That's the only good thing about being abnormal. You learn how to deal.

They've caught another one, folks! Another angel, being sold at the Cincinnati auction! Tune in later for the start of the bidd-

The TV's screen abruptly went black. A man had just walked into his living room after a long day at work, his scruffy shoes still on and leaving dusty imprints in the carpet. The television's remote was clutched in his trembling fist, the buttons leaving round imprints in his skin. For once, his baseball cap was off, on the ground at his feet. He was currently gazing into his family room with a horrified expression on his face.

"-ing, the prices are going to be high on his one, ladies and gentlemen! I can assure you, this one was in top physical condition! Great for all purposes!" The boy on the couch murmured, his tiny arms wrapped around bare legs. His head rested against his knees at an impossible angle, his temple flush with the rough skin of his kneecap. Tears rolled from brilliant blue eyes, which were locked on the screen of the television, despite the fact that no pictures rolled across it. He was naked, with blood smeared across his hands and feet, scratches on his arms and legs. His eyes closed when he finished talking, his eyelashes pushing the persistent tears that clutched at his lower lid to slide down his cheeks and onto his palm, which he opened and closed slowly. The man, Burt Hummel, walked cautiously into the room and laid his hand on the boy's shoulder, his eyes taking in the over-turned furniture and cracked door. Bloody footprints, of both small sizes and large, dotted the tile and carpet, streaks of red where the running legs had obviously slipped. Dirt was all over the ground, broken china and strewn papers covering the small piles in certain places, while in others there was nothing to block the streams of A negative and B positive from blending into a sick, sadistic imitation of mud. The boy was cold beneath his hand, which slowly made it's way down the forearm.

"Kurt? W-What happened?" Burt asked, crouching in front of the boy, who was curled up on a pile of loose couch stuffing. The boy's eyes did not move, as if Burt had not just moved in front of the TV. There was a slight sheen over his pupils, which were so large it was hard to see the pupils. The room was dark, due to the single light bulb hanging over their head, the other bulbs blown and cracked on the back of the chair and collecting at the base of the fireplace. Burt shook the child again, who could have been no older than seven.

"There is a down-side; this one was taken out of suburban living, out of a wedded life. Not a virgin, but still more than capable. The price has been marked down slightly due to this factor. The bidding starts at 9,000! Can I get 9,000?" The boy continued, his lips moving flawlessly around the disgusting words that formed from them. The small body was starting the shake, the teeth chattering. His skin was ice cold, the only heat on his skin being the slick red that dripped from his hands.

"Kurt, bud, you have to tell me; what happened here-"

"I'm so sorry, Momma," the boy-Kurt-whispered, his high voice breaking with each word. The tears began to flow faster. "I couldn't protect you. This is my entire fault, Mommy, please, don't leave me… don't go….. give her back….." He broke off with a sob, his face burying in his knees. Burt Hummel stopped breathing.

Of course. That's why the house was in this condition.

He knew he shouldn't have left Elizabeth home alone with Kurt! He knew it! But she had been so persistent in him continuing work, he just couldn't argue with her! He remembered her calm exterior when the Angelic Rights bill was revoked, how she had promised that it wouldn't happen to her. Why would it? Who would suspect the mechanic's wife in such a dead-beat town like Lima? Burt began to cry as well, taking his son into his arms, the small body quivering like a leaf in a hurricane.

"It's not your fault, Kurt…. It's not you, buddy…. It's this god damn cruel ass world we live in…." Burt truly didn't know who he was trying to convince, his son or himself. Kurt continued to cry silently, his eyes devoid of emotion. Burt ran his hands down his son's back, crying harder when his fingertips hit a wall of the softest down.

"Thank you, God…. I don't know what I would've done if they'd taken Kurt, too…." Burt continued to mumble to himself, his fingers clenching white-knuckle before pulling back, to examine the molted white feathers that fell from his fingers. The small pillow-stuffing feathers fell down to the floor slowly, landing in a puddle of red. The shiny surface showed Burt, and his face sitting on his son's tiny shoulders, with wet cheeks and parted lips.

It also showed the white mass on his son's back, the extra appendages fluttering softly as the boy they were attached to's heart broke for his Momma.

Blaine Anderson really didn't want to go home.

There was a reason why he chose to board. He would never tell the other guys at Dalton, but that extravagant house they were jealous of was one of the coldest places he'd ever been to. He couldn't live with the guilt of knowing that the person who cleaned his room, or the person who made the meal his mother claimed to have made from scratch was beaten and tortured every day. He couldn't stand to come out of his room in the morning and hear the whimpers of pain in the basement beneath him.

Blaine Anderson won't pretend to understand how his parents think doing those things to the angels is humane.

Most people thought that about the Seraphines now a days. Angels used to be highly regarded as messengers of God, but that was not so now. Now, Angels were used as slaves, letting the rich mommies and daddies go out and get hopelessly wasted, knowing soundly that the Angels would have everything done for them when they got home.

In fact, Blaine was raised by an angel.

His mother didn't have a maternal bone in her body, and that was a fact. So, instead of having to, perhaps, learn how to care for her child, she bought an Angel to do the work for her. Jasmine, the doe-eyed 13 year old they assigned the job to, was more of a mom than Kelly Anderson ever could be. Jasmine would rock him to sleep when he had a nightmare, and would stay up all night feeding him as an infant. Blaine relied on Jasmine to be that nurturer that he never had. Jasmine, who sang Disney when doing the dishes and always smelled like leather and burnt popcorn. Jasmine, who simply smiled at him when he wanted to watch The Little Mermaid instead of the Power Rangers like the other boys.

Blaine didn't want to go home if Jasmine wasn't there.

When he was seven, Mother and Father had thrown a huge, lavish party, with all of their friends. Mother's frenemy (because there is no such thing as friends when you're rich) Laura Tremblott had a son his age, and Mother wanted to show Blaine off to her rival. He was to sit on her lap all night while the women cooed over how cute he was, in his little tux with the blue buttons. The blue buttons that Jasmine loved so much, as she watched the sky-colored trinkets with a longing look while she buttoned up his waist coat. She'd complained about how his mother wanted to hide his curly hair, and had told him that he should tell her to try to run a comb through his hair and not come out with a snarl. Blaine had laughed and rested his head against her chest as she hugged him before his mother came and got him, ignoring Jasmine, whose eyes were lowered to the floor, her dirty feathers resting against the wood. When mother wasn't looking, Blaine waved at Jasmine, who simply shook her head at him and shooed him out.

Blaine had started to get antsy, as all little boys do after a while. Quietly, he asked Mother if he could go play with Preston and Lucas, the other two boys at the party. Mother, not wanting to look bad in front of her friends, had told him not the mess up his suit and pushed him towards the swings. They boys then soon after started a Who-Can-Swing-The-Highest contest, and Blaine was determined to win. He swung higher than all of the other boys, not noticing his sweaty fingers slipping until he began to plummet to the ground. Letting out a yelp, he landed on his left side, his arm taking most of the impact. He heard the crunching noise and began to sob uncontrollably as a shot of unbearable pain ran up his shoulder. Mother looked appropriately horrified, her hand over her mouth and calling out to Father, who stood around the grill with his friends. Father just laughed and told him to suck it up and be a man. Blaine was not a man yet, though, and felt no embarrassment as he continued to cry.

Jasmine, upon hearing her charge's wails, came running down the stairs and out the back sliding door, crouching next to Blaine and hushing him as she carefully looked over his arm. She tore a sleeve off of her dress and tied it around his shoulder, then lifted him into her lap and told him it was okay. Blaine buried his face in her chest and sobbed, his fingers clutching her arms.

"Why do you let that thing hold your child, Kelly? Step in and do something!" One of the women tutted, wagging a finger at Jasmine. Kelly's eyes hardened, and, not wanting to look bad, stood elegantly and walked over to the hiccupping young boy and the Angel.

"You! What makes you think you have the right to hold my son?" Kelly exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at Jasmine. Jasmine lowered her eyes, one hand still rubbing Blaine's back.

"Mistress, I was just-"

"I know what you were doing! You were trying to work you abnormal ways on my child!" Kelly pulled Blaine out of Jasmine's arms, whose eyes widened as she stood to protest. "You dare think you can so much as look at me! After what you did to my child! Out, you mongrel! Get out of my house!"

"What? Mother, you can't!" Blaine cried, forgetting for a moment that his arm was so clearly broken. Kelly ignored her son, instead choosing to glare at Jasmine, who had started to cry.

"Out! Get out of my sight! Pack your bags, you're being sold tomorrow!"

The next day, four x-rays and a blue cast later, Blaine was standing at the window, waiting for Jasmine to come up from the basement. Mother was talking on the phone with her friend in the kitchen, saying "Oh, it was so horrible! You should've seen the way it touched him! That will show that beast not to defile my son!" Blaine was purposely tuning it out, his brain ringing in his ears. Mr. Anderson was out in the car, waiting to drive Jasmine to the auction holding cells.

"Jasmine, please! You can't go!" Blaine exclaimed, his arms wrapping around Jasmine's knees as soon as she set her bags down. Jasmine's eyes looked tired as she crouched down to the little boy's level, which was just barely to the middle of her thigh.

"I've got to, Baby. You know that I'll always be your Momma though, right? That evil witch isn't going to come close to what you and I've got." Jasmine brushed Blaine's crazy curly hair off of his forehead, his little mouth hiccupping and his glorious hazel eyes filling with tears. "You've got such gorgeous eyes, sweetie. Love them, because they're yours; not your mothers, not your father's, yours. That's one of the three things they can never take from you. They can never take your eyes, your heart, or your voice. Remember that."

"But you aren't going to go! I won't let you! You can stay in my tree house, out in the back yard!" Blaine offered, his logic sounding perfectly reasonable to his ears. Jasmine's eyes filled with tears as she took in the only thing she has ever loved, her son, as she would forever think of him. Blaine wasn't Kelly Anderson's son, he was Jasmine's. Jasmine was his momma, she was the one who loved him. She knew, and he knew, too, that Kelly barely tolerated her son. Wincing, Jasmine pulled out one of her pinfeathers from her wing and handed it to him, curly the fingers of his good hand around it and patting his knuckles.

"This is yours, sweetie. My heart has always and will always belong to you, okay? Don't let anyone try to dictate who you are. You'll always be my boy, okay?" Blaine nodded sadly, before digging into the pocket of his pants and handing the object to a surprised looking Jasmine. Inside the middle of her palm sat one of those baby blue buttons she loved so much.

"And you'll always be my Momma, Jasmine. Please don't forget me here on the ground, because you deserve the sky." Blaine sounded too wise as he told her this, his face looking ten years older than it actually was. Jasmine began to cry harder, throwing her arms around the little boy quickly before she rose to her feet, twitching her fingers in a silent goodbye at the child still sitting on the ground, looking up at her longingly as she walked swiftly out the door, knowing if she paused she'd run back to him and never be able to leave. Wiping her tears away quickly, she climbed into the passenger seat of Mr. Anderson's care and he began to drive off, keeping her eyes away from the window, knowing what she would see if she looked. She could feel the photo of a baby Blaine and the blue button burning a hole in the breast pocket of her dress as she started to cry again, her face turned towards the sky.

That was the first and last time Blaine would ever call her Momma.

Well, to her face, at least, Blaine thought bitterly, pacing around the Dalton common room. Wes and David had already left for the weekend, leaving Blaine at Dalton with the few underclassmen who stayed here as well. No other Warbler boarded, for which Blaine was thankful at the moment.

To Blaine, the angels were just people. There was nothing different about them besides their wings, which Blaine remembers as being soft and white, when they were granted to luxury of a shower. This opinion, of course, was not shared by many, and so he didn't vocalize it. Ten years have passed since he allowed himself to get close to an Angel, because in the end, they always leave you. Vincent, their cooking angel, was fired a year after Jasmine, and Norah, Mother's maid, two after him. Blaine doesn't come home enough to know what angels were hired now.

The angels accepted him. That's what he loved them and respected them so. Angels had enough problems in their life to care that he was a more socially acceptable freak of nature.

An abomination, his parents had called him.

Jasmine hadn't cared when Blaine told her he liked boys the way the other boys liked girls.

Jasmine hadn't cared.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any references to anything that may occur in this story.

Thank you for reading and please favorite, comment, and review.

~Elsie Lucas (Goldenmiracles1914)