Commandments (Prologue)
Media: Fanfic
Title: Commandments (Prologue)
Rating: PG
Pairings: Pre-Klaine (mostly a young Blaine at this point); eventual Klaine
Spoilers: None for this chapter, Overall up to s2e16 and beyond
Warnings: Fluff, angst, tissue warnings.
Word Count: 1,490 approx
Summary: 9-year-old Blaine realizes he's different from other boys his age. He's just thankful that his best friend doesn't seem to care.
Note: This was inspired by my previous story The Best Policy after a few readers mentioned to me that they'd like to know more about Blaine's relationship with Honey.
The "Promises" that headline each chapter are the "Ten Doggie Commandments" by Stan Rawlinson (1993).
Prologue
My life is likely to last only 10-15 years. Remember that before you buy me
Blaine Anderson always knew he was different from the other boys at his elementary school. While they all joined the soccer or Little League baseball teams, he happily signed up for the drama club - much to the delight of his English teacher at the time, who always thought the little boy was one of the most charming speakers she’d ever met.
While most of the boys came to school as if they’d tumbled out of bed and thrown on the first set of clothes they could find, Blaine always made sure he was well-groomed and presentable - even if it was only shorts and a little polo t-shirt.
The teachers thought he was cute. The other kids thought he was queer, though at that age, many of them had no proper understanding of the word - they’d just heard their fathers and big brothers use it on guys who liked to dress nice and liked arts over sports. So for them to start teasing Blaine about it was only natural, they were just trying to be like dad after all.
It was no real wonder that little Blaine’s first best friend was his grandfather’s old Great Dane, Rock. His favourite days of the week were whenever he got to go over to (and sometimes stay over at) his grandparents’ house. It was an unusual sight to many a stranger - the massive black-and-white dog and the little boy only half his size.
Many, however, didn’t know the kind of relationship the two had. Rock loved Blaine as much as the boy loved him. Neither did Blaine care about the looks people gave them when they sometimes walked down the street together to pick up something from the store for his grandmother. To Blaine, having Rock by his side meant that people like the kids from school, and their older siblings, wouldn’t come close enough to harass him in public.
Neither were the two ever that far away from each other when indoors. It seemed that no matter what Blaine was doing, the old dog was always there with his protective, comforting presence.
When Blaine sat at the dining table with his homework, Rock would be lying under the table with his head on Blaine’s lap. If the boy sat at the dusty cabinet piano trying to teach himself how to play the latest songs he’d heard on the radio, Rock would be behind him with his head either on the boy’s shoulder or on the piano bench.
And no matter what he was doing, it was not uncommon to find one of Blaine’s hands resting on the dog’s head or back.
Blaine’s mother had long since gotten used to coming to pick him up at night and finding him sound asleep on the living room carpet with his head comfortably pillowed on Rock’s back or side - the big dog stretched out patiently watching over his young charge.
It was on one of these nights that Blaine’s grandfather took his daughter aside to speak to her while Blaine slept on.
“He’s a special boy,” he said.
She only smiled. “All grandparents say that about their only grandchild, Dad.”
“Of course they do,” he replied. “But you know what I mean. The child is gifted, my dear, he’s gifted and he’s different.”
Blaine’s mother raised an eyebrow. “Different in what way?”
“I think you know.” His grandfather looked at her pointedly. “He’s not like other boys, we see it every day, in everything he does.”
His mother sighed. “I was hoping it might just be a phase. He’s so young.”
“Neither you, nor I, nor he, can choose the way he was born. That’s not our job. His job is to just be himself. Our job is to love him when no one else will, no matter what he is. How WE treat him will determine whether or not he’ll grow up to be a good young man.”
She looked into the living room where Blaine was still sleeping peacefully on Rock. “What about the gifted part?”
His grandfather stared at her. “Have you heard him sing? Have you seen the way he plays that piano? It’s moving! He should pursue it, develop it. The boy has talent, child, he could be someone great, if you support him and guide him onto the right path.”
“We don’t have a piano at home, so he doesn’t sing there.” She didn’t look at her own father. “And his father wants him to play football.”
The older man’s eyes hardened. “I won’t ask you to go against your husband. All I will say is that we can no more choose our talents anymore that we can choose how we want to be born.”
In the living room, Blaine shifted and cuddled closer to Rock, who raised his head and locked eyes with Blaine’s mother for a brief moment, as if also trying to tell her how precious this boy was. She sighed.
“He’s too attached to that dog,” she said.
The older man smiled sadly. “The dog probably loves him the best out of all of us. He loves that boy as if he were his own pup… but Rock can’t always be there to love and protect him; he needs his mother - and his father, if that man still remembers he has a son.”
She went over to gather Blaine up in her arms - the boy barely stirred as he rested his head on her shoulder. Rock remained stretched out and looking at him. His grandfather bent to pet Rock’s head.
“He shouldn’t be alone,” he said softly, thought it wasn’t clear if he was referring to Rock or Blaine.
“I’ll bring Blaine over next weekend,” she said and carried her son out.
=====
Two years later, on one Saturday night, Blaine sat on the living room carpet, Rock’s head in his lap - a strange reversal of their normal nightly routine. Blaine stroked the short fur around the dog’s neck and asked his grandfather why Rock seemed so tired and out of breath.
“He’s an old dog,” the old man said.
“But… he’s only 11, like me,” Blaine replied, confused.
“Dog years and human years are different, my lad. 11 years for a dog is like a human living till the ripe old age of 80, or more.”
Blaine looked at Rock, his hazel eyes sad as he started to understand what his grandfather meant. “Is he in pain?”
“I shouldn’t think so.” He sat on the floor beside his grandson. “What’s important is that he’s not alone right now.”
As if he knew they were talking about him, Rock opened his eyes and looked at Blaine as if to say: Remember, I love you.
The boy stroked his head gently, not caring in the least about the tears running down his face. “Love you, too, Rock.”
Not long after that, the dog’s eyes closed again, and he gave a little shudder before going completely still. Blaine gave a strickened whimper, bent and kissed the furry head, before jumping up and running up to his grandparents’ room where he collapsed on the bed and spent the rest of the night crying till he fell asleep from grief and exhaustion.
The next afternoon they buried Rock in the back yard. Blaine appeared in a somber shirt, tie and pants and requested to sing something as a tribute to his best friend. Seating himself at the old piano, and playing some hesitant but heartfelt chords, he poured his emotion into the Michael Jackson classic “Ben”, not caring when fat tears dripped onto the slightly yellowed keys, or that his parents had arrived to pick him up.
Only the song mattered. It was a farewell. It was a promise that he would never forget him.
When Blaine started middle school after his 12th birthday, his mother enrolled him in the music and dance enrichment course the school offered, against his father’s wishes that he take up a sport instead. Blaine had never been happier - he could finally do something he loved with at least one parent’s approval.
He had also never felt more sad and alone in his life… For though his confidence and love for his craft shone brightly whenever he performed, that pleasant charm that his old English teacher had loved, and that bright smile, hid behind the anxiety and fear of who he was and what others thought and said of him when he was not on the stage.
He missed Rock. Missed the big dog’s comforting presence, especially on days when something particularly hurtful had been shouted at him. He rarely went to his grandparents’ house anymore - he was getting older, they were getting older. He missed them, too. Sometimes he hated that dog for giving him something as precious as a friend, and then going away and leaving him alone.
=====
to be continued
Title: Commandments (Prologue)
Rating: PG
Pairings: Pre-Klaine (mostly a young Blaine at this point); eventual Klaine
Spoilers: None for this chapter, Overall up to s2e16 and beyond
Warnings: Fluff, angst, tissue warnings.
Word Count: 1,490 approx
Summary: 9-year-old Blaine realizes he's different from other boys his age. He's just thankful that his best friend doesn't seem to care.
Note: This was inspired by my previous story The Best Policy after a few readers mentioned to me that they'd like to know more about Blaine's relationship with Honey.
The "Promises" that headline each chapter are the "Ten Doggie Commandments" by Stan Rawlinson (1993).
Prologue
My life is likely to last only 10-15 years. Remember that before you buy me
Blaine Anderson always knew he was different from the other boys at his elementary school. While they all joined the soccer or Little League baseball teams, he happily signed up for the drama club - much to the delight of his English teacher at the time, who always thought the little boy was one of the most charming speakers she’d ever met.
While most of the boys came to school as if they’d tumbled out of bed and thrown on the first set of clothes they could find, Blaine always made sure he was well-groomed and presentable - even if it was only shorts and a little polo t-shirt.
The teachers thought he was cute. The other kids thought he was queer, though at that age, many of them had no proper understanding of the word - they’d just heard their fathers and big brothers use it on guys who liked to dress nice and liked arts over sports. So for them to start teasing Blaine about it was only natural, they were just trying to be like dad after all.
It was no real wonder that little Blaine’s first best friend was his grandfather’s old Great Dane, Rock. His favourite days of the week were whenever he got to go over to (and sometimes stay over at) his grandparents’ house. It was an unusual sight to many a stranger - the massive black-and-white dog and the little boy only half his size.
Many, however, didn’t know the kind of relationship the two had. Rock loved Blaine as much as the boy loved him. Neither did Blaine care about the looks people gave them when they sometimes walked down the street together to pick up something from the store for his grandmother. To Blaine, having Rock by his side meant that people like the kids from school, and their older siblings, wouldn’t come close enough to harass him in public.
Neither were the two ever that far away from each other when indoors. It seemed that no matter what Blaine was doing, the old dog was always there with his protective, comforting presence.
When Blaine sat at the dining table with his homework, Rock would be lying under the table with his head on Blaine’s lap. If the boy sat at the dusty cabinet piano trying to teach himself how to play the latest songs he’d heard on the radio, Rock would be behind him with his head either on the boy’s shoulder or on the piano bench.
And no matter what he was doing, it was not uncommon to find one of Blaine’s hands resting on the dog’s head or back.
Blaine’s mother had long since gotten used to coming to pick him up at night and finding him sound asleep on the living room carpet with his head comfortably pillowed on Rock’s back or side - the big dog stretched out patiently watching over his young charge.
It was on one of these nights that Blaine’s grandfather took his daughter aside to speak to her while Blaine slept on.
“He’s a special boy,” he said.
She only smiled. “All grandparents say that about their only grandchild, Dad.”
“Of course they do,” he replied. “But you know what I mean. The child is gifted, my dear, he’s gifted and he’s different.”
Blaine’s mother raised an eyebrow. “Different in what way?”
“I think you know.” His grandfather looked at her pointedly. “He’s not like other boys, we see it every day, in everything he does.”
His mother sighed. “I was hoping it might just be a phase. He’s so young.”
“Neither you, nor I, nor he, can choose the way he was born. That’s not our job. His job is to just be himself. Our job is to love him when no one else will, no matter what he is. How WE treat him will determine whether or not he’ll grow up to be a good young man.”
She looked into the living room where Blaine was still sleeping peacefully on Rock. “What about the gifted part?”
His grandfather stared at her. “Have you heard him sing? Have you seen the way he plays that piano? It’s moving! He should pursue it, develop it. The boy has talent, child, he could be someone great, if you support him and guide him onto the right path.”
“We don’t have a piano at home, so he doesn’t sing there.” She didn’t look at her own father. “And his father wants him to play football.”
The older man’s eyes hardened. “I won’t ask you to go against your husband. All I will say is that we can no more choose our talents anymore that we can choose how we want to be born.”
In the living room, Blaine shifted and cuddled closer to Rock, who raised his head and locked eyes with Blaine’s mother for a brief moment, as if also trying to tell her how precious this boy was. She sighed.
“He’s too attached to that dog,” she said.
The older man smiled sadly. “The dog probably loves him the best out of all of us. He loves that boy as if he were his own pup… but Rock can’t always be there to love and protect him; he needs his mother - and his father, if that man still remembers he has a son.”
She went over to gather Blaine up in her arms - the boy barely stirred as he rested his head on her shoulder. Rock remained stretched out and looking at him. His grandfather bent to pet Rock’s head.
“He shouldn’t be alone,” he said softly, thought it wasn’t clear if he was referring to Rock or Blaine.
“I’ll bring Blaine over next weekend,” she said and carried her son out.
=====
Two years later, on one Saturday night, Blaine sat on the living room carpet, Rock’s head in his lap - a strange reversal of their normal nightly routine. Blaine stroked the short fur around the dog’s neck and asked his grandfather why Rock seemed so tired and out of breath.
“He’s an old dog,” the old man said.
“But… he’s only 11, like me,” Blaine replied, confused.
“Dog years and human years are different, my lad. 11 years for a dog is like a human living till the ripe old age of 80, or more.”
Blaine looked at Rock, his hazel eyes sad as he started to understand what his grandfather meant. “Is he in pain?”
“I shouldn’t think so.” He sat on the floor beside his grandson. “What’s important is that he’s not alone right now.”
As if he knew they were talking about him, Rock opened his eyes and looked at Blaine as if to say: Remember, I love you.
The boy stroked his head gently, not caring in the least about the tears running down his face. “Love you, too, Rock.”
Not long after that, the dog’s eyes closed again, and he gave a little shudder before going completely still. Blaine gave a strickened whimper, bent and kissed the furry head, before jumping up and running up to his grandparents’ room where he collapsed on the bed and spent the rest of the night crying till he fell asleep from grief and exhaustion.
The next afternoon they buried Rock in the back yard. Blaine appeared in a somber shirt, tie and pants and requested to sing something as a tribute to his best friend. Seating himself at the old piano, and playing some hesitant but heartfelt chords, he poured his emotion into the Michael Jackson classic “Ben”, not caring when fat tears dripped onto the slightly yellowed keys, or that his parents had arrived to pick him up.
Only the song mattered. It was a farewell. It was a promise that he would never forget him.
When Blaine started middle school after his 12th birthday, his mother enrolled him in the music and dance enrichment course the school offered, against his father’s wishes that he take up a sport instead. Blaine had never been happier - he could finally do something he loved with at least one parent’s approval.
He had also never felt more sad and alone in his life… For though his confidence and love for his craft shone brightly whenever he performed, that pleasant charm that his old English teacher had loved, and that bright smile, hid behind the anxiety and fear of who he was and what others thought and said of him when he was not on the stage.
He missed Rock. Missed the big dog’s comforting presence, especially on days when something particularly hurtful had been shouted at him. He rarely went to his grandparents’ house anymore - he was getting older, they were getting older. He missed them, too. Sometimes he hated that dog for giving him something as precious as a friend, and then going away and leaving him alone.
=====
to be continued