A/N: This was just a little idea I had in my head until it festered. I just wrote about it one day and here it is. It wasn't meant to be something drawn out, but depending on its reception, it could very well turn into a multi fic (I've already started on the next chapter.)
Summary: The first memory Blaine Waldorf Whitney ever had was of his mother. A beautiful and shrewd dark haired woman with a gold pendant at her throat.
Disclaimer: Idea is mine and only Blaine Waldorf Whitney is made up. Thanks goes out to that awesome chick who beta-ed it comewhatmay.x. Title comes from lyrics of Hole's "Doll Parts."
The first memory Blaine Waldorf Whitney ever had was of his mother. A beautiful and shrewd dark haired woman with a gold pendant at her throat.
The second memory he ever had was his mother with an ugly bruise on her cheekbone. She was still beautiful. Everyone said so.
Blaine never had qualms about loving his mother more than his biological father. He was aware of the amount of his father's decency. He knew that Richard Whitney had none. No decency and no love for anything except the trophy that his wife was.
Not his actual wife. Or even his son, for that matter.
Blaine was four and had already understood that his biological father wasn't truly his dad. That role was filled by another man.
Always had, always would.
Richard would come home with nothing but the scent of alcohol about him, if he came home at all. It was only in this repugnant man's presence that Blaine ever saw his mother behave subserviently. He remembered the strong woman who sneered at the lesser peasants and doled out punishment where punishment was due. But never in front of her legal husband.
It wasn't until he had matured some, did he realize her uncommon servility was for his benefit. She had protected him by giving up her freedom.
Epiphanies such as these only occurred in his young and unimpressioned mind age four because it was the climax of his exposure to violence.
"Was he here?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Don't patronize me, Blair. Was. He. Here?"
"What do expect me to do? You come home looking like this. Blaine doesn't even have a father."
"It doesn't that give you a right to whore around-"
"I'm not. But even if you don't want to be his father, at least someone does."
"Someone doesn't. Someone wants to humiliate me by getting with my wife into bed."
"Because he could never want me if it wasn't for an ulterior motive?"
"You shouldn't be wanting him to want you at all. You are my wife."
"Well it wasn't by choice, I can assure you."
The sound of flesh against flesh had been obvious, along with a feminine sound of pain.
"Where do you get off speaking to me that way? What is wrong with you?"
"I can't let you be around our son like this anymore. You're not stable."
"Not stable? You invite men around my son and you're telling me that I'm not stable?"
There was a moment of clarity for Blaine at the sound of his mother's distress. But it didn't mean that he was calm. Emotion welled within him, knowing that he was no longer safe. And neither was his mother.
It was in the midst of all the chaos when the door to his room banged open. He cowered away from the imposing figure only to immediately relax when he recognized the person in the doorway. Though usually associated with tranquility, the sight of the dark haired man at that moment was slightly frightening. Sounds of chaos were bursting from the main room.
Usually donning eccentric suits, it wasn't a mystery why the figure had for moment, looked so unfamiliar. The man's jacket had been discarded and his white and usually pristine shirt was streaked with a gruesome red color to which Blaine couldn't associate to a name. The boy began to shake but the familiar man approached him carefully.
"Hey, kid," he said with his dark, familiar voice, picking Blaine up. There was a gold glint on his wrist that Blaine thought looked far too familiar. And he was suddenly very afraid for his mother.
"Where's Mommy?" he asked.
"You're going to be alright," the man assured him instead. Blaine pressed his face into the man's shirt, surrounded with the comforting scent of something his mother always seemed to roll her eyes at when he came over. It wasn't something that Blaine really understood but all he knew was that whenever he came, Richard was gone. When he came, Blaine's mother was happy.
When Richard came, his mother was nothing but distressed.
"What's happening?" Blaine asked as they reached the door. He was put on his feet as the man crouched beside him.
"Blaine," he said seriously, hand on the child's shoulder. "You're going to have to do something for me. Do you think you can?"
"I want to see Mommy," Blaine said, fidgeting.
"I'm sorry," he said, and it really seemed that way. "But you're going to have to be brave right now. When we walk through that door, you have to close your eyes for me. Do you think you can do that?"
"Will I see my mom?" Blaine asked, trying to do exactly what he was asked and be brave. He watched the older man who looked at him for several beats before answering.
"Yes," he said. "Then you can see your mom."
"Okay," Blaine said. He was picked up again and he clung to the moist shirt, clenching his eyes as tight as he could because he would be able to see his mother again.
"Keep your eyes closed," the dark voice said in a way that made him want to do it. "No matter what."
It was then that he realized the chaos wasn't quite done yet. He heard loud shrieking noises and moans and many feet rushing throughout the penthouse that he resided with his mother and the maid.
"...Caucasian female, approximately 27 years old, multiple stab wounds to the chest..."
There was a distinctive sound that he associated with the elevator and the roaring noises faded away.
"Alright," he heard the adult voice say. "You can open your eyes now."
Blaine looked up as he was being placed back on his feet.
"I'm sorry, kid," he answered. "But you can't see her just yet."
And then he heard a quiet, "no one can."
Blaine wasn't sure, but he suddenly felt unaccountable rage at being deceived. A word that he heard his mother use a lot.
Blaine was sure that he understood it now.
"You promised," he said petulantly.
He believed him.
"We're going to Grandma's now," the man added. "Is that alright?"
Blaine nodded and looked at the man before him for the first time. He reached up to touch the mangled shirt that didn't look familiar.
"It's alright," came the answer. "It's not mine."
"Not your what?" Blaine asked in confusion, looking at the messy red substance all over the man that always seemed to look so put together.
"Not my..." he said before stopping himself. "Nevermind."
He watched the man lean his head back against the wall of the elevator, clenching his eyes closed. Blaine wondered if he thought of seeing his mother again. He was pinching the bridge of his nose and the boyrecognized a glistening in the man's dark eyes that his mother sometimes got. The action wasn't foreign on his mother's face, but he had only seen this man as strong and protective. It was strange.
"Are you okay?" Blaine asked, trying to be very big, like his mother always told him to be. Mature she would say. Like she was afraid she wouldn't be able to teach her son everything that she had to.
"I'll be alright," Blaine heard as the elevator counted down to the lobby.
"Chuck?" Blaine asked hesitantly. Chuck Bass's dark eyes flicked to his face. "Are you going to be my dad now that I don't have one anymore?"
"What makes you think Dick isn't around anymore?" Chuck asked coldly.
"Mommy always said that if you were to take me some place, he wouldn't be around to take care of me anymore."
"Blaine," Chuck said. "Dick never took care of you."
"I know," Blaine shrugged. "Mommy always said that you were my real dad. No matter what the tests say. What does that mean?"
"It means I care about you," Chuck said. "You understand?"
"Yes," Blaine nodded. He always liked Chuck Bass. Chuck Bass wasn't careful. Chuck Bass was strong. He knew this because Grandma always scowled at Chuck. Chuck Bass didn't touch his mother with violence. He learned that word after hearing Chuck speak with his mother.
Chuck Bass was nice to his mother, no matter what Blaine heard other people say about him. Chuck Bass looked at his mother with tenderness and love.
Something he heard when he knew he wasn't supposed to. When Chuck came over while his mother cried. He knew he wasn't supposed to witness the exchange at all because then his mother would shy away from a man's comforting touch, though Blaine was sure she was fond of Chuck the way her son was.
He was sure that people were only supposed to love each other like that when they were married. That was what Aunt Serena always said to Chuck when Blaine was around. But Blaine didn't mind that Chuck looked at his mother that way. He liked Chuck. And he knew that she did too.
"Will I get to see Mommy soon?" Blaine asked hopefully. Chuck stared at the reflective wall of the elevator and away from the small boy in front of him.
"I hope so."
Then Chuck turned back to the child in front of him and had that clouded look in his eyes that his mother often called pensive.
"You have your mother's eyes."
Blaine wasn't really sure what that was supposed to mean. The dinging of the approaching floors greatened and Chuck stood before Blaine again.
"Can you be brave for me again?" Chuck asked.
"Do I have to close my eyes again?" Blaine wondered.
"No," Chuck said. "Not if you don't want to."
"I want to be brave."
"Good kid," Chuck smiled in that way that his mother called smirking. Blaine wasn't really sure what the difference was.
Chuck hoisted Blaine up again as the elevator doors parted. Blaine really wanted Chuck to think that he was brave. Chuck was the smartest person he knew. Suave his mother called it with a roll of her eyes and a bunch of other words Blaine couldn't remember, let alone understand. He knew that his mother held the man in high regard and he wanted to be brave.
But he couldn't help clutching to Chuck's discolored shirt as they walked swiftly through the lobby. He wanted to close his eyes again, but couldn't at the sight. Men and women were running through the lobby, covered in the same red that Chuck was.
He felt Chuck's grip tighten on him as his pace picked up. Without bothering for the doorman, Chuck went through the door. The screeching and wailing of sirens increased as blue and red blinded him.
Clinging to the courageous man that he had known since birth, Blaine felt the gold chain wrapped around his savior's wrist. With the same pendant his mother always wore at her throat.