-faced boy with a warm smile. "Welcome to East Wing. We hope you like it here."

Trent was gently pushed aside by a taller boy with jet black hair. "Thad," he said simply, offering Blaine a handshake and a smile. "Welcome."

And so it went, a flurry of names and handshakes and smiles – all of which seemed genuine and pleasant. Eventually though, everyone drifted back to their entertainment, and Blaine took a moment to breathe after being the center of so much attention.

"Blaine, would you like to go with me to check on Kurt?" Wes offered once things had settled down and even Jeff and Nick had drifted over to another group that was idly chatting around a table of cards.

"Check on?"

"I just want to make sure he's doing alright," Wes told him. "My duty as prefect is to see to it that all of you are taken care of. For some that means being in your rooms and not out wandering around after curfew. For others it merely means looking in on and making sure you don't need anything. For Kurt it's a mix of both. He has a tendency to lose himself in the Glenn Library or reading on the window seat in the back hall near the gardens. On rare occasion, I've found him in the Drawing Room. Usually, however, he's in his own room at this time of night."

Something occurred to Blaine. "He wasn't at dinner."

Wes' smile was sad and a little concerned, but not at all surprised. "He usually isn't. And he'll take breakfast before the rest of us get up," he explained. "You might see him at lunch, but he won't stay. I think the crowd bothers him."

Blaine could understand that. Well, not personally, but in a sense. He himself had the opposite problem: being alone made him nervous. It wasn't as bad as it had been, but he still occasionally found himself jumping at noises or watching over his shoulder when he was walking alone. For Blaine, a crowd was far more preferable.

"Come on, then," Wes urged, turning down the hall that lead to the dormitories themselves. "He's actually in the same corridor as you, a few doors down on the opposite side."

As they walked, Blaine took in the warm wood of the panelling and the golden glow of the wall-sconces. The floors were hardwood, as opposed to the marble of the Main House, and lined with a thick runner – both to deaden the noise of footsteps and for added warmth in the cold Ohio winters.

He'd been to his dorm room earlier that day, but had paid little attention to the décor. It really was rather cozy and welcoming, wrapping them up and keeping them snug.

They stopped at the end of the hall in front of a door with a photo of car taped to it. With an amused smile, Wes knocked against the solid wood beneath the numbers 22B. A B room, one with its own bath, the occupant not sharing with the room beside it. Lucky, Blaine thought to himself.

"Kurt?" Wes called gently through the door.

There was a soft shuffling and then the door was opened. The boy didn't open it far, standing in such a way as to suggest he had situated himself to be able to stop the door from opening further should someone try and force their way in. When Blaine raised his gaze to the boy's face, he felt his breath leave him.

Before when he'd seen Kurt, he'd only caught a glimpse of him. Now though, seeing him... Kurt had the most amazing eyes he had ever encountered. Sure, they weren't as exotically striking as those of the Afghan girl from the cover of National Geographic, but they were absolutely gorgeous. Some unnamable shade of grey-blue-green with flecks of gold near the center, like the sea after a storm while the clouds lingered and the sunlight broke through glinting off the breakers.

"Hi, Kurt," Wes said, once again breaking Blaine from his train of thought. "Just checking on you. I also wanted to introduce you to Blaine. He just transferred in. If you need anything, he's in number twenty-seven."

Regaining his sense of manners, Blaine smiled. "Hi," he offered, a little baffled at the odd comment from Wes. After all, Blaine was the new kid, it should be the other way around, shouldn't it? "I hope we can be friends."

Kurt simply looked at him, then turned back to Wes as if to say 'was there anything else?' to which he shook his head, gentle smile still in place.

"Have a good night, Kurt," was all he said, turning away and leading a baffled Blaine back toward the Common Room.

"That was... different," Blain finally commented as they reached the room and settled into a pair of open chairs off to the side.

Wes had the decency to look repentant. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have offered you up like that. You're new here, you don't need that kind of pressure after everything."

"No, it's okay," Blaine protested. "I was just surprised is all. It was... atypical."

"Yeah," Wes agreed. "I suppose I just figured... Well, I'm more protective of him than I am of the rest of the boys under my charge and I guess I just thought... I don't know, that you could look out for him? That maybe he would open up to you?"

"Because we're both gay?" The question wasn't incredulous or even snippy, merely curious and Wes waved a hand dismissively.

"No, I mean it doesn't hurt, but that's not why I had hoped..." A frown tugged at one corner of his mouth. "You have this... way with people. I noticed it today: everyone you met was instantly put at ease, instantly liked you."

"Except for Kurt," Blaine pointed out.

"I was under no illusions that even your magical powers could put him at ease in the first meeting," Wes retorted, his smile sardonic. "But I think, given time, you could win him over, could show him that he can trust people and that Dalton is a safe place. I don't know even the beginning of what he went through before he got here, and while I think gossiping about someone behind their back is wrong. I think what Nick implied is correct – whatever it was that drove him here, that sent us this specter of a boy to take care of, it was bad. He does have a Dean's Scholarship and they do only hand it out under very strict circumstances. Academic excellence isn't enough, even combined with financial need it isn't enough."

In a surprising move, Wes ran a hand through his hair, mussing the severe style beyond repair.

"I'm no psychologist, but I get the feeling he was bullied, badly and for a long time. And not by just one person," he sighed unhappily. "I think that no one noticed or, if they did, they ignored it until it became impossible not to notice or to ignore. I also get the feeling that he hasn't had too many people he could call 'friend' and I want to change that."

Blaine was moved by the boy in front of him, how passionately Wes felt and how desperately he wanted to simply help. He wondered if all the boys at Dalton were this compassionate toward one another. Nick and Jeff were nice – if a little callously 'speak-first-think-later' on Jeff's part – and the others he'd met had been warm and welcoming. He supposed only time would tell.

"I'll do it," he agreed after a moment, though it had never been his intention decline. There was something about Kurt – something other than his gorgeous eyes – that had called to Blaine, that made him curious. And the more he learned – little though it may be – the more he wanted to see who the boy was behind the silence and the sad, drawn eyes.

Wes smiled, the same gentle smile on his lips that had been there when he spoke to Kurt earlier. "Thank you, Blaine, you won't regret it."

Footnote:

My silly little car-geeky reference:

22B refers to the very rare (only 424 made) 1998 widebody Subaru Impreza WRX STI 22B coupe. (2.2L Horizontally Opposed Turbo Engine [Boxer] {H4} with 280 horsepower) (Hence the car photo taped to the door... looks like this: www . j-garage pic/5/22b/1 . jpg ) There is only one in the entire world for sale at the time of this post and it's going for $84,800 in New South Wales, Australia - to give you an idea, a 2015 limited production (1000 units) Subaru WRX STI Launch Edition (with a 2.5L H4 Turbo with 305 horsepower) starts at just under $40,000 US bone stock (which is still cushy!).

I like cars. I love Subarus. *shrug* I'm done, sorry.