Chapter 1: Times Are Hard And Dreams Are Cold

The sound of Blaine Anderson being shoved roughly into a locker left the victim's ears ringing, but the bullying went unnoticed by his peers walking through the halls. Blaine panicked, banging on the metal with his fists from inside the now shut locker door. "Help!" he cried. "Somebody help!"

No one even offered him a second glance as they passed through the McKinley High halls to their next classes.

After he'd banged on the locker so much that his hands were bleeding, Blaine gave up. This wasn't something new to him, but that still didn't stop him from wishing he was too tall to be shoved into his own locker. He was just the right height and he was skinny and weak against the jocks that tormented him. He usually had nothing to do but go along with it and hope they didn't leave any lasting damage.

Heaving a deep sigh to keep from crying, Blaine took off his flimsy glasses and noticed they were broken where they were supposed to sit firmly on the bridge of his nose. He'd already wrapped tape around that exact spot just the day before in an attempt at fixing them, but now they were broken again. Frustrated, he did his best to adjust the tape and hold the frames together just a little bit better. After several failed attempts, he managed to get the glasses to stay on his face without slipping off his nose. He congratulated himself for his resourcefulness.

Hours later, he heard a bang on his locker and he flinched, hissing at the pain in his stiff legs from standing in the cramped locker for the whole school day. The final bell rang, confirming his thoughts that school was out for the day.

"I always wondered if you'd fit in one of these things, Hobbit," Santana's voice said from the other side of the locker. "Looks like someone found out." Blaine was surprised that she actually sounded sympathetic. He only knew her from Glee Club, and they didn't even talk, so he wasn't sure why she was talking to him now of all times.

"Y-Yeah," he answered. "I'm kinda stuck."

"I see that," she said with a small laugh. "No worries, Anderson; I'll get you out."

"But how—"

"I have my ways," she cut him off. Blaine went silent and moments later the door popped open. He opened his mouth in shock.

"How did you—"

"Like I said, I have my ways," she cut him off once again. "Now, let's go to Glee and find out what overly-dramatic ballad Berry is going to sing today."

"Okay…" Blaine said, following her after shutting his locker. "Since when do we talk?"

"We don't," she shrugged. "But you're kind of cute for a guy, so I thought I'd take you under my wing. And Auntie Snix doesn't let anyone cross her or her friends."

"O-Okay," he agreed, nodding. He wasn't going to question it, not yet at least.

He wasn't sure what had just happened, but he could have sworn he'd just made his first friend at McKinley High School.

"Alright, New Directions!" Will Schuester called from the front of the class after writing two words on the white board: High/Low. "This week's lesson is about the good times… and the bad times. We all have both of them, and this week we're going to focus on how music can help us through all the bad. Finn here has volunteered to give us an example." He gestured towards his TA and the tall, dark-haired man stepped forward, smiling slightly.

"Hey, guys," he greeted. All eleven members of the club turned their attention to him. "So, some of you might know that I lost my brother last year, and my whole family went through a really tough time. We still are, but we're healing. And this song really helps me express what I was feeling, and it actually helped me when the pain was especially bad. So, this is for Kurt."

Spend all your time waiting for that second chance

For the break that would make it okay

There's always some reason

To feel not good enough

And it's hard at the end of the day

I need some distraction

Or a beautiful release

Memories seep from my veins

Let me be empty, and weightless, and maybe

I'll find some peace tonight

In the arms of the angel

Far away from here

From this dark, cold basement room

And the endlessness that you feel

You are pulled from the wreckage

Of your silent reverie

You're in the arms of the angel

May you find

Some comfort here

So tired of the straight line, and everywhere you turn

There's vultures and thieves at your back

The storm keeps on twisting

You keep on building the lies

That you make up for all that you lack

It don't make no difference

Escape one last time

It's easier to believe

In this sweet madness

Oh, this glorious sadness

That brings me to my knees

In the arms of the angel

Far away from here

From this dark, cold basement room

And the endlessness that you feel

You are pulled from the wreckage

Of your silent reverie

You're in the arms of the angel

May you find

Some comfort here

You're in the arms of the angel

May you find

Some comfort here

The room erupted in applause when Finn finished the song, tears in his eyes. It was almost like he could feel his brother in the room. He could picture his blue eyes and his bright, infectious smile. He could hear his laugh, and he could hear his voice as he scolded Finn for wearing flannel. He just really missed his brother.

"Thank you, Finn," Will said, patting his shoulder and offering a smile as Finn went to sit down. "That was a perfect example," he told the class. Blaine tuned out the rest of the lesson, lost in his own thoughts.

He remembered hearing Finn talk about his brother, though he didn't do it much. It hurt too much, he said. But Blaine clearly remembered what Finn had told him one day. His name was Kurt, and he was Finn's step-brother, so they had different last names but Finn never revealed his last name. He told him that Kurt was sixteen when he died, the same age Blaine was now in his junior year of High School. Finn wouldn't say how he died, either.

Hearing Finn sing that song really captured just how much his brother had meant to him. It brought a lump to Blaine's throat to think about it.

For the rest of Glee rehearsal, which was almost three hours long, Blaine wasn't really into it. He didn't sing as animatedly as he usually did, and he didn't dance much. He just wasn't feeling it today. When the clock finally showed five o'clock, he dashed out of the room and grabbed his things from his locker before making his way to his car.

It was his father's old Prius that he never used anymore, but it did the job. And he was lucky to have it, too. The only reasons his father even agreed to give it to him were, one, because he agreed to fix it up himself and, two, Mr. Anderson didn't want to have to drive him all over town.

He pulled into his driveway about ten minutes later, letting out a breath of relief when he saw that his parents weren't home. Their cars weren't in the driveway or the garage. Glad for the break for at least a short time, he locked his car and made his way inside the large house. Grabbing a Pop Tart for an easy dinner since he couldn't cook worth anything, he ran upstairs to his room. He smiled as he plopped down on his bed and tossed his backpack on the floor.

Unfortunately, he remembered he had English homework to do. He pulled his laptop out of his nightstand drawer and opened up his essay. He had the term paper for first term nearly completed and it was only the first week of school, so he wasn't worried. Since he had some peace and quiet, he figured he would take advantage of it and finish the paper. Then he wouldn't have to think about it again until nearly November.

About an hour later, he had the entire paper finished. He smiled to himself in satisfaction, glancing over it to make sure there were no mistakes. He didn't find any, but he made a mental note to check through it more thoroughly later on. For now, though, he could relax. He put his laptop away and laid back on his pillows, closing his eyes in content.

But it could only last for so long.

"He wasn't in any of his classes today," he heard his father saying, angrily. "He needs some discipline."

"He has perfect grades, honey. Leave him be," his mother said calmly, and Blaine could just picture her shaking her head at her husband. Blaine tensed and curled up in his blanket when he heard his parents approaching his door from down the hall.

"Blaine, open up," his father knocked on the door firmly, and Blaine flinched.

"It's open," he called out lazily, hiding his head under the blanket. He heard his father open the door and walk inside.

"Blaine," he scolded. "The school called. Why didn't you attend your classes today?"

"I didn't want to go," he lied.

"That's your excuse?" Mr. Anderson almost laughed. Then his expression turned to anger at his son. Blaine peeked out from under his blanket just in time to see his father storming towards him.

"No!" he cried. "Dad, please—"

Before he could finish, he was being lifted from his bed and thrown against a wall. He winced and tried to curl in on himself but he couldn't do anything to stop what was coming. It wasn't exactly something new to him. His father's fist collided with Blaine's face, nearly knocking him to the floor. But he held his ground, barely standing up as he took the next hit to his jaw, and the next one to his gut… and the next one to the same place. Soon enough, he fell to the carpet of his bedroom floor, whimpering in pain as his father left the room.

That was the reason he hated coming home to an occupied house. His father beat the crap out of him with so little as one simple prompting to anger him, and his mother did nothing to stop it. Sometimes, 'absolutely nothing' hurt so much more than his father's beatings ever could.

He crawled over to his bed and slowly climbed up onto the mattress, wrapping himself up in a burrito of blankets and sheets. He wiped the blood from his nose and his lip on his sleeve as stinging tears streamed down his aching face.

He cried himself to sleep that night, wishing with all his heart that he could have just one friend, someone who would understand him like no one else could. Someone who would love him and support him and protect him. Someone who would never hurt him. Someone he could just talk to. Was that so much to ask?

That night, Blaine slept miserably and restlessly through his nightmares. He could never escape. Sometimes he dreamt of the jocks at McKinley and the different torment they put him through each and every day. Sometimes he dreamt of what it would be like if his father actually loved him, but that always morphed into horrifying images of his father beating him half to death. Sometimes he actually would beat him to death, and Blaine always woke up right before he died, but this time he didn't.

Unlike most of his dreams, he could feel every hit and feel the aching pain in his limbs after a particularly bad beating. He could feel blood draining from his body through several wounds, but mostly his head. He'd fallen at some point and his father had kept on beating him, though he didn't understand what he'd done to deserve it. He never knew why his father got so angry.

By the time the hits stopped coming, Blaine knew it was too late. He knew he was going to die. And he knew he should be waking up from this nightmare any second now, but it wasn't happening. Sent into a panic, he desperately tried to hold on. He knew it was probably irrational, but he felt that if he died, actually died, in the dream, that he'd die in real life as well. He couldn't move, but he could still feel his heart beating, so that was a good sign. Why am I not waking up?

Slowly, Blaine was slipping away. And he knew it.

He took one final breath before the pain finally fell away all at once. He was numb. He felt amazing, actually; better than ever. He sat up, and then stood up, looking around his room.

Then he saw his own dead body. He covered his mouth with both hands, shocked and terrified. He was dead. And even though it was just a dream, it felt… weird. It was weird because he couldn't feel anything at all—well, not physically.

Emotionally, he was frantic. How could he be dead? Why wasn't he waking up yet? How was this possible? The one thing he could rely on throughout his terrifying dreams was that he'd always wake up when it got to the worst point, but now he didn't even have that comfort. And the fact that he could call that a comfort… Well, it was just depressing.

What got him to stop having a panic attack was an angelic voice that was like music to his ears. He turned his head quickly and saw a figure surrounded in an aura of light and warmth. The figure stepped forward and Blaine saw the most beautiful boy he'd ever laid eyes on. "W-Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm a friend," the man said with a kind smile. The smile was infectious and Blaine instantly relaxed. "And I'm here to tell you that everything will get better. I promise."

"But how do you know that?" Blaine asked quietly, uncertainty and fear lacing his tone. He wanted to cry, but more than anything he wanted to rush forward and hug the boy in front of him. He was so warm and inviting that he made Blaine feel so safe. Blaine had never felt like that before.

"Blaine, I know a lot of things," the boy said, smiling sadly at Blaine. "I know that you need a friend more than anything right now. And I can tell you that things will get better. Just trust me."

Blaine stared at him in awe. He was beautiful, and so kind. No one had ever been so nice to him before. "T-Thank you… Ah, what's your name?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you," he said with a sigh. "But just remember what I said. You won't remember me, but remember my words." Blaine was confused.

"I won't remember you? What do you mean?" He saw the boy's figure start to fade away and he panicked, rushing forward and grasping at his hands, but his hands went right through the stranger's. Blaine looked at him, more confused than ever. "What's happening?"

"I have to go now, Blaine," he murmured. "But I promise I'm not leaving you alone. You're going to be alright."

"Please don't leave!" Blaine begged, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. "Please!"

Blaine lay in his bed, tossing and turning and kicking his blankets off of his legs. He kept mumbling under his breath, his face contorted in distress. "Please… Please… Please don't go… Please…" Finally, he woke up with a start, taking a deep breath. He felt like his lungs were constricting and he couldn't catch his breath, but it was all in his mind, probably because he'd basically just died and come back. That would be hard for anyone to process. He shakily breathed in and out for a minute before he finally calmed himself down. That was, by far, the strangest dream he'd ever had. But he couldn't place quite why. He knew he'd died and then stood up, looking at his own lifeless body lying there. He knew he'd seen something, or someone… but what was it?

He couldn't remember, but he knew he'd seen it.

The thing that really stuck, though, was just a few sentences. I know you need a friend more than anything right now. And I can tell you that things will get better. Just trust me. Blaine clearly remembered those words, but he had no idea who had said them. He couldn't conjure the voice in his head, and he couldn't picture the face that went with it.

But there was one thing he could do; something he hadn't been able to do in a very long time. He could hope.

"He's so lonely," Kurt said, sighing. "When can I go? He needs someone to help him. I can't just sit here and watch…" He winced as another punch flew at Blaine's face at the hand of his father. Kurt and his trainer, Sonia, stood by the window of Blaine's bedroom, watching in horror as the scene unfolded before their eyes. Kurt couldn't bear to watch. He looked away, wincing with each pained whimper and cry that Blaine's mouth emitted.

"You'll be sent to his school tomorrow, Kurt," Sonia said with a smile, her gray eyes locking on Kurt. "Remember, you can't tell—"

"I can't tell anyone except Blaine that I'm dead. Not until he's ready. I know, Sonia. I've been through the lecture dozens of times. I'm ready for my first mission." Kurt smiled small but then looked back at Blaine and his smile fell. "Can we leave now? I can't watch this anymore…"

"Of course," Sonia said. And then they were gone, Kurt sent back to pacing his room. He wished he could just help Blaine somehow, just to let him know that things were going to change. Things would be okay. Blaine would be okay.

Then he thought of something. He could always contact Blaine through dreams, as long as he didn't give himself away.

So, that night, when the rest of the Angels were sleeping, he snuck away and made his way down to Earth. He met Blaine for the first time through Blaine's dreams, and told him everything was going to be alright.

A/N: Let me know what you think of this new story :) I found the idea from a prompt on TUMBLR.