Outside the tent, the roar of the crowd began to build, signaling Governor Sanders's approach to the podium. The thick fabric of the curtain did little to muffle the cheers and whistles emanating from the crowded amphitheater, filled to bursting with excited Republican supporters. All of the compacted body heat combined with the late August weather created a boiling humidity, but it failed to reach Blaine. A cold sweat had begun to form on his forehead, and he nervously pulled at the collar of his suit, listening to the governor address the crowd. Blaine's body heat had dropped a few degrees below normal, and the nerve endings in his skin felt dulled and numb. He closed his eyes and inhaled shakily.

The dark-haired aide standing at the entrance to the tent with his father suddenly called Blaine's name. His eyes flew open at the sound and he shuffled over to join them, as did his Cooper and his mother.

"It's almost time," the aide said shortly, turning back towards his father who began conversing with her in a swift, businesslike manner. It was his father's default, full of the need for ready action and left no room for frivolity. Blaine knew his father was an impressive figure, exuding competence from the way he squared his shoulders to the way straightened his back. The waiting crowd was expecting that confident, reliable manner today.

"My fellow Americans," Sanders called out in his gravelly voice from the other side of the curtain, "I am very pleased and honored to introduce to you my running mate in my bid for the President of the United States: Senator William Anderson of the great state of Ohio!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, and a marching band started to play as the aide hurriedly shepherded the Andersons into formation.

"Big smiles, everyone," she instructed, eyeing Blaine in particular. He glanced up into her eyes, heavily lined with kohl. Blaine nodded shakily and pasted that familiar toothy grin across his face. Off to the side he could see Cooper jerk his head up and do the same. Cooper hadn't been to any political events in a while, and this was a hell of an event to come home to.

The aide pressed her headset close to her ear and listened. After a moment she pulled the curtain aside. "And, you're on!" she declared sharply.

Bright camera flashes instantly blinded Blaine as the four of them slowly made their way down the long carpeted aisle. His father strode ahead of them, smiling widely at and greeting the cheering crowd in the amphitheater, brandishing flags and holding supportive signs high. His mother, Cooper and Blaine stayed a step behind, waving at the audience on either side, never letting the smiles leave their faces. Cooper's was even more fixed than usual; while his brother may enjoy the limelight, this was not the kind he sought. Blaine supposed he was feeling lost without his usual standbys: winks and finger guns, which his father had expressly forbid. Cooper's hotshot ways might pass in Hollywood, but Washington, D.C. and the general populace would find them disingenuous. His mother's smile was more convincing. Blaine had only seen that one smile - lipsticked and pasted on - his whole life, so he could not judge its sincerity.

The slight numbness still pervaded his body, but as he continued walking, his movements eased somewhat. It was all about confidence, as his father had taught him. If he acted comfortable then people would believe it. Ahead of them, William reached Governor Sanders at the stage and shook his hand firmly with the characteristic politician's grip on the bicep. Sanders turned to smile and shake hands with the rest of the Andersons. It was the first time Blaine had encountered the man in person, as the decision to select his father had only been made mere days before. Sanders was a broad-shouldered, snowy-haired man in his early sixties, and the lines on his face looked even deeper up close in the bright light. Everyone knew Sanders's background growing up on a ranch in Texas, and his tanned, wrinkly skin belied his upbringing. His grin was imposing and yet deliberately genial; much of his persona was based on being relatable to the average working American, but Sanders still came from an influential family with connections to major oil tycoons, so he was no stranger to the business world when he became governor. Blaine accepted his offered hand, feeling his fingers squeezed tightly in the typical intimidating grip of important people. As he let go, William stepped forward to the podium and faced the large television camera lenses, and the three members of his family and Governor Sanders and Mrs. Sanders lined up behind him in support.

William paused, waiting for the marching band to cease playing and the crowd to quiet. Once he had the room's attention, he spoke:

"Thank you so much." His clear, confident voice rang out across the cavernous room. "And a thank you to Governor Sanders for the confidence he has placed in me as his running mate. I am honored and humbled to represent all of you, and I promise I will not let you down." He paused again, flashing his teeth indulgently at the renewing cheers.

"I know that this opportunity will demand the best that I have to give, and I am privileged to stand by Governor Sanders and support both him and America when he is elected as President of the United States!" William gestured in firm motions to punctuate his statements. He scanned the crowd, years of training giving the illusion he was making eye contact with each person in the crowded amphitheater.

"But, before I continue," he said, "I would like to introduce all of you to my family. My wife, Theresa." Blaine's mother stepped forward, waving and turning on the spot to greet each side of the audience, smile wide and pleasant.

"My oldest son, Cooper." William gestured him forward, and Cooper renewed his grin, which was still vaguely uneasy to Blaine's eyes. But the discomfort probably would not be apparent to anyone else, as, despite it all, his brother's naturally charming nature shone through. "And my youngest son, Blaine." Blaine looked out into the sea of faces, still yelling as they turned their attention towards him. He may be used to being trotted out for his father's events, but he had never been in a room with thousands of people. There were so many people in front of him and watching this live on their televisions at home that Blaine felt he was gazing at them from a glass bubble, far removed from any actual significance the moment held. He felt a smile appear on his face, but it had materialized more out of habit than any real intention.

His father nodded approvingly in response to the ovations and gave another amiable smile. He spoke into the microphone again. "I want America to know that I am for the people. In this country, we have seen an alarming new trend under the current administration, but Governor Sanders and I both support a simpler America, for common folk to be given the opportunity for the free market to flourish again, and a return to traditional family values!"

The crowd cheered and Blaine clapped along politely with his family in support of his father's words. That phrase had been used often enough that it's true meaning no longer fazed Blaine. He simply smiled vacantly into the crowd, any vague uneasiness he might have once felt long covered over like the scars of a Sadie Hawkins dance years ago.

~~~

Kurt fished in the plastic bowl for another handful of popcorn and listened worriedly to his dad mutter in disgust at the television. Carole was trying to pat his father's shoulder soothingly, whereas Finn simply sat in the plush umber armchair with his eyes vaguely glazed over. On the screen, the political commentators were reviewing the announcement of Governor Sanders's vice presidential nominee.

His dad shook his head again, and brandished his baseball cap wildly at the TV, continuing to rant:

"I mean, everyone knows Sanders is a stubborn conservative bonehead at this point, but you'd think he'd try to choose someone who could appeal to the people more! But no, Anderson's just another member of the rich elite. I've come across him in Congress before, he's pigheaded as the rest of 'em." He leaned back into the couch with a huff, and Kurt looked over at him anxiously, fluttering his hands.

"You've got to calm down, Dad. Take a breath. It's barely been a year since you were in the hospital..." Kurt bit his lip.

His dad glanced at his concerned expression and made a show of uncrossing his arms.

"I know, I know, kid," he sighed. "It's just that guy and his kind are trying to stop all of what we're trying to do in Washington." He looked at the TV again. The news host (whose attempts at a comb-over did nothing to cover up his receding hairline) was currently discussing the nominee with some other political commentator with a heavily made-up face.

"Anderson does seem to be a very intelligent choice," the commentator observed. "His past decisions in Congress match up very closely with Sanders's views, and he has proven himself as a leader in many ways by heading committees in the Senate. Plus he's squeaky clean. Just look at his family waving in the background as he gives his acceptance speech. You're not going to see any dirty laundry come to light there."

The host nodded in affirmation and glanced down at his notes. "It certainly seems that way. His wife, Theresa, is the accounting manager in their hometown at the Bank of Westerville, and member of the town's gardening club and PTA." The TV cut to a shot of a short, dark-haired woman conversing with Governor Sanders's wife. "The oldest son, Cooper," he continued as the shot panned over to the next tall, blue-eyed family member who was grinning toothily, "is a small-time actor in Hollywood. Some may recognize him from his latest guest role in CSI: New York. He hasn't been too involved with the Anderson family's politics lately though, it seems. Not sure if there's a story there, or if he's just trying to make his own name for himself. And the youngest son, Blaine, is a senior at the prestigious Dalton Academy in Westerville, Ohio and just celebrated his eighteenth birthday." The camera focused on footage of a short boy with gelled back hair waving politely to the crowd. "He's a straight-A student, involved in many extracurriculars. There has been some muttering about the actor son's lifestyle, but there doesn't seem to be much behind it. Though I'm sure that the Republican ticket will encounter some allegations in the near future wondering how they plan to relate to the working class when everything about Anderson screams white collar. They must think he's a good balance to Sanders who famously grew up on a ranch, although he is heavily involved in big business," the host acknowledged.

"And that's another thing!" His dad exclaimed, renewing his tirade and apparently unable to calm himself down. "His family is so perfect it's like they aren't even real. It's no wonder he claims to support family values when his family is like a goddamn episode of Leave it to Beaver. They're all so charming, it's like they're plastic!"

Kurt bit back another admonition for his father and stared at the TV where the family was waving. His eyes were naturally drawn to the youngest son, Blaine. He was Kurt's age, also a senior in high school, and the commentator said the family didn't even live very far away from Lima. On the screen, he was smiling up at the crowd pleasantly, but Kurt couldn't help but wonder what he was truly thinking. He was being broadcast on national television, available for the whole country to assess and watch and judge just because of his father's job. Kurt couldn't imagine what he would do if Burt's political ambitions ever carried him that far. He may love the stage and performing, but that was only because he was proud of his talents and brought the attention upon himself. Kurt had no idea what Blaine thought of his father's ideals.

His dad leaned over Kurt and grabbed a handful of popcorn from his bowl.

"Well, either way, I feel sorry for those kids, having a father like that," he mumbled through his large mouthful. Kurt's eyes swept once again over the picture-perfect family. He didn't know anything about them, or how they felt about being part of such a high-profile situation. But he couldn't help but feel a small pang of empathy for the boy his age, hating the thought of exposing himself and his life to the public to be criticized and evaluated like a show dog. Kurt was glad he was not in his place.

~

The next day was the first of Kurt's senior year, but despite all the hype of beginning the end of his high school career, it unfolded pretty much the same as the previous years. As usual, Kurt drove himself and Finn in his Navigator and parked in his usual spot. He slugged through first period physics, which made him want to hit his head against the wall. His only comfort was that Mercedes was with him, and they surreptitiously texted each other under their desks when the teacher wasn't looking. His next class was an earth science class, which he had somehow missed fitting into his schedule previous years. Unfortunately, the powers that be had dumped a large number of dim-witted jocks in his class. They must have been forced to retake the class because they had failed, or had only passed the classes leading up to the low level. Kurt tried his best to look small and stay out of their way. Their bullying had subsided since the end of last year when Karofsky had been suspended for threatening to kill him, but Kurt still did not want to unnecessarily provoke the jocks. By the end of class, he had managed to sneak out of the class without any crude comments directed his way.

In World History, the teacher, Mr. Taylor, chattered on about the vice presidential nomination, which was apparently supposed to make kids feel interested and involved in politics, especially since the nominee was a senator from their very own state of Ohio. Somehow years of teaching in a public school failed to alert him that he was teaching in a public school, and high school students' interests only extended as far as what they were doing that weekend and who cheated on who at whose party last Friday night. Most peoples' eyes had glazed over or dropped to their laps to check their phones.

"Well, what about you, Kurt? Any thoughts on how this decision is going to affect the country?" Mr. Taylor turned to him a tad desperately, grasping at straws in a continued attempt to engage his students. Kurt knew he was only called on because his dad was a congressman, but he decided to indulge his teacher. Politics had always seemed to be distant until his father ran for office. Mostly, he figured nobody was really paying attention anyways.

"Well, Anderson makes sense for Richard Sanders, since he's another strict conservative," Kurt acknowledged. "but I know I won't be voting for them in the election since I'm finally eighteen. Beyond just the issues with the government, his stances on things like marriage equality go against what I believe. I don't want a president and a vice president who would deny people of those things. Not when it's become such a huge part of Sanders's platform." Kurt shrugged, but held his shoulders taut. Even if he didn't believe many people were listening, he was still very aware that he lived in the middle of Ohio.

Luckily, Rachel jumped in from her seat beside him.

"I, for one, agree. My two dads are both very important members of the local ACLU, and are frankly appalled at the civil right inequalities that are still rampant in society today." She sniffed and nodded, nudging Kurt in an exaggerated show of solidarity. Kurt would have rolled his eyes at the overstated gesture, but he did appreciate it,. He knew his friends felt guilty for how long it had taken them the previous year to step to his defense. They hadn't realized how bad the situation had gotten until Karofsky was brought in front of the school board.

Mr. Taylor smiled at them gratefully for joining in, but before he could say anything a burly kid in baggy jeans spoke up. Kurt spun around in his seat.

"Yeah, well, I think he'll be great," the kid- Jacob or Jared or something- said. "The president's ruined this country. We can't let him keep running us in deeper into the ground. And look in the Bible- it says in there how gays shouldn't get married." A few "yeah"s chorused around the classroom.

Nervousness flickered across Mr. Taylor's face, and Kurt was sure his expression mirrored the feeling. Just because the jocks wouldn't want to get suspended like Karofsky was and couldn't pull anything in the classroom did not mean that they would not try to take it out on him in the hallways or after school if he continued to press the issue. He remained silent, picking at the scratched grooves in the wood of his desk.

A girl who Kurt thought was named Sharon piped up behind him. "Actually, the Bible doesn't say anything about gay marriage. I have a lesbian aunt, and she's been with her partner for almost 14 years. They live in Florida and have been wanting to get married for ages, so like, if one of them gets sick and stuff, they can visit each other in the hospital." Sharon shrugged. "They're both my family, so it'd be nice to see it official." She flipped her hair over her shoulder then folded her hands neatly, either unaware or choosing to ignore the stony faces around her.

Jacob or Jared seemed to gather himself in preparation to respond, but it was then that Mr. Taylor decided his students were engaged enough in politics and hastened to move on with the lesson plan. Kurt stared numbly at his desk. He hadn't known there was anyone else at McKinley who supported marriage equality, or even knew someone else who was gay, besides Rachel's dads. It nice to have backing from someone else in this school who wasn't forced to out of some moral obligation as his friend or a faculty member. Of course, he was always wary of Jared/Jacob and his kind, but some people seemed to be truly and intelligently interested in the world around them. A small bit of hope flickered in his chest. Maybe there was hope for McKinley yet.



Finally lunch rolled around, and Kurt sat with his fellow glee club members to catch up since summer break. Kurt had kept up regularly with Rachel and Mercedes, and sometimes Tina, and through Finn saw the rest of the club fairly often as well. Quinn, however, was a mystery, and Santana only deigned to hang out with them occasionally when Brittany was there. Each time, she was sure to stress that it was only because she felt sorry for them and not because she actually liked their company, and in turn they pretended to believe her.

Kurt was asking Tina about her family vacation to Michigan when Santana sauntered over, Brittany beside her but not linked pinky-to-pinky for once, and pushed Mike over on the opposite side of the table. She claimed the freed seats, face stiff.

"So," she butted in, "what are you ladies talking about?" She grabbed some fries off of Kurt's plate, and he shot her a withering look.

"Well, Satan, we were civilly discussing our summers when you burst in here acting as if you were raised in a barn," Kurt huffed, crossing his arms.

Santana scoffed. "Oh, please, Hummel. Like I was even interrupting anything interesting anyway. What did you do? Marathon the Twilight movies? Stay up until 12:30 reading back issues of Vogue?" Her arms were crossed and her chin tilted upwards in a show of defiance. Her eyes seemed harder than usual.

Kurt scowled. "No. I've been helping my dad plan his re-election campaign. Trying to do some good in the world." In reality, he'd been helping his dad more because this was the first election his father had to confront after his heart attack the previous year. While Carole helped make sure he was eating healthfully and exercising, Kurt was afraid that this added stress might regress some of the progress his dad had made, seeing as he was doing so much better. His father had always been attentive to politics, but now that he was directly involved in the issues, the congressional and presidential elections seemed to be affecting him more since he had a greater investment.

"I'm actually flying to Washington, D.C. this weekend to assist him as he goes to some meetings and stuff," Kurt informed the table at large. Apparently, with the revelation of the Republican vice presidential candidate, some of the Democratic congressmen had scheduled some planning sessions to further discuss their future strategy. Subsequently, a lot of the work his dad had to do this week was pushed out into the weekend, and he had to make another trip into the capitol to get some work done. Kurt saw the strain this was imposing on his father, so he offered to go with him and act as his assistant. His dad had hesitated, as he didn't want Kurt to fall behind in school, but Kurt just reminded him that it was only his first week back, and he promised to complete any work on the plane. It didn't take much more convincing after that; his father knew his son was much more organized than him anyways.

"Lady Hummel going to the big city? Well, I hope you decide to take advantage of it and finally have some actual fun adventures out there in the land of the patriotic," Santana sneered around another mouthful of fries. Brittany picked one from her hand and chewed on it.

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?" he demanded. Mercedes turned to glare at Santana in solidarity.

Santana merely rolled her eyes and leaned closer to Kurt across the table.

"It means, Hummel," she said deliberately, "that you better enjoy yourself now before you wake up one day a seventy year old man and realized you've never really lived." The table was silent now as the two stared each other down, Santana not wavering. Her face was inches away from Kurt's.

"What are you even talking about?" Rachel lashed back. "Where do you get off attacking Kurt? Just because his idea of fun doesn't include reckless endangerment-"

"Shut it, Berry. Seriously, it's all of you," Santana whipped around, addressing the entire table. "Acting like we're special snowflakes when we can't even place at Nationals. We live in Lima, Ohio. If we are losers here how are we gonna survive in the real world, huh? When's the last time you actually did something daring, or adventurous? Something you were scared to do?" Santana was breathing audibly now, chest heaving as she stared them down. Kurt thought he could hear a crack in her voice.

"Look at Quinn. She decided not to put up with this bullshit anymore this summer. She's not stuck on everyone else's agenda. A bottle of hair dye, a tattoo and a 40-year-old skateboarder later, she's finally living her life. She's being herself, really living, and not giving a fuck what everyone else thinks." Santana stood up, her jaw clenched forcefully, and she focused back in on Kurt.

"Do you really want that? You talk a big game, Hummel, coming out and being so very fucking proud of yourself for being who you truly are," Santana said mockingly, curling her fingers into air quotes. She leaned back into his face, voice harsh. "But I can see it; you're still afraid of those jocks everyday, to even talk or walk by them. Do you want to be the person who's afraid, who just takes it? You couldn't even save yourself last year from Karofsky. You had to wait until he threatened to kill you before the school board finally suspended him and he transferred," she hissed. Kurt jerked backward and stared at her, numb with shock. He could feel his body curl in on itself, trying to make himself smaller. Usually he could just shrug Santana off with a few choice insults, but when she wanted to, she had a knack for exposing a person's deepest vulnerability.

"Hey, Santana, back off!" Finn finally interrupted the hush that had fallen over the group at her outburst. "Kurt was being threatened and bullied... don't you think he had a right to be scared? And to play it safe? How can you be fearless at something like that?" He stared at her in disbelief. "What's wrong with you? Could you be comfortable in yourself if someone attacked you for being gay?" Finn threw his arms out in front of him, palms faced upward entreatingly.

Santana looked like she had been slapped. Her jaw worked furiously as she struggled to maintain her acerbic glare, fists flexing and eyes blinking a couple times. Finally she turned on her heel and flounced out of the cafeteria. Brittany gaped after her, seeming lost. Kurt stared at his lap, ignoring Mercedes's timid hand on his shoulder.

An awkward silence lingered over the table for a long moment. Finally, Tina broke the spell, hesitantly urging Mike to tell the group some funny story that had happened at Asian Summer Camp. Eager for the diffusion, the other New Directions members laughed a bit too loudly at the end, but Kurt didn't mind. He attempted to join in after a while when his friends began to shoot him anxious looks, but his heart was not really in it. Santana is just mean and bitter; that's who she is, Kurt told himself. That did not mean there was any truth to her words.


~~~

Returning to Dalton was strange. On one hand, Blaine had been attending the elite private school for three years now, and the wood-paneled walls truly felt as familiar to him as his own house. But now he felt a different crackling of energy surrounding him like a tangible thing, granting him a new far-removed respect from his classmates. Blaine's father's political standings had always been well-known, but nearly every student at Dalton came from prominent and influential families, although Blaine's father was one of the more noteworthy connections. Now, though, as Blaine walked down the halls, he could sense his new status from the way people gave him a wide berth, stood up a little straighter when they saw him and nodded in regard. He no longer received wayward slaps on the back in camaraderie, but instead firm handshakes and that grip on the forearm, as if Blaine were a politician just like his father. It was disconcerting, but Blaine just smiled along politely. He should have expected it, to be honest. Assuming this new role came with new responsibilities and he was never one to shirk responsibility before. He wasn't going to start now.

Blaine was used to being a prominent presence on campus. This wasn't arrogance; he had never had any anonymity at Dalton before because of his background, and he grew up learning how to talk to people and make them feel special, how to smile charmingly and easily trade small talk, how to be involved and interact with the world around him. Being a politician's son basically qualified Blaine to write his own version of How to Win Friends and Influence People. He didn't do it to be manipulative. These were skills that were expected from him, not just by his father, but everyone else as well. People who met William Anderson's son expected to encounter a likable, collected, well-rounded straight-A student involved in debate teams and community service. And it was Blaine's duty not to disappoint. That was always his duty.

Blaine was ahead of schedule and walking towards his first period class when he heard a voice call his name. Spinning around, he saw Nick and Trent hurrying to catch up. He waved to them politely.

"Hey, guys, how was your summer?" he asked genially.

Nick panted as he caught his breath, and shook his head in a show of knowing disbelief. "It's been quite something. I did that summer program at Brown, and my old man has been harping on me to work on my application to Cornell," Nick shrugged, and then leaned forward to whisper: "But I'm still applying to Tisch. Cindy is going to be in New York City, and I don't want to have to travel over four hours to see her, y'know?" Nick sighed, and then brightened quickly. "Hey, actually, Cindy told me to tell you - she's got this friend, Jenna. Completely gorgeous, really nice and smart, too. We should totally double date sometime. I haven't seen you in forever, Blaine!"

Blaine gave him a practiced grin, and raised his eyebrows. "I don't know, Nick, it sounds like you might be more of a candidate for her. Cindy is going to have to watch out!" Blaine elbowed him teasingly.

Nick's mock scowl only lasted a moment before he chuckled agreeably. "Hey! I'll be too busy with the Warblers to find the time to cheat on my girlfriend!" At the glib comment, Trent visibly perked up and side-eyed Blaine hopefully.

"Speaking of the Warblers, there's no chance you want to finish out your high school career the way you started it? Maybe you'll join the Warblers again? Wes would kill me if he knew I was saying this, but I'm in the council this year and there's no need to audition. You know Wes and David were grooming you for lead soloist before they graduated."

"And I'll be happy to give up my position as this year's soloist if you rejoin," Nick added earnestly. "Everyone knows this spot was meant for you." There was no trace of jealousy in his eyes, only eager support. Blaine smiled tightly, remembering when he used to be close with everyone in the Warblers, when they were his best friends. But that was a long time ago; too much had happened since then.

Blaine offered them a convincingly dismayed look, and shrugged a shoulder. "I'm afraid I can't, guys," he said mournfully. "I appreciate your faith in me, but I've really got to focus on some of my other extracurriculars for my college applications. Plus this season is going to be really busy, and I'd probably miss a lot of rehearsal time anyways."

Nick looked disappointed, but he nodded as though he expected the response. "Of course. I can imagine how much you've got going on with your dad and everything," he conceded. "Congratulations to him, though. This is such a huge deal." Trent hesitated after he spoke, and then ventured tentatively, "How are you holding up? There must be tons of pressure."

"Me?" Blaine chuckled like it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "I'm not the one running for vice president," he remarked. "I think if you need to check up on anyone, it would be my father. He'll be busy campaigning non-stop until November. Probably the only time I will see him in the near future will be this weekend when we meet him in D.C. for some fundraisers." Inside, Blaine wondered why they brought it up. Did he not look like he was handling it well? He would have to do better.

"No, your father can take care of himself, we know," Trent agreed, voice gentle. "But what about you?" He gazed at Blaine searchingly. "You always deal with the build up of pressure so easily that sometimes I wonder if you realize just how much you're really holding."

Blaine swallowed and forced himself to take a deep breath. God, he was clearly failing already if he couldn't even convince old friends he hadn't even seen for much of the summer. Blaine fought to renew his agreeable smile and ignored the well of unease beginning in his gut.

"Really, guys. Don't worry about me," he assured them. "This may be new territory, yes, but I've done this type of thing before. Maybe I didn't exactly see something like this coming, but I'm handling it. You said it yourself, I'm good at handling things." Blaine felt the smile ease more naturally now. If he believed what he was saying, so would everyone else; it was all about confidence.

"I have a responsibility, here, and it's going to take up a lot of my time. But I can do it. I've got my trusty daily schedule right here." Blaine waved his iPhone, and met their eyes. "And, if it makes you feel any better, I'll be sure to stop by some Warblers' practices once in awhile. It's always a pleasure to hear you guys sing." Flattery was usually a foolproof trick to ease peoples' worries. But he wasn't entirely sure Nick and Trent were convinced.

"Okay, Blaine," Nick acquiesced for the time being. "Just let us know if you need anything, alright?"

Blaine nodded indulgently. "Of course, guys. You'd be the first to know," he agreed, even though he had no intention whatsoever to have a heart-to-heart with them. It wouldn't be necessary.

"I've really got to head to AP Chem, though. I need to chat with Mrs. Baird to gather up the work I'll miss when I leave for D.C. this weekend. I'll see you later." Blaine dismissed them with a friendly wave, and headed down the black and white-tiled hall.

What was wrong with him? Not even able to prove to Nick and Trent that he was able to function well under pressure? He had seen it in their faces that his assurances had not quelled their worries, and that unnerved him more than anything. If he could not convince the Warblers that he had the abilities and was worthy of being part of the vice presidential family, how could he persuade anyone else?

To be fair, though, Blaine supposed it made sense that the Warblers had expressed their worry. They had witnessed his sudden change during freshman year, and to be honest, he had always wondered if they would mention it again, even though he had convinced Wes to tell them to lay off.

It had been a long time coming, ever since Blaine first realized something was different about him. Around seventh grade, whenever his friends would extol the wonders of their classmates' budding breasts, he found himself instead appreciating the firm developing muscles of his male peers' chests and arms. But he knew enough to keep those hidden desires to himself, only allowing them to emerge when he was alone in his room at night, safely under his covers and gasping his release. It wasn't until one night in eighth grade, when he was staying up late to work on an English project while his mother hummed to herself as she washed the dishes that he fully realized what it meant. Blaine sat frozen at the kitchen table, able to faintly hear surges of laughter and the splash of brandy coming from the study where his father was entertaining guests.

"I can't believe they legalized it in Connecticut, too," some man, a prominent businessman from Columbus, slurred. "Those fags just can't keep it to themselves. Now they have to push their agenda into our faces." The man scoffed in disgust, and another politician from Ohio murmured something Blaine couldn't hear.

"It's fucking unnatural, that's what it is," the other man continued, his voice rising. "Marriage is something between me and my wife, not whatever perverted shit they do together." Something clinked loudly, and then he continued his condemnation. "But we won't let them get that far in Ohio, eh, Bill?"

There was a splashing sound as a glass was refilled, and Blaine heard his father chuckle. "That's for sure. Not if we have anything to say about it."

The clank of the glasses hitting each other and a chorus of "cheers" filtered into the kitchen, and Blaine sat immobile, feeling chilled to his core. He went to bed soon after, leaving his project unfinished and receiving a sharp reprimand from his father when he got the grade back. Blaine listened to the whole lecture about responsibility and the importance of a good impression silently, not able to meet his father's eyes.

Although Blaine was used to being forced to meet his parents' high expectations and working harder than a lot of people his age, he could never be said to be ashamed of who he was. He entered Dalton the next year and quickly joined the Warblers, enjoying the easy camaraderie of the group and shared passion for singing. His already elevated status as a senator's son and general likability quickly launched him through the ranks, and Blaine was thrilled when Wes pulled him aside one day to tell him they intended to choose him the next year as the first sophomore in Warbler history to be lead soloist. Maybe he had to be careful at home, but Dalton was a haven.

Best of all, Blaine met another gay kid, a junior from the local public high school. Blaine had been jogging early one morning, focused on selecting a song on his iPod to use in the upcoming Warbler practice when he suddenly collided with a thick, muscled body. Caleb was vibrant and outgoing, friendly to a fault, and Blaine took an immediate liking to him. They ended up grabbing a cup of coffee, during which Caleb casually mentioned how attractive he thought Channing Tatum was in his new movie. It didn't take long for them to bond over their shared feelings and worries about being gay, but Blaine was immediately heartened to hear how well Caleb's family accepted him when he came out earlier that year. He had gotten a little more trouble at school, as there was a group of jocks that sometimes harassed him, but Caleb was large and muscular so not many people ventured to mess with him. Blaine didn't see himself running into the same problems at Dalton. It was a gentleman's school, full of properly raised prep school boys, and Blaine was already well-liked on campus and had made a great group of friends. He only needed to worry about his parents. Blaine resolved to tell them on a weekend trip home, the following day of which Caleb invited him to his school's Sadie Hawkins dance. Although there was no further attraction between them besides friendship based on mutual commiseration, Blaine was simply thrilled at the idea of having a male friend he could even go to dances with. He no longer would have to pretend to enjoy the habitual mixers with the girls from Crawford Country Day. That Friday he could barely contain his excitement as his mother picked him up from Dalton. Blaine now shuddered to remember his reckless optimistic view that everything was fated to turn out well, merely because he felt it had to.

That night, Blaine sat his parents down at the kitchen table and presented them with his carefully rehearsed speech about how he realized he was gay, and how he was still the same son they raised, the only difference being that he hoped to fall in love with a man someday instead of a woman. It was constructed thoughtfully through long months of speech and debate team experience, but after he was greeted only with silence. And more silence. It stretched on and on, until Blaine began to fidget, even though his father said it showed weakness. Finally, William Anderson stood up from the table, and picked up the briefcase that he had placed under his chair.

"No, you're not," his father said shortly, and tucked the case under his arm. Blaine gaped up at him in shock.

"But I am, Dad," he choked out in distress. "I just said I am. Why would I lie about something like this?" He stared at his father imploringly, but this time it was his father who wouldn't look him in the eye.

"I have work to do, Blaine. I would appreciate it if you don't bother me with nonsense again. I have a deadline," William pushed in his seat brusquely and marched out of the room and into his study.

Blaine felt pressure begin to form in the corner of his eyes, but he would not cry. He hadn't cried in years. He whipped around toward his mother.

"Mom?" Blaine whispered, both fearful and hopeful.

His mother pushed her own chair back and picked up a towel by the sink.
"You heard your father, Blaine," she murmured, and turned on the faucet to begin cleaning the dinner dishes.

Blaine inhaled unsteadily, gazing at the back of her head.

"But you can't think I'm making this up!" he cried desperately, standing up himself now. "I've known for awhile now, I just had to find the courage to say it. I'd heard before what dad said about gay people, but I thought, if it's me-"

"You heard your father, Blaine!" he mother said fiercely, finally whirling around to face him. There were tear tracks coursing down her cheeks. Blaine stared. He had never seen her cry before.

"You heard him," she whispered. "You've heard what he thinks. Now he has do what he needs to do for his job, and you need to not cause him trouble." She was wringing the dishtowel in her hand so tightly her fingers turned white. After another sniffle, she turned back around and slowly returned to her task. Blaine stood there dumbly. After a long moment, only the towel squeaked against the glasses. Eventually, Blaine moved upstairs to lay the bed that now longer felt as comfortable as the one at Dalton.

The next evening, Blaine left with Caleb to go to his Sadie Hawkins dance. His parents had some benefit to attend, so he didn't even have to attempt to sneak out. Caleb drove up to his house, greeting Blaine with that vibrant smile, and Blaine pushed away his negative feelings and let himself soak up the immediacy of the present. He deflected Caleb's questions about his parents' reactions, ("They weren't thrilled, but I think they'll get over it") and eagerly chattered about what they had in store for them that night.

They arrived at the public school gymnasium, decked out in tacky streamers and playing music a few too many years old, but they were there, and they were together. Caleb grabbed them some punch, and a few witty and well-timed jokes made Blaine's nerves fade away. He introduced Blaine to a few of his friends, who were all very nice and didn't even bat an eyelash at the two of them arriving at the dance together. When Caleb asked Blaine to dance, Blaine felt a wide grin stretch across his face. It could not even be dampened by the few disgusted looks thrown their way.

They danced to nearly every song, and Blaine was thankful again for the Warblers so that he could keep time and move his body to the music. Music enabled him to let go when the weight of expectations became too heavy inside, and tonight Blaine felt giddy as they all flowed away. He added some extra twirls and flourishes to the dance, and Caleb happily swayed along, content to follow Blaine's lead.

At the end of the night, they exited the gym and headed to the parking lot, both laughing loudly and freely, high on life and on the ability to be themselves and share that feeling with someone else. They were so wrapped up in recounting each detail and moment to the other, even though they had been together the entire night that they didn't hear the heavy footsteps on the pavement until they were almost on top of them.

Caleb may have been big and muscular, but even that didn't matter when there five guys against the two of them. Blaine watched helplessly as one of the jocks punched Caleb in the stomach and he doubled over, falling to his knees. And then Blaine was no longer a passive viewer as two of the menacing figures advanced on him, and he fell to the ground hard, world swooping out of control around him. Blaine made feeble attempts to fight back, but he soon he gave into the endless pummeling, enduring the punches and kicks and slurs until the world went blissfully black.

Blaine woke up in the hospital with his mother by his bedside, witnessing her cry for the second time in two days, twice more than Blaine had ever seen in his life. The next few days were confused blur; his bruises and broken ribs were poked and prodded at, and he was asked a series of questions to make sure his concussion was nothing serious. As they could do nothing for broken ribs but proscribe bed rest, Blaine was discharged fairly quickly, moving from the loud, unforgiving hospital to his quiet, unforgiving house. His mother fussed over him the first couple of days, loading him down with blankets and snacks, and he let her because he didn't have the energy to do otherwise. His father would only regard him silently with his lips pressed together, and once placed a hand momentarily on his son's shoulder. Then he began to explain to Blaine what would happen next.

Blaine would stay home from Dalton until his visible bruising and outward injuries faded, which would probably take around three weeks. The official story would be that Blaine had contracted a severe case of pneumonia, and that was why he was in the hospital. Caleb had not seen the faces of their attackers well, and even though he had a good guess that they were the same jocks who had harassed him at school, supposition would not stand up in court. Caleb was still recuperating in the hospital, but his parents had already pulled him out of school. When he recovered, his family would move and he would be re-enrolled a few towns over.

Blaine could read between the lines. While maybe a legal defense would have difficulty finding foolproof evidence that the attackers were indeed the same bullies, he knew that his father could afford a slick lawyer who would bring the attackers to justice. However, something like that would cause a big commotion since the attack involved a senator's son. And there was no way of pressing charges without revealing that Blaine was gay. Blaine knew from the overheard conversation a year ago how his father and his father's supporters felt about that. Yet Blaine was still tired and confused and weak from his injuries, and the world was moving so rapidly around him when he felt so slow, so he just lay on his bed and accepted his new reality.

A couple of weeks later Blaine called Caleb, but the conversation was short. Yes, Caleb was moving. His parents wanted him to be safe. Blaine was recovering on schedule, and so was Caleb. Blaine was sorry, and so was Caleb. No, this new school was too far away to easily see each other. After that there was nothing more to say.

The day before Blaine was to return to school, Blaine's father sat down at the foot of his bed and fixed him with his firm, steady gaze.

"You've got to make sure you act-" straight "-respectable," William said gruffly. "You attract more eyes at your school more than most anyone else, and there is an obligation that goes with that. You've got to show people that you're hardworking and trustworthy, and live up to the Anderson name." Because your brother isn't, was the unspoken admission. Cooper should have had all of the familial responsibility heaped upon him as the elder brother, but he had skipped school five years ago and was now off gallivanting in Hollywood, living out the cliche of a struggling actor. But just because one son was a disappointment didn't mean both had to be. Instead the dreams for two sons were piled upon Blaine and he had to carry the double the hopes and expectations.

William paused, and considered his son, who was staring into his lap compliantly.

"That means you've got to stick to things that will get you places. Focus on the debate team, and that future business leaders club. College isn't as far away as you think," he said levelly.

Blaine looked up at that. "The Warblers?" he asked, face impassive.

William cleared his throat. "Like I said, the less time you spend dilly-dallying now, the more likely that your application is picked up at Stanford. Just because it's my alma mater doesn't mean you're a shoo-in." William stood up and lingered in the doorway.

"Good luck at school, tomorrow," he said finally, and shut the door behind him.

It was like Blaine's emotions had been turned off just like unplugging a lamp. There was simply no more room for them. Of course he had to quit the Warblers. There was nothing gayer than show choir, really, and William could not risk anything that might question his son's now dubious sexuality. Blaine really should have seen it coming, just like he should have known that his father's opinions would not be changed just because it was his own son who embodied what he pledged to prevent. Blaine supposed it was just as well; he couldn't belt out a song anyways with his ribs still smarting when he inhaled too deep a breath.

A crowd of well-wishers welcomed Blaine back to Dalton the next day, and he reassured them that while he was still weak from his bout of pneumonia, they would be greeted with a new and improved Blaine Anderson, one even better than the wunderkind before. He joined his classmates in good-natured jests and promises to hang out, but he was mostly nervous for his inevitable encounter with Wes.

Blaine anticipated the council member would be disappointed and upset with him when he quit the Warblers, but what he didn't expect was the bare concern in the older boy's dark eyes and drawn across every feature in his face. Wes reached over and placed a hand on Blaine's forearm, and Blaine fought not to flinch. His bruises were still tender.

"Blaine..." Wes started, his voice serious and gaze calculating. "You love the Warblers. Don't even try to deny it- it's obvious in every movement you make when you perform. You can't give that up."

"I told you, I need to focus-"

"-on college, right," Wes repeated, sighing. "But colleges like well-rounded students. Having a history of performing arts could add an edge to your application. You know that, and so does your father." Wes leaned forward, his narrowed eyes cutting straight through Blaine. "So what's really going on here?"

Blaine swallowed with difficulty, turning away from that earnest, concerned face. He couldn't maintain his current nonchalant fa�cade if he looked straight into the eyes of the boy who had become his best friend over the past year.

"Wes, please," he appealed, his voice cracking. He pressed his lips together to prevent his face from screwing up in more than one kind of pain. "Just- just don't push it, alright? This is what I want to do. I wouldn't be up to snuff anyways, I'm still weak from the pneumonia-"

"-during which time you wouldn't let anyone visit you," Wes interrupted, clearly not able to let it go. "I know you don't like showing weakness, Blaine, and you go acting like you have it all together, but we're your friends. Sometimes you have to tell us how you're feeling, and let us know what's going on." Wes lifted his shoulders, mouth slightly open, at a loss. "I'm beginning to think something more happened at the past few weeks than just a fever, Blaine. I know you have a lot of pressure on you, but-"

"But what, Wes?" Blaine demanded harshly, finally looking up into his friend's stunned eyes, who was clearly taken aback. "But what? Talking about it won't make it go away. It's just a fact of my life, and I've been used to it for years now. My father's moving up in the political world, gaining more success and notoriety, and I need to act so I reflect that. Even if some things get compromised along the way." Blaine cut his outburst short as his healing ribs began to protest from the effort. He took a couple of shallow breaths, careful not to aggravate the injury.

"Wes. Please," Blaine said again more quietly, aware now that he was begging. "If you want to help, then just don't make this harder than it already is." He looked up at his best friend, emotions bare in front of him. The weight of the past few weeks and the exertion of telling off Wes had caused the strong front he had been showing to slip away in the moment, and Blaine knew his weariness, and his lingering confusion, and the utter aching of his mind and body shone through. But maybe if Wes saw the wreck he truly was, he would finally let him be, and back off.

The moment hung between them, open and charged as Blaine waited for a response. Both of them sensed the heaviness, knowing that this would be a turning point for the two of them depending on Wes's reaction. Wes assessed him quietly, lingering surprise at Blaine's outburst and palpable worry evident in his tightly-knit features. The unabashed pity was almost too much to bear, but Blaine just sat and waited, the decision once again not in his hands.

Wes pinched his lips together, heaving a breath. He blinked a couple of times and settled his shoulders, seeming to bring himself to a verdict.

"Alright, Blaine," he muttered resignedly.

Blaine blew out a breath he didn't even know he had been holding, shuddering minutely. "Thank you, Wes. Thank you," he whispered in relief. He gathered his shoulders, rolling them back into place on and shook his head to clear his expression.

"I don't know if it's the best thing for you," Wes added before Blaine could remove himself completely, "but I don't want Dalton to become another place where you have to worry about pleasing everyone."

Blaine paused for the briefest moment, then heaved his satchel onto his shoulder and shot Wes the patented Blaine Anderson grin.

"Hey, c'mon, you know I still have to please old man Robbins if I'm going to pass that algebra test on Wednesday. I heard it's going to be a beast." He winked jokingly, but Wes's answering chuckle was half-hearted at best. His eyes flickered away as he grabbed his own book-bag and followed Blaine out of the room.

There were a few moments of silence, and then Wes regarded him sadly.

"We'll miss you, Blaine," he said quietly.

Blaine didn't let his smile falter.

"But I'm still going to be here!" he replied. "You'll still see me around school. I board here, y'know," he nudged his friend playfully. "This isn't goodbye forever."

"No, of course not," Wes murmured, but he didn't meet Blaine's eye.

Over the next few days a series of Warblers approached Blaine, not believing the distressing news until it came straight from him. For a while he entertained their mourning of what could have been, but he still fought to convince them that this was a positive. You won't have to see my overzealous ass every day, he joked, but they negated that quickly, hastening to inform him how rehearsal just wasn't the same without the spark he'd always provided. He was the glue that held them together, they told him, and injected a much-needed cheerfulness into the practice room. Eventually their laments became too much, and when Wes noticed he told the Warblers to lay off. Blaine was still approached once in awhile, but the encounters tapered off considerably, and for that, Blaine was grateful.

But now here they were again, another set of Warblers confronting Blaine and urging him to re-involve himself in their group. As he became preoccupied with the activities his father had encouraged, his participation with his friends had consequently lessened. He still kept in contact with Wes, who was in school and completing an internship in D.C., and he saw most of the Warblers everyday since he lived with them, but the sense of belonging and easy rapport had faded when they no longer had the commonality between them. But even taking all of that into consideration, Nick and Trent still did not believe Blaine could handle this new responsibility, despite the fact that he had quit the Warblers to refocus his priorities. He was already disappointing people and the school year hadn't even started yet. A lump began to rise in Blaine's throat.

Blaine wanted to close his eyes to focus on his breathing, but he was in the middle of a populated hallway, and he really needed to discuss his workload with Mrs. Baird before class started. Instead, he swallowed down the worry and returned the friendly waves and smiles directed his way. He was Blaine Anderson: reliable and motivated, liked and admired by the whole campus. He just needed to work harder to convince everyone of that. He just needed to work harder.