A/N: So I don't own Blaine. I own Jake, Beckett, Beckett's mom, and Stephen though.

Some of this might be confusing. But I hope it all explains itself later.

AND I KNOW KURT ISN'T IN IT YET. I'M SORRY. HE'LL COME, I PROMISE. I just want to go in depth into Blaine's background.

Please review. It would make my day.

"Stop it!" I screamed, laughing harder than I had in a while. "Please, stop! No fair!" I held my little hands out to protect myself from the attack, but it was no use; Jake was stronger than me, and I was losing my breath. Laughing sure did use up a lot of breath.

When I realized that Jake was certainly not getting up anytime soon, my hands left my opponent to look for a defense. I felt across the wooden floor, looking for something - ANYTHING - that would stop this ticklish torture. A sudden collision made my heart leap, and my fingers twisted around the stuffed mass of fake fur.

"GO GET IT, JAKEY!" I yelled, tossing the teddy bear across the room.

The reaction was immediate. The dog's tongue left its spot on my face, and the heavy body was lifted. I sat up, still laughing and wiping the slobber away from my cheeks.

All too soon, Jake was bounding at me again, proudly holding the bear in his mouth. The smile ran from my lips, and I leaped to my safety onto the bed beside me. My head burrowed under the giant comforter waiting for me, but Jake had already seen where my hiding spot was. His body laid down on the sheets by my side, teddy bear still fastened in his mouth, and we both let out a big sigh.

"I love you, Jakey," I whispered, peeking out from the comforter and pressing my face into his soft, golden fur. He answered with a quick lick to my cheek. "Really!" I said, laughing again. "You're the only one that's nice to me, you know that?" His tail started to wag. "Sometimes you remind me of my mama. You never knew my mom, Jake." I paused for a second for wipe a few tears away. Jake couldn't see me crying. He seemed to notice my embarrassment, and he quickly covered his eyes with his paws. "It's okay," I recovered quickly. "I have you, boy."
We laid like that for who knows how long. I loved moments like this. Since Mom died, I hadn't really talked to anyone. Dad didn't want me to make any friends, and when we were home together, he usually ignored me. Nobody liked me at the park; I already knew that. But I found a friend in Jake, and I don't think that I could have ever found someone better.

"You have me too," I heard quietly and suddenly. My head whipped around, and I was instantly reminded that there was someone else in the room.

Ugh.

"Thanks, Beckett," I said politely, turning back to face Jake.

"No problem, Blaine!" he responded excitedly, immediately hopping onto my other side on the bed. "I was beginning to think that you forgot that I was here, too. Whatcha wanna do, Blaine? Huh?"

"Mmmmmm," I whined, snuggling my head into Jake's silky fur again. It wasn't that I didn't like Beckett. He liked me. He talked to me when Stephen ignored me. He went out of his way to try to make me smile.

He was just...too Beckett for me. He was only five. At six years old, I felt much more mature than him, and he had yet to master the concept of the fact that the way to my heart was understanding, not talking.

"Oh, you want to sleep again." His voice sounded a bit broken, but I could not honestly care less. In the past week alone, he had somehow convinced me to play dress up, have a tea party, and watch a movie about little talking vegetables. The day before, I had pretended to sleep after playing with Jake, and surprisingly, Beckett followed my lead. "I don't mind sleeping," he had said, when I figured it would be time to wake up. "I just like spending time with you."

"We don't have to sleep," I answered him finally, my guilt suddenly kicking in. "What do you want to do?"

"COME ON!" he shouted, and I jumped in fright. He grabbed my hand, and I jumped to my feet, unaware of what was really happening. Jake jumped up next to me, and when Beckett started pulling me out the door of his bedroom, Jake followed, nipping at our heels and barking.

"I've been wanting to do this FOREVER!" Beck continued, leading me down the stairs and into his kitchen. "I was going to go YESTERDAY but you were too tired, and I just let you sleep."

Finally, we seemed to have reached his destination: the television room. "Mom!" his unusually loud voice continued. "Mom! Mom! Mom!"

I tuned him out. Jake was licking the back of my hand, and I bent down to scratch that spot behind his ear that he loved. Sometimes, I wished that I could just bring Jake home. Dad didn't let me have sleepovers, and I needed to be home by eight o' clock every single night. I never got to cuddle up with my best friend when I had nightmares, and I missed him every single second that we were apart.

Which was apparently now.

Before I knew it, I was being loaded into the back of Beckett's mom's car. Stephen wasn't with us. I looked out the window, nervous about my curfew; it was already getting late, and I didn't want Dad to be mad at me again. I had to wear long sleeves that entire week in the blazing sun, because I had mentioned Mom, Dad got mad, and I didn't want Jake to see my arms.

"I'm taking you some place real special, Blaine!" Beckett kept saying in the seat next to me. "I haven't gone in a while because I wanted to stay at my house with you, but I think you're going to really like it, Blaine!"

And then we were there.

The place I had spent every day for as long as I could remember before that day.

The place I hadn't even seen since I had thought about running back on the night of my mother's death.

"I don't want to be here," I said definitely, looking Beckett straight in the eye. The glowing twinkle on his face faded slightly, but he reached out his hand and muttered, "Come on!"

The ground was unfamiliar to me. It looked the same - moms were pushing their kids on the swings, and brothers and sisters were putting sand down each others' shirts, and a few boys were playing monsters near the slides. The air was different, though, and my confident air was immediately broken. The suddenly chilly wind seemed to pull tears to the surface of my eyes, and I shoved out of Beckett's grip.

"Where ya going, Blaine?" he yelled, but I was already halfway to my normal spot. The tree was still empty, and my little patch of grass was waiting for me. The spot I had spent the majority of my young, independent life.

Tears came. I felt everyone staring at me, and my mind was lost in the jeers they used to spit. "He's different!" "Don't go near him!" "He'll get you into trouble!"

"Are you okay?" Funny. I didn't remember that one. No one ever asked me if I was okay. No one ever called me 'you'. But they didn't stop.

"Blaine, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

My heart ached for my mother, and the boy standing in front of me was definitely not my mother. But he was there, and he was solid, and he smelled like Jake, and before I knew it, I was cuddled into his arms, and he was wiping at my tears.

"Don't cry, Blaine. Mom tells me that people are more beautiful when they smile."

"You like this place, don't you."

"Yeah, I do! All of Stephen's friends hang out here. They never want me to play with them, but sometimes, I feel like I'm included."

"I used to come here all the time."

"What happened?"

"I-I just realized that I didn't fit in."

For once, Beckett was quiet. I was never more thankful.

"Do you -" I pulled away from him. "Do you think that someone can be a person but...not be a person?"

"What do you mean?" His head tilted, and the setting sun was hitting him in an odd way.

"Like...Come here!" It was my turn to grab his hand. I faintly heard him protest ("But Mom said not to go too far!"), but I didn't stop until we reached the edge of the small forest on the edge of the park.

"Look," I said simply.

"What?"

"Look!"

He stared around hopelessly.

"The bees," I finally sighed. "Look at the bees."

All across the outskirt of the forest, there were hives. Bees were flying around them excitedly, obviously reporting back to their queen about the pollen they had collected for the day. They worked as a team, and you couldn't tell one from another. They were all accepted, and all of them were liked.

That's where I wanted to be.

I learned long ago that you couldn't trust people.

But these bees-they had been there every single day. I had watched them endlessly, waiting for another boy to come ask me to play. They had never betrayed me or abandoned me. I could trust them.

"I still don't get it," Beckett whispered, looking shamed.

"What if I wasn't meant to be a person, Beck?"

"You're a great person!"

"I like your dog more than I like you."

"I like my dog more than I like me too!"

"Do you like me?"

"What?"

"Do you like me?"

"I-yes."

"Oh."

"You don't like me though."

I peeked a look at him. Somehow, he had ended up sitting on the ground, avoiding my gaze for once in his life. "What do you mean? Of course I like you."

"You like Stephen more."

"Yes."

We were quiet after that. I looked at the bees again, and he kept his eyes down.

And then, for the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged. I felt wanted as a person. I felt like I had someone that would care for me. I could never tell him that, though.

"Ready, boys?" The voice startled me. I had almost forgotten where I even was. Beckett shot up quickly, thought, and grabbed me once again by the wrist.

"We're ready, Mom!"

"Sweetie, what happened?" Beckett's hand dropped my arm, and his eyes welled with tears.

"I got stung," he said, his voice lowering, glancing at me nervously. "It really hurts, but the bees are Blaine's friends, so I don't mind."

"We'll get a bandaid on that when we get home, okay?"

Then, all of a sudden, life was a blur.

I don't remember going home.

I don't remember seeing my dad.

I don't remember changing into my pajamas.

But I remember running back to the park, after I was sure that Dad was sleeping. I remember walking along the deserted forest, trying to find that exact spot I had sat with Beckett just hours before. I remember grabbing the hive with my bare hands and throwing it to the ground. I remember the stings that welled upon my face, and I remember catching one of the bees in my fingers.
Mostly, I remember the feeling of crushing the bug with my flesh. His stinger dug into my thumb, but I didn't care. I felt it getting weaker and weaker in my hand, and I felt its life finally leave it, as its poison drained within me and its body broke with my grasp.

I felt powerful. I felt protective.

Beckett made me feel like I belong. These...neanderthals hurt him. They deserved this. Just like my mom had deserved it. She had hurt my dad, and these bees had hurt Beckett.