A/N: Hey guys! Welcome to my first ever story on FanFiction! Thanks for caring enough to read this, I'm glad it sparked your interest. I'm a huge Klaine fan (as you will see.)

Disclaimers: I (sadly) have no ownership of glee, or any characters associated with the show. :(

Warnings: Homophobia throughout

I hope you guys enjoy! :)

Kurt's ears were ringing. He felt his pulse quicken as he hyperventilated. The faces of his high school bullies loomed in front of him. Squirming across the wet moss, his pants were, oddly, the last thing on his mind at the moment. He just had to get away. Away from the laughing, the pointing, the pushing and shoving. He felt a tear escape from the corner of his eye, and screamed as the pain increased. Karofsky saw the drop on his cheek and reached out a hand to wipe it away. Suddenly, his hand grew enormous nails and they slashed Kurt's cheek. Kurt's hand jerked up to his cheek and when he pulled it away it was covered in deep red blood. One of the other football players pushed Kurt backwards until his back hit a cold metal pole. Karofsky simply spat in his face.

"Fag. Good for nothing little homo." Then he started laughing and shoved Kurt hard over the side of the bridge. Kurt fell down towards the dark choppy water below and let out a scream.

"Kurt! Come on, buddy, it's a dream! Wake up!" Burt shook his son, as Kurt let out a blood curdling scream, jerking awake.

"D-Dad?" Kurt felt the tears fall down his cheeks as he sobbed into his father's shoulder.

"It's okay. It was just a nightmare. You fell asleep." Kurt just cried, sobs wracking his small frame. "Kurt, what can I do?" Burt was at a loss. The only thing he knew to do was to hold his son close. It were the moments like this that Burt missed Elizabeth the most. She was always the better comforter of the two, and she might be able to figure out what was causing the nightmares. Burt was just about to ask again when Kurt opened his mouth and let out a barely audible whisper.

"Blaine." Burt sighed at the mention of his son's boyfriend. Yes, Blaine would know what to do. Kurt's boyfriend lived in Westerville, an hour and a half away. It would be half past ten by the time he could get there. But if it would help Kurt, Burt was more than willing to call the boy.

It wasn't that Burt had a dislike for the boy. Quite the opposite in fact. Burt loved Blaine as his own son. And although much of the curly haired teenager's story was unknown to Burt, he had gathered that Blaine didn't spend much time at home, and not by his own choosing. Burt suspected that Kurt had saved Blaine as much as Blaine saved Kurt. His mind wandered back to a few months previously, when Burt had gone to call the boys for dinner and overheard crying. Peeking onto the porch, Burt saw a sobbing Blaine wrapped in Kurt's arms.

"Blaine, he's your father. He doesn't truly hate you. He was just confused." This caught Burt's attention, and even though he knew he shouldn't be eavesdropping on such a private moment, he couldn't help desiring a small peek into the life of the boy who had stolen his son's heart. But what was Kurt saying about Blaine's father saying he hated him? What kind of father was that? How could someone who brought a young boy into the world tell him it was all a waste? Burt heard Blaine sniffle, then respond.

"T-Trust me K-Kurt. He meant it. He and I h-haven't had a full conversation since I t-told him I was g-gay." Blaine stopped and took in a deep shaky breath then continued. "He hasn't called me by my own name in three years. He refers to me as queer, or fag, or-" Blaine had to stop and Burt watched as Kurt pulled a sobbing Blaine even closer. Burt's heart felt like it was breaking, but overpowering any pity was a deep spirited rage towards Daniel Anderson. How could a father say those things to his own son? Part of Burt wanted to deny it, and chalk it up to Blaine's exaggeration, but judging from the sobs on the porch, the kid wasn't lying. What kind of man was Blaine's father? The man was getting less and less hazy in Burt's mind as time passed.

Burt looked back out at the boys on the porch, who were holding each other tightly. He knocked gently on the window to get their attention, and motioned for the boys to come inside. Standing, Burt watched as Kurt wiped the tears from Blaine's cheeks and kissed the shorter boy's forehead. Hands intertwined together, Kurt and Blaine stepped into the house. Burt smiled at the two and turned to his son.

"Kurt, go ahead and go wash up. I need to talk to Blaine for a second." Blaine's eyes widened and Burt chuckled. "Relax kid, everything's alright." Kurt nodded and released his boyfriend's hand. After his son disappeared, Burt got down to Blaine's level and looked into the boy's red-rimmed eyes.

"You alright kid?" Blaine nodded, forcing a fake smile onto his face. It never reached his eyes though.

"Yes Sir Mr. Hummel." Burt shook his head.

"One, don't call me Mr. Hummel. My name's Burt. Second, I know you've been crying, and you're not alright." Blaine took in a shaky breath, realizing he had been caught. "You don't have to talk about it, but if you ever need a place to call home, I should hope you'd come here. Understand?" Blaine nodded, tears gathering in the boy's eyes again. "Alright, one last thing, then we'll eat. Come here and give me a hug. You look like you could use one." Blaine put on a small smile, but this time it was sincere. He wrapped his arms tightly around Burt's waist.

Burt would never forget the feel of that hug. Blaine's arms held Burt tight and a few tears trickled from the boy. Burt wondered when the last time the boy had gotten a hug from his own father was. From what Burt had overheard from the porch, it had probably been years. Thinking about the hug, Burt's arms instinctively wrapped tighter around his own son, who sat in his lap now, still softly crying. Burt felt Kurt's breathing relax finally, and his grip on his father's shirt loosen.

"I need to talk to Blaine." Burt nodded, understanding, and his son went up the stairs to his room. Burt slid down into the couch and sighed, his head throbbing. The pain he was feeling was solely in his heart, for the boy upstairs who couldn't seem to escape reality, even in his dreams.

A/N: So, what'd you think? I'd love to hear your opinions! Constructive critisism is welcome, bashing however is not. I'm not going to force you to review by threatening to discontinue the story, because quite frankly I think that's stupid. I write because I want to write, not because I want reviews. But either way. Loved it, hated it, or just want to ask me a question? Drop a review or send me a message. Love all you guys already!

Always Remember to Smile!

~Olivia