A/N: This came out of nowhere, man. AU after 'A Very Glee Christmas', I think…

Oh, and we're ignoring that Blaine is out of the closet. He is, but not to his father.

Blaine's father is called Darren, by the way. I realised as I finished that I'd gat some hate from Darren Criss fans for it, but nothing else sounded right. You probably don't care, but if you do, I'll explain;

In my head, the characters' middle names are their actors' first names. (For example Blaine Darren Anderson, Kurt Chris Hummel, Mercedes Amber Jones ect). Blaine's father, to me, just seemed like the type of man to name his son after himself.

Warnings: Gay bashing. Hate to write it, buuut, unfortunately, that's real life. :( Also, strong language, a little gore, sexual references, trigger warning for suicide, character death, mentions of domestic violence… basically, it's T for a reason.

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Blaine Anderson paced his room, chucking random objects into the suitcase that lay open on his bed as he went. His anger burned inside him, making him feel physically sick, making his head hurt, and his body break out into a sweat. He aimed a kick at his bed, hoping to let out his anger. He only stubbed his toe, making things much, much worse. Cursing, Blaine grabbed a handful of random sheet music and tossed it into the blue case. He realised suddenly that he would have to pack strategically rather than just throwing whatever he could find into a case – the bag was already starting to overflow, and he hadn't packed his clothes yet. Groaning, he tipped the thing upside down, and started again, starting by folding his many pairs of jeans up neatly, followed by a handful of assorted t-shirts. He knew that Kurt wouldn't approve of his fashion choices, but at that moment, he really couldn't care less.

Kurt.

How could Blaine leave now, when his best friend was still grieving so badly? When he was hurting so terribly? Blaine was Kurt's source of courage, the reason that Kurt got up in the mornings, rather than just laying in bed, sobbing.

Kurt hadn't come back to Dalton after his father had died. No-one had expected him to. Kurt never really left the house at all. And Blaine visited him every day, often just being there, a shoulder to cry on, a friend to lean on.

And now he had to go. He knew that. But he couldn't leave Kurt.

"Fifteen minutes." The voice that rose up the stairs was harsh, cruel. The voice that belonged to Blaine's father. The reason that Blaine was leaving in the first place.

Blaine had told Wes, on many occasions, not to put videos of him on Facebook. Especially ones that Blaine didn't know had been filmed. Yet Wes had thought it would be hilarious to put the video up. It had been up for almost a month, and Blaine was certain he was safe.

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15 minutes earlier

"Blaine Darren Anderson!" Blaine's father shouted from downstairs, the anger clear in his tone.

"Mmm?" Blaine replied, sighing as he put down his guitar to go and see what his father wanted.

"You come here right now and explain this to me." Blaine did as he was told, making his way down the stairs to find his father. Darren Anderson, was in his study, his computer open to a Facebook page.

Wes Montgomery has uploaded a video – Klaine performing 'Baby it's Cold Outside'. Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel were tagged.

Wes Montgomery: I was casually walking past the common room when I heard this ;) Just had to film it…

Kurt Hummel: Ohmigod, Wes! Really? *eyeroll*

Wes Montgomery: Aha :)

Kurt Hummel: Wait… You did… leave as soon as the song ended, right?

Wes Montgomery: *Smirks* Nopeee. I overheard a lovely conversation between you and you're old show choir director. I'm sure Blaine Anderson would be very interested… ;) Luckily for you, though, I'd stopped filming by that point.

Kurt Hummel: He would most certainly not be at all interested. And even if he was, He wouldn't be finding out anything, right, Wes? -_-

Wes Montgomery: Can't promise anything … ;)

Blaine Anderson: WES! Take this video down now.

Wes Montgomery: How about…no. Just admit you want to get into his pants, Anderson ;)

Blaine Anderson: Wesley, just because sex is all you think about, doesn't mean it's the same for all of us. Now take this down.

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Oh.

Shit.

"Can you explain to me why you're singing a love song with a fag?"

"Don't call Kurt that." Blaine defended instantly. It was bad enough that Kurt was being called that by teenage boys, but for Blaine's father, who had never even met Kurt, to insult him so openly… It wasn't right.

"I can call him whatever the fuck I want to! Isn't this the one whose father died last week? Serves him right, bringing another queer like him into the world." Darren spat, hatred etched on his face.

"Dad! You can't say that!"

"I told you, boy, I can say whatever the fuck I want about that fag and his family. But you never answered my question. Why the fuck are you singing with him?" "Practising," Blaine answered, giving the same excuse he'd given Kurt.

"For what?" Now Blaine was stumped. He knew that Kurt wouldn't know that there wasn't a Christmas show at King's Island. But his father would.

"I… I just wanted to sing with him." Blaine admitted reluctantly, hanging his head a little.

"Why?" Mr. Anderson's voice was cruel, cold. He already knew why. He just wanted Blaine to say it out loud.

"Because I'm in love with him."

Silence.

"Get out of my house."

"W- what?" Blaine stammered. He'd expected his father to be angry, but this?

"You heard me. You can't live here any more. I don't want you contaminating us, think of Alicia!"

"Dad-"

"You have thirty minutes to pack."

And with that, Darren Anderson swung his chair around so that his back was turned to his son. Anger pulsed through Blaine's veins. How dare he? What gave him the right to- What made him think that-?

Suddenly, the speaker above Darren's head fell. Blaine didn't know how or why, only that it couldn't have happened at a better time. It hit his father on the head, and then fell onto the ground. As Darren let out a long stream of curses, Blaine turned and ran. He didn't know how, but he felt like the speaker falling was his fault.

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His bags were packed with almost everything Blaine owned. The room now looked blank, empty. The bed was bare; now just a wooden frame and a mattress, and the wardrobe was empty, save for the old clothes that either no longer fit, or were not wanted.

And although the room looked empty, Blaine knew that he was leaving a lot behind. Looking around, he had only been able to find two suitcases; one large and one small, and a medium sized backpack. So much had been left; books, games, Blaine's TV. So much he wouldn't see again.

He didn't have much money. Just a few twenties and a ten. Fifty bucks that he was supposed to live on until he could find himself a job.

Blaine turned at the doorway, giving his room – his ex-room; he corrected himself, one final, fleeting look. Ignoring the tears prickling in his eyes, he tugged his bags down the stairs, cursing when he caught on the banister and the bags went tumbling down. At the bottom of the stairs, Blaine struggled to lift everything. Two bags, a backpack and a guitar case are hard to carry when one is also trying to grab his car keys from the shelf, and unlock the door at the same time. To Blaine's surprise, his mother took his bags for him, carrying them out to Blaine's car with a sad smile and waiting for him by the passenger door. Blaine joined her seconds later, nodding politely in thanks. He didn't know how to act around his mother. How much had his father told her? How much did she care?

"Darren told me everything," she said, answering Blaine's question as if he'd spoken aloud. "I'm so sorry, Honey, I tried to tell him, to get him to take you back, but…"

"He made up his mind." Blaine finished for her. Once Darren Anderson had made up his mind about something, there was no going back.

"I threatened to leave him. I said to him; 'Darren, if you don't take Blaine back in this house, then I'll file for a divorce.' He just laughed. He pointed out that I had nowhere to go, that the house, the money, the… life was all his. If I left, I'd have nothing."

"Mum, stay. I don't want to live in a house with someone who feels the way he does about Kurt, about me. Stay here. Be happy. Call me." Blaine instructed, feeling himself well up again, the tears swimming in his eyes.

"Oh, Honey. I'm going to miss you so, so much," Naomi cooed, wrapping her arms around her son and kissing his hair, not bothering to wipe away the moisture in her hazel eyes. Blaine had grown a little, but he was still shorter than his mother. He probably always would be.

They looked the same, Blaine and Naomi. They were both short, with shiny black hair and hazel eyes. Blaine had gotten the curls from his father, but that was it. He was glad that that was it.

"I'll miss you, too mom," Blaine sniffed, ignoring the tears that were probably soaking into his mother's dress. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Blaine, ever so much." She murmured. "Don't ever forget that."

The door opened and they sprung apart, hoping that his father hadn't seen…

"Naomi. What are you doing?" He barked, eyes narrowing. Blaine knew that look. It meant 'You'd better redeem yourself pretty fast, or I'll beat the crap out of you.'

"Making sure that Blaine is on his way," She improvised quickly, "We wouldn't want him here longer than necessary!" Darren nodded sharply, leaning on the doorframe.

"Well hurry up." He snarled; his face impatient. Never once did he look in Blaine's direction.

"I'm sorry," Naomi muttered, not loud enough for her husband to hear. "I really am, I-"

"You have ten seconds to get here, woman!"

"Mom. Go." Blaine ordered quickly, trying to block out the sound of his father counting down in the most childish way, clearly relishing Blaine's humiliation without even looking at him.

"Blaine, Honey, take this, you'll need it, I- I love you, Please, Please don't hate me, call me, I-" She handed Blaine a small brown bag, a little like the ones that Kurt took shopping with him, kissed his cheek quickly, muttering apologies the whole time. And then she was gone, turning round and almost running back to her husband.

Blaine let out one stuttering sigh, not bothering to wipe away the wetness on his cheek from the tears. His parents went into the house, his father slamming the door behind him. And then Blaine was out on the pebbled driveway alone. He shoved his bags into the back of the car before climbing into the driver's seat and fumbling with his seatbelt, tossing the bag that his mother had given him onto the passenger's seat. It wasn't until he'd been driving in no real direction for twenty odd minutes that he'd really broken down, sobbing into the steering wheel. He pulled over to the side of the road and let the sobs overtake him, rattling through his body, physically shaking him. He was homeless. He had no house, no family, nothing. His father had kicked him out, and there was nothing his mother could do. He was never going to see them again, not them, not his sister, Alicia, not his Dalton friends. He didn't know how long he'd sat there, sobbing his heart out, before he came to a decision. He was going away. Far, far away, leaving his old life behind. He'd start a new life, in a different state where no-one knew his name. He'd get an album deal, make something of himself. Then everyone would know his name. Make his mother proud. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Blaine sat up straight again, taking a deep breath. If he left, he'd miss his friends. He'd miss Wes, and his strange obsession with gavels, miss David, and Trent, and Thad and Nick and Jeff – Hell, He'd even miss Cameron, who flirted non-stop with Kurt…

Kurt.

He'd miss Kurt. So, so much. More than he'd miss anything else. He'd miss the flirty glances, the cute duets, the way he laughed. He'd miss his insane beauty, the way he smiled when he was truly happy, he'd miss his singing. He'd miss the gleam in his eye that Blaine knew that only he could bring. He'd miss the way that Kurt could always cheer him up, no matter what had happened. He'd miss the way Kurt made him feel.

Even after Burt had died, Kurt had been strong. Sometimes he'd have trouble getting out of bed, or sometimes he'd lash out at Carole for no real reason, only because she was trying to help. But he'd pull through, Blaine knew he would. Kurt was the strongest person Blaine knew. Kurt had courage. Blaine was just worried what Kurt would do when he found out that Blaine had left.

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He hadn't continued his drive yet. Blaine felt too worked up, too tired. So instead, he decided to find out what his mother had given him. Blaine tipped the bag upside down, spilling the contents onto the passenger seat. The first thing he noticed was a credit card, with a note attached.

'Blaine,'

The note read,

'Your father doesn't know about this, or about any of this stuff. This is the bank account that used to be for your college fund. I know you have another account, but your father is likely to deactivate it. He doesn't know about this one. I'll put money in it for you as often as I can. I'm sorry I can't do much more.

-Mom xxx

The note then went on to tell Blaine the PIN number, and the other bank details that he'd need. Blaine grinned, silently thanking his mother with all his heart. The next item was a letter, also with a note attached to the outside. This note was longer.

'Blaine, Honey.

First thing I need to say is how incredibly sorry I am for not telling you this sooner. You should have known, but your father forbade it. Blaine, I'm going to tell you this bluntly. You're a wizard.

Blaine chuckled a little, wondering where his mother was going with this, and what he really wanted to say.

You're probably laughing now,

Creepy, Blaine thought,

But it's true. I am a witch. Your father isn't magical – he's a Muggle, as we call them in the Wizarding world. He hates magic, or anything to do with it. It's jealousy, I assume. I can tell you don't believe me.

Huh. She's right there. She must have gone a bit mad.

But you can do certain… things. Things that no-one you know can. When you're angry, you can make things… happen. Earlier today, you made the speaker fall. You were so angry, and you just did it. Honey, I know you're confused.

Understatement of the century.

But this is the truth. You should have gone to a school of magic, learned to control it, but like I said, your father forbade it. He snapped my wand the day I told him. That's why he… he hits me. He wants to show that he has power over me. The letter is your Hogwarts letter. Hogwarts is a school for magic in Scotland, where you were supposed to go when you were eleven. Now I'm going to be blunt here again. I have no idea where this place is. But you have to find it. You'll be accepted there.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I'm sorry if you don't believe me. I'm sorry for everything.

-Mom. Xxx

Blaine blinked. He had no idea what he'd just read. He had no idea what any of it meant. But he knew it was true. He could see the places on the paper where Naomi's tears had fallen, smudging the ink a little. He had to go to Scotland. To try and find a school of magic that he'd never heard of. That could be anywhere in that country. Blaine laughed, although it was humourless. And then he groaned, hitting his head multiple times on the steering wheel. Because this information, however interesting and amazing it was, was completely useless. Wearily, Blaine opened the letter.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order or Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Anderson,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

He was supposed to go when he was eleven. That was over five years ago now. He was sixteen. He couldn't just turn up at this place and tell them that he was invited there when he was eleven. It would be ridiculous. Rolling his eyes, Blaine away from the side of the road and kept driving.

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Blaine had been driving for almost an hour when he got the call.

"Blaine." His voice sounded so desperate, so lost.

"Kurt?"

"Blaine, I need you. Please come." Kurt gasped; his voice thick with tears. "Blaine! Please."

"I'm coming, Kurt. Where are you?"

"My house. Blaine, Hurry, please…" Kurt cried out in what sounded like pain, and suddenly, Blaine wasn't in control anymore. Letting adrenaline overtake him, he turned around in the middle of the road, not caring about the other cars honking their horns at him, and sped, well above the speed limit, back the way he came.

"I'm on my way," He shouted into the phone, pressing down harder on the pedal, even though he knew he couldn't go much faster. The world flashed past his window in a blur of greens and greys. Cameras flashed, and he knew that he'd receive several letters demanding fines, or license points, but at that moment he couldn't care less. He wouldn't get them anyway. His father would. The thought gave Blaine some satisfaction.

Kurt is in pain.

The thought spurred Blaine on, made him drive faster, faster, faster. After what seemed like hours, but in reality were only minutes, Blaine recognised Lima. He slowed down a little, taking the quickest route to Kurt's house. Finally, he was there.

Kurt's was the only car in the driveway, Blaine noted. Carole and Finn must be out.

He let himself in, calling as loud as he could.

"Kurt?"

"Blaine, up here!" He heard sobbing, gasping, crashing.

Blaine took the stairs three at a time, throwing open the door to Kurt's room.

"Where are you, Kurt?"

"Bathroom," The boy gasped back, desperation clear in his tone. Blaine opened the door fearlessly and nearly fainted.

"Kurt…"

"Blaine, I… I'm sorry."

Blood stained the white bathroom tiles. Kurt was leaning against the bathtub, his face writhing in pain, one hand gripping a razor blade, the other one drenched in crimson blood. Blaine didn't have to think twice.

"Fire, police or ambulance?" The lady on the other side of the phone asked clearly.

"Ambulance," Blaine shouted, dropping to his knees next to Kurt. He told the woman Kurt's address, and she promised that they'd have someone there as quickly as possible. Kurt groaned, dropping the blade and looking at Blaine pleadingly.

"Why didn't you call the ambulance first?" Blaine demanded, although he wasn't really angry. How could he be? Gently, He took Kurt's injured hand and held it above Kurt's head.

"It'll help stop the bleeding," He explained, though Kurt didn't really need an explanation. "Oh, Kurt… Stay with me, okay? Don't go to sleep. Please," Blaine pleaded, stroking Kurt's face, his hair, his un-injured arm, anything to keep Kurt awake. "Please, Kurt. Stay with me." The tears were dripping off of Blaine's cheek and onto Kurt's t-shirt, but neither cared. He just needed Kurt to breathe, he couldn't die, "Kurt, please, please. Don't leave me; stay here with me, Please."

Kurt blinked slowly, allowing more tears to fall from his eyes, before speaking.

"I'm here," He whispered, his voice cracking. Blaine brought his hand up to cup Kurt's face.

"Stay here. Don't fall asleep. Let me… Ask you questions. Stay awake."

Kurt just nodded, bringing his unharmed hand to Blaine's and stroking it gently, emotions clear in his eyes. Fear. Apology. Pain. Love.

"Who did this to you?" Blaine choked out. He was ready to murder whoever it was, whoever had tried to harm Kurt, his Kurt. The pale boy just shook his head, looking ashamed.

"Me," He whispered gently. "I did it."

Blaine had known that, really. He just didn't want to know it. Because Kurt was strong. Kurt wasn't one to give up. Kurt wouldn't do something like that to himself. Only he would. Kurt had tried to end it. End the pain, the suffering, the hurt.

"I'm sorry," Kurt repeated; his voice fading.

If Blaine had been terrified before, he didn't know what he was now. Because Kurt's face was becoming paler and paler by the second, and there was so much blood and Kurt was closing his eyes slowly.

"Kurt, don't die, please, Kurt! I love you!" Blaine cried, throwing his head back and howling, letting the tears and the pain and the hurt take over again. "Please, Kurt…" He gasped out, pulling himself closer to the boy, resting his head on Kurt's shoulder. He could hear, now, how shallow the brunette's breathing was, how laboured each breath was. "Please, Kurt. I love you, please,"

"I love you, too." His voice was impossibly quiet, and clearly painful. And then he gasped, and then he didn't. His breathing slowed. His eyes drooped closed.

"I love you, Blaine." And then his breathing stopped all together.

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A/N: Oh my goodness, what have I just written? *sobs hysterically*

No, this isn't the end. I swear. Loads and loads and loads more to come.

Sorry to have to end it there… Next chapter will be up shortly, and then it'll get all magical and stuff. Woo.

Please review! : ) xxx