Hey, guys! Sorry for the late update. Also, thank you to all reviewers that told me about the mistake last chapter; It has been noted.

Sadly, nobody got the question right. You kind of have to read between the lines and use your imagination. ;)

IMPORTANT. PLEASE READ. I'm actually changing my pen name. This is still goldenmiracles1914. Yes, this is still goldenmiracles1914. I just am now Thunderstorm Kick Drum. Thanks again. :)

Warning: Language in this chapter.

~Elsie

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep-

A caramel-colored hand reaches out from on the bed and slaps the snooze button. The hand looks like a zombie popping out of a grave in one of those horror movies, as you can see no other limbs. This, possibly, could be the seven huge, thick comforters at work, or it could be the round space heater buzzing on the wood floor next to the dresser. Or it could be both.

Blaine Anderson was known as a child for getting heat strokes. He hated anything warm with a burning passion, and loved the winter and snow, to a point where he'd sneak down the hall to the study, open the window, and climb onto the lowest portion of the roof in shorts, just to feel the ice whip against his skin. But once a year, a whole week in May, he can feel the chills set in. His bones feel hollow and he feels like he can barely breathe. His heart is stabbed through with icicles, acting like sewing needles to join pieces of a broken heart the where they don't fit. He feels like a toddler putting together a 2,000 piece puzzle, with people expecting him to finish it in a certain amount of time and know where the pieces belong. And so, he piles every blanket he can find in his residence onto his bed and burrows beneath it, blocking out the loud words not-so-subtly intended for him to hear through the door, yet also trapping himself in his vast cocoon.

He can hear the soft knock on his door, but just barely. He sucks in a deep breath, hearing his ribs crack a bit, and waits for what happens next. The legs on the outside of the door shift restlessly from foot to foot, and are clearly socked, which crosses out a few options as to who it could be. He sticks an ear and his nose out of the blanket, shivering at the chilly temperature and listens closer. Soft, slightly wheezing breathing resonates through his room, and Blaine closes his eyes. This is the final test.

He lets out the breath when he hears a key click into the lock of his door. The wooden slab creaks slightly as it's pushed open, and he can hear the socked feet step over the small piles of clothes on his floor, and shuffle across his slightly damp carpet from when he dropped his towel on it after his shower. The blankets behind him are slowly lifted up, and a little body settles itself behind him. The socked feet tangle with his own, and a small, soft hand brushes up his back, over his side and down his chest, to hold his hand tightly to his heart. Blaine squeezes that hand slightly as the person behind him breathed in and out. Time dragged on, neither of them speaking, just a soft, slightly nailed thumb rubbing against the pad of another. The air underneath the blankets is continually getting hotter, as now there are two breaths being released together in place of one.

"I've been guarding the thermostate like always," A soft voice whispers. Blaine nods, taking the hand in his own and dragging it up his chest and to his lips, kissing the back softly.

"I figured you would. I didn't ask you to, you know."

"I know," came the gentle reply, the person's breath fanning across his neck, making him shiver. The silence continued after that, the rising and falling of two chests the only movements. The air felt heavy, like drops of liquid iron were laced into every molecule of oxygen. The taste of metal in the air was almost potent.

Blaine's voice was almost inaudible when he spoke.

"Did he try to turn it down?"

The slow nod against his shoulder blades was enough of an answer.

Blaine closes his eyes again, feeling the small tear in the corner of his left eye finally dribble down his cheek and onto his pillow, pooling around his neck before being absorbed into his shirt. His shoulders shake slightly, and he moves his other hand that is not occupied up to his face, sobbing silently into his palm.

It's May 14th. Everything bad in Blaine's life seemed to fall onto this date. Everything, without fail.

Breaking his new guitar.

Being sent to the office and being suspended by a homophobic teacher who caught him letting the boy behind him copy his notes for Pre-Algebra.

Breaking his arm in gym in the sixth grade from being rammed into during the softball unit. On purpose.

Not getting to go to his school's honors choir conference because he lost his voice.

Watching the slave who does his laundry get taken to the auction.

Watching the slave who fixes the cars get taken to the auction.

Watching the slave who cooks for them get taken to the auction. Three years in a row.

Watching his own mother being taken to the auction.

May 14th. The last day he ever saw Jasmine. The last day he saw her face until, just last year, he was in the hospital after being beat up at the Sadie Hawkins dance (coincidentally falling onto May 14th) and finding the news paper from the day he was assaulted. The last day he saw her face until it appeared in the obituary for lost slaves.

It turns out she was just over in the town next to him, working for an elderly couple who hated grocery shopping. An easy half an hour bike ride.

This was also the day he stopped believing in God.

Every year since then, his father has gone out of his way to fire the slave he'd just gotten closest to over the year. This was something he knew without fail would happen. His dad would even pull him out of school for that one week with some stupid excuse like "his cousin's getting married," "his aunt is sick", or "his grandmother is in town, and he needs to spend time with her." This, of course, showed just how much of a sick bastard Richard Anderson really was. How he was not quite the family man everyone made the famous senator out to be.

He knew this year it would be Chloe, the twenty-something year old gardener he helped out sometimes.

"Who was it?"

He received no response.

He inhaled a shaky breath. He could feel the tears welling up, and tried to quench them persistently. He attempted to center himself, tried to focus on one thing and one thing only. It was easy when he felt the solid, pounding heart beating against his back. The one heart he knew would never leave him. The one heart that couldn't leave him.

Adriane Anderson was what his parents had intended to be the solution baby. Like, hey, we already had a fuck-up child, let's fix this problem. Then we can dote on them and make the first child feel like shit. The one thing they hadn't counted on was Adriane looking up to her older brother to the point of borderline worship.

When Adriane was a baby, she had no one. Sure, when their mother would have friends over, she'd fawn over and coo at the adorable, pink-cheeked baby, but beside that, Adriane recieved no maternal love. Blaine remembers being almost six years old and sneaking into the nursery in the middle of the night, raising himself onto the bars of the pink crib and standing on his tip-toes, craning his neck to see over the edge. The baby was whining on the inside, her diaper obviously filled, as she squirmed uncomfortably in hunger. Kelly Anderson hadn't wanted to take the chance of hiring another angel-nanny, so she decided to do it herself. This was quickly given up when she had to change her first diaper.

So Blaine, at five-bordering-on-six, hopped down from the bars, walked down the stairs, and grabbed a chair and a can of baby formula out of the cabinet. He stirred together some hot water and the formula before hopping back down and putting the chair back in place, holding his finger over the teet of the bottle and shaking it. He then proceeded to walk back into the nursery and hoist himself into the crib, which creaked under his weight. He picked up the six month old, his hand under her head, and lowered her gently into his lap, and offering the bottle to her mouth. The baby latched on gratefully. It went that like that ever since.

"Common'. I overheard him earlier talking to mom about how if you aren't awake by seven, which is in ten minutes, he was going to come up here. We both know you don't need that right now," Adriane replied, resting her head against his arm at an absurd angle. Her neck cracked as she did so.

"Addi, that's gross. Don't do that. It'll dis-align your spine and give you arthritis. And I will not be taking care of your ass when you're old, and I'm still young and beautiful," Blaine jokes, turning over and poking her in the ribs. He sniffed slightly, his swollen and blurry eyes taking in the outline of his sister. Adriane smiled slightly in the dark, but her brother couldn't see her.

"Get up, get up! Up, you slug-a-bed!" She shoved at his shoulder half-heartedly, making a face at him. He snorted; only Adriane would allude to Romeo and Juliet. Only Adriane.

"Alright, I'm up. Don't get your knickers in a twist," he muttered, throwing the blankets off of both of them. Adriane was the first to get out of bed, raising on her tip toes and stretching her arms to the sky like a cat.

In looks, Adriane and Blaine were dead opposites. Blaine looked like his mother; crazy, unruly black curls and olive skin, with hazel eyes. Adriane got most of her looks from their father. She had tumbles of cornsilk-blonde hair that ran down her waist, flawlessly pale skin and the lightest of crystal blue eyes. The only similarities were their unnaturally small statures and the curls. Blaine almost wishes he had Adriane's face full of freckles; they give her personality. Neither of their parents have them.

He took a moment to take in her attire. It didn't surprise him at all; the outfit was so Adriane. It was a huge Dalton Academy Fencing Squad tee-shirt she had lifted off of Blaine, mismatched neon knee-high toe socks with holes running through them. Her mutli-colored nail polish was chipped in places, "Crackle!" paint on only the first two nails on her right hand and her pinky on the other, obviously done purposely. Her hair was in a low, extremely messy bun, and she pushed her bangs out of her face stubbornly as she turned to look at him. Blaine smiled sadly; he didn't want to admit it, but she was getting older. She used to be cute, of course, but now she was seriously beautiful. He wasn't looking forward to the death threats he'd have to dole out on her behalf.

"Up! Damn you, you incompetent fool! Up! The kitchen needs cleaning! Up!"

Blaine and Adriane looked at one another sullenly, standing at the top of the stairs and peering down the landing. Kelly Anderson was there, in a pink Dolce & Gabana sundress and yellow Gucci heels, with her little hands thrown in the air, yelling at a small, child-aged angel with startling red hair. He shook slightly, fingering his small blue shirt with nervous, dirty fingers. He had no shoes, so it was obvious he was new. He was sprawled out on the floor, crawling away from her feet before scrambling upright. Now standing, he appeared to be about the age of seven, maybe a small eight. He kept his head down, his eyes glued to the marble tiles under his muddy toes.

"Yes ma'am, right away ma'am," He whispered, folding his hands behind his back, the picture of obedience. If you hadn't known Kelly Anderson, you'd think there was absolutely no reason for her hand to be descending upon his cheek with a sickening snap! You'd wonder what he had done that deserved the blood pooling on the balls of his cheeks, the tears in his eyes, the handprint across his face.

But Blaine knew Kelly well.

Kelly Anderson didn't need a reason to punish.

"Away! The cleaning supplies are in the closet upstairs. Go strictly to your destination, no wandering. If I find you touched anything, anything at all, besides cleaning products, I will take a whip to your back so hard the odds of you laying down again with be miniscule. Get out of my sight!" She kicked his foot slightly, and Blaine watched him yelp quietly inside his mouth, his whole body quivering and he jogged quickly up the stairs. He ducked his head and kept running the tears finally falling down his face. He didn't notice Blaine reaching out a hand and grabbing his arm. Squeeking, he automatically fell to his knees, palms pressed together.

"Mercy! Dear, merciful Master, please-"

"Shhh," Blaine shushed, squatting down to his level and running a gentle thumb across his cheek. The boy sobbed for a few moments, before finally breaking down and launching himself at Blaine, wrapping his tiny arms around his chest as he stained Blaine's robe with tears. Blaine rubbed his back lightly, shushing him until his tears were simply hiccups. Once he calmed down, Blaine pulled back, hands gripping his biceps as he smiled at him. Snot was rolling out of his nose, and his freckled cheeks were wet, but he was still one of the most percious things Blaine's ever seen.

"What's your name, bud?" Blaine asked softly. Adriane watched quietly, smiling when the boy calmed down and walking off into the study. The boy's eyes darted to the floor, and he shuffled his feet for a minute before answering.

"Subject 185239-K27-"

"No no no, buddy," Blaine said, gripping his arms a little tighter. His heart broke when he saw the boy wince. "What's your name? What does your Momma call you?" Blaine was careful to say "does" instead of "did".

"T-Trevor..." He mumbled, running his arm across his face. Blaine tutted softly, pulling a small to-go package of tissues out of his pocket and running one across Trevor's face and arm.

"Well then, Trevor. Hi, I'm Blaine." Blaine smiled at him encouragingly. "I hear you need to find the janitor's closet, huh? Well, I have a friend that could show you." Blaine looked up, seeing Adriane walk out of the study with a tiny, five year out girl in a maid's costume, her mocha colored skin rich and her brown curls frizzy. "This is Ticiolla. She can show you the way. Right, Tee-tee?" Ticiolla nodded, holding out a hand to Trevor invitingly. Slowly, Trevor lifted his hand and placed it in TiCi's, holding it tightly as she guided him down the hallway. At the last second, Blaine jogged up the the two, stopping Trevor and placing the rainbow-colored pack of tissues into the pocket of his shorts, smiling. Trevor carefully smiled back.

"Adriane? Is your brother awake?" Blaine's head snapped up, watching Adriane's face darken as she glowered down the stairs in her mother's direction. Blaine ruffled Trevor's hair affectionately before standing and walking slowly down the stairs, feeling Adriane grip the back of his shirt tightly with her fingers.

"Ah, there he is!"

Blaine closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath as he steadied himself before opening them again, gazing at Kelly Anderson, smiling her fake, trophie-wife smile and Richard Anderson, not even trying to mask his cruel smile. He was happy about Blaine's misery. Ecstatic. Euphoric, even.

"Good morning, doll," Kelly said, walking up to Blaine and resting her hands on his shoulder, pressing her pink, lipstick-ed mouth against his cheek, whispering against his skin. "What was that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," He murmured back, swiftly pecking her on the cheek before walking over to the dinner table, picking up his glass of orange juice and downing it, the taste bitter on his tongue. This didn't surprise him. Everything is bitter on May 14th.

"Woah woah, in a hurry, son?" Richard asked, his lips turned up in a sly smirk. Blaine gritted his teeth together in aggravation.

"Hurry? I haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about..." He trailed off, his fingers on his pant leg clenching and unclenching. Richard's smile hardened, his eyes like iron. He leaned forward, leaning against the table. Blaine tried his hardest to hold himself still and resist the urge to retreat and pull back.

"Really? See, you can play that game with your mother, but I'm nowhere near as daft and can see right through your facade. So knock it off."

"Did you need me for something?" Blaine asked abruptly, watching his father. Richard Anderson smiled back at him, like he knew something Blaine didn't.

"Ah, yes. I was going to tell you later, but I guess I'll say it now." Richard leaned back in his chair, lighting a cigar and puffing on it. Kelly wrinkled her nose in distaste from where she stood next to Adriane in the doorway, tutting her about her clothing choices, oblivious to the fact that Adriane totally wasn't listening.

"What would you say to a family camping trip?"

The whole room froze.

There was silence. A thick, pregnant silence that engulfed the atmosphere and smoldered like fire. Blaine's eyebrows rose, Richard smiled that same cruel smile, and Kelly faked being overjoyed about the idea. Adriane just looked pissed.

"What the hell? Family? Is that what you call this unit we live it? More like the two of you, off in LaLaLand, and then Blaine and I. Two families." Adriane crossed her arm, deciding it was time to put her input it. Richard shot her a deadly look.

"No one asked your opinion, Arriana."

"It's Adriane!" She shrieked, throwing her arms into the air. "Adriane! You fucking asshole, you don't even know my name!"

"That is enough, Adriane!" Kelly hissed, grabbing her daughter's arm. Adriane shrugged her off, her gaze like glass shards. It was clear she'd finally blown her top.

"Oh yeah, mother? What's my birthday? What's my middle name? What's my favorite color? What grade do I have in english? Huh?"

"Honey, your birthday's February 12th, your middle name's Marie, your favorite color's pink and you have an A, of course!" Kelly looked flustered at the thought. Adriane's shoulders dropped, and she shook her head in defeat.

"No-"

"October 2nd, Kennedy-Grace, apricot, and a B+ because your teacher's a batty old woman and disagreed with you on your persuasive essay last week," Blaine replied simply, holding Adriane's gaze. Adriane shot him a grateful look.

"You don't have a say in the matter! It doesn't matter what your mother knows or doesn't know! This isn't the Spanish Inquisition!" Richard yelled, growling at his children. They both crossed their arms defiantly. Richard puffed out through his nose, taking his glasses off and pinching his temples, breathing shallow. His voice was cracking when he spoke again.

"You will go camping, and you will enjoy yourselves, do you hear me? Now, go get packed; we leave for the LeVae forest at three."

No Klaine meeting yet, but trust me, it's coming.

Please review!

~Elsie