Some back story before we jump into this one-shot: In this continuity, Blaine has a biological son by the name of Christopher. He is still a Spartan II, and many of the plot points that will still exist from previous renditions of his story arch will remain true.
But this is another day where one man and his son, and a good friend spend some quality time together... well, at first.
"Hit me again!" Nine barked. "Iola can hit harder than you boy! You're Blaine's son, you should be DESTROYING me right now. So le's go!"
"You keep bringing my father up, Uncle John, but you forget that I'm not him. I'm not cut out to be a Spartan; Hell, I don't want to be a Spartan, I never wanted to." Christopher scoffed, thrusting a fist forward.
"That's not what ye said when ye were younger, boyo." Blaine chuckled, holding up a brown leather ball. "Ye were always askin' me about my days as an Admiral, the Forerunner's return, the Flood, all sorts o' things."
Chris finished smashing his fist into John's palms one last time, before they moved over towards Blaine, who chuckled as he tossed the football up and down in the air.
"You should actually be glad." John continued. "At least you have a Dad. Blaine didn't get to know his for a good portion of his life, and mine..."
Blaine caught his old friend mid sentence, Christopher had gotten the point, there was no need for John to work himself up. Instead, he backed up a few paces, tossing the ball in a spiral towards his son, who caught it.
Backing up himself, Chris threw it back to his father with a curt smile. John sat down in one of the lawn chairs, pulling his beanie down just low enough to cover the blinding sun from his eyes. Watching the two Harlowe men having their fun. Taking a sip from his glass of Lemonade, he was really there to recruit the retired Admiral's son for the Freelancer program, should he be willing to join. Blaine knew, but he didn't want to take the fun away from John.
Blaine and Chris held at it for another five or so minutes, tossing the ball back and forth without a care in the world, John absorbed within the family moment.
"So, Chris." Blaine said, pausing for a moment. "Uncle John said he had something he wanted to talk to you about, do you know what it is?"
"No?" Chris looked around, the nineteen year old utterly confused, turning to John. "What is it?"
John looked up, removed from his thought process for a second as he grinned from ear to ear.
"I've been sent here today, because your Father and I both think you're ready to be a part of the Freelancer program." John smiled. "You're a quick thinker, and you're one hell of a fighter; when provoked. But working with us, I'm sure you'd find some sort of motivation."
"No." Chris shook his head. "I'm, I'm not strong enough."
"The hell you aren't, boyo." Blaine shook his head. "You're born of two Spartan IIs, and have been augmented with a Spartan IV level enhancement, as you requested years ago. You are going to be a force to be reckoned with, and you'd have Iola, John, Aunts Maura and Lucy to watch over you."
"I, I just don't have the faith in myself." Chris frowned. "Dad, you've been a Spartan since you were fifteen. I just started when I was-"
"Fifteen, same as me. You just haven't seen real combat yet." Blaine replied with a nod. "I'm not forcing you to do it, but you have the resources, and I honestly think you'd be one hell of an asset to the UNSC. Don't believe in me, who believes in you. Believe in the you who believes in you. 'Cause once you've got faith in yourself, anything is possible."
Tossing the ball over to his son, Blaine accidentally missed his target, as the ball bounced into the road. Hefting it, Blaine walked back over, tossing it up and down, mesmerized by it. Chris continued to dwell on what his father said. Trapped within his thoughts, he didn't have time to notice the blur of black landing behind Blaine.
Grabbing the ex-Admiral by the arms, the scruff, bearded face of Butch appeared beside his arch-nemesis' right ear.
"After all these years, and now I've finally got you at my mercy." Butch chuckles. "You really are pathetic, you know that?"
"Yeah, but how many encounters have we had now?" Blaine asked. "What, four times? Well, five now? How many of them did you not have me at your mercy? Three? That's pretty shit, matey."
"ENOUGH!" Butch growled, pulling along sword from a sheath on his back. "You die now, and I'll make your pussy son watch!"
Blaine thrashed his head back, knocking Butch backwards a few paces. Blaine turned on the balls of his feet to swing a brutal punch. His eyes opened wide with shock, however, as Butch's sword impaled the top left side of his chest. His heart concealed within pumping oddly with the new obstruction. He could feel the blood racing up his throat and into his mouth, the bitter taste of iron filling his mouth.
"Big mistake boyo." Blaine glared at his nemesis and coughed, blood dribbling down the top right corner of his mouth.
Turning his head back towards his son, and his good friend, Blaine nodded with a knowing smile.
"I love you Chris. Nine-" Blaine paused with a cough. "-Seeya buddy."
Turning his attention back to Butch, Blaine's glare pierced through Butch's resolve, as the behemoth Spartan grasped Butch's sword handle. Clutching on it with the last legs, he pulled himself forward on the sword, until his face was right up close to Butch's, their noses touching.
"You listen here *cough*, an' you listen good." Blaine growled with the darkest tone he ever mustered in his life. "The reason you were never in my position, why Katie never loved you, why your were always the castaway; was because you thought only of yourself. When in your miserable, pathetic excuse for a life have you ever thought of anyone besides YOU, you shit-eating, maniacal, dirt-bag, mother fuckin' waste of oxygen?!"
"All those other times where you thought you'd be cute in trying to be the super villain, the one who had it all planned out. I joked with you then, because I couldn't take your ass seriously. But now that you've got my ass on the ropes, I see just how serious you are. Just how serious you've just fucked yourself over. Mark my words, when we meet in hell, you'd best fuckin' prepare, 'cause I'll rip yer fuckin' heart out, and feed it to you every day for the rest of eternity, you limp dicked, scumbag, twat."
With that, Blaine smashed his head forward, while pulling back with the sword. Landing on his lawn, his eyes rolled back into his head, as he passed on, the sword sticking from his chest. Butch stood there, dazed, as John *who had previously dawned his armor* took a step forward. Instead, Chris placed a hand on John's chest.
Throwing down a small disk from his pocket, it elongated into a fully platform, as arms erupted from it, placing various pieces of his full Commando armor, minus his helmet onto his body within a matter of seconds.
"Are you happy now?" Chris asked. "Father always thought you were misunderstood, and had some sympathy for you. He always thought you had the short end of the stick, but he was wrong for once. You have everything in your life handed to you on a fucking silver platter, but that wasn't enough. You wanted more, things that he got over you."
Raising both of his wrists, two nets thrust themselves forward, latching onto both of Butch's arms. Once attached, they surged down to his feet, holding him restricted in place.
"Today was supposed to be my father's proudest moment. But you took that away from him. Today, his son was supposed to formally join the UNSC, and officially take on the Harlowe's family tradition." Chris clenched his fists powerfully, grasping the hilt of the sword lodged in his father's chest.
" I had always thought my father was wrong in thinking I was going to be a great asset to the UNSC, and the Freelancers. Originally, I wasn't even going to even join either of them. But now I see why, why he wanted me to enlist. Mark my words, I will join the Freelancers, and I'm going to do whatever it takes to prevent scum like you from doing stuff like this to other families."
John nodded proudly at the boy's change of heart. Nodding his go ahead, Chris looked up, glaring deep into Butch's fearful eyes.
"My name is Christopher Harlowe, you've killed my father. Prepare to die."
"No." John shook his head. "That's not how Blaine would've done it."
Pausing, Chris looked down at his father with a frown.
"You're right, Nine." Chris smirked. "It's not."
Tossing the sword away, Chris stomped forwards, as Butch tried to struggle. Activating his thruster pack, Chris sped forwards towards his target, as he cocked his right fist. Stopping just before his target, Chris used his momentum to pull his fist upwards into an uppercut, twisting his fist as he went.
"I'LL RIP YER FUCKIN' HEART OUT!" Chris roared.
Butch's eyes opened wide as blood plattered his and the teenager's face, his blood. Looking down, Butch saw the armored arm of Blaine's son sticking out of his left chest, blood spilling out all over the metal.
The familiar feeling of a heartbeat slowly dulled, as his body began to shut down. But not before the teenager could place his mouth by Butch's ear.
"Surprising, I didn't think you had one of these. I was only blowing smoke. You should've used it more, 'cause now you've gone and lost it."
Butch attempted to say something, but jerked once before slumping on the teenager's armored shoulder. Chris tossed the dead body off of him, before kneeling beside Blaine's corpse, cradling his father's head.
"Kick his ass, Dad." Chris frowned, as the tears finally streamed down his cheeks. "Kick his ass until the Devil sends you to Heaven for causing too much of a fuss."
John knelt beside Chris, but didn't speak a word, the teenager shuddering over his father's passing.
"Count me in." Chris growled. "'Cause I'm gonna rid the Universe of all the assholes that think they can get away with this bullshit and attack the innocent."
"Why, why did you change your mind?" John asked. "Revenge shouldn't be your motivation."
"No." Chris shook his head. "It's because my father believed in me, and now I can finally believe in myself. Revenge is just a bonus."
. Originally, it was supposed to just have Butch getting impaled. But then I realized that it was completely cliche, but also because Blaine typically says; 'I'll rip yer fuckin' heart out!', and decided that it should finally come to fruition, even if it isn't Blaine that performs it.