"No." Joe stared at his son, taking in the heartbroken look on his face. "No, no, no, no, no. Blaine, I am not mad at you. I -" Joe reached out to take his son's face in his hands, but Blaine flinched back.
"Please don't touch me," Blaine whispered.
Joe's hands dropped to his lap and twisted around each other, curling into a tight ball. "I'm sorry."
Blaine's face crumpled, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Daddy…"
"Shhhh," Joe leaned forward, digging his nails into his palm. Having to watch his son in so much pain, not even being able to touch him… it was torture. "Shhhh, look at me. Blaine, this is not your fault."
"I asked him to stop," Blaine said. His brow was furrowed, his eyes locked on his father's shoulder. "I told him I didn't want to, but he must not have heard me. Maybe if I'd asked a little louder…" Blaine nodded to himself, curling even further into the bed.
"Blaine, stop it. This isn't your fault, baby boy. You didn't do anything wrong."
Blaine looked up at him, and the deadness in his son's eyes stopped Joe's heart. "You were yelling at me. You said you were disappointed."
"I was wrong. I'm sorry," Joe said.
"I didn't want to," Blaine said solemnly. He was pouting, full lip trembling. His lips were darker than usual. Bruised. Joe's eyes narrowed.
"I know," Joe said.
Blaine stretched slowly, pressing his face against his pillow. His arms were wrapped tight around his chest; he was trying so hard to protect himself. It wasn't working. "Are you sure you aren't mad at me? You sounded mad."
"I promise, baby boy, I'm not mad. I didn't know what was happening. I thought you were with Kurt…" Joe trailed off at the look on his boy's face.
"Kurt," Blaine whispered. The tears were coming faster now. "Where is he? Why isn't he here? Is he mad at me?"
"No, Blaine, no," Joe said. He reached out half-way to Blaine's face before his son flinched violently and he remembered. "No. Kurt was here with you, while you were asleep. He wanted to stay, but his dad needed him to come home…"
"I want Kurt," Blaine said.
"He'll be back tomorrow. Listen to me, Blaine. Nobody is mad at you. I promise. Nobody blames you for what happened." Joe paused, trying to decide how to phrase the next question. Blaine was so fragile right now, but he needed to know. "What did happen, Blaine?"
Blaine's eyes were huge and luminous in the overhead light, "What do you mean?"
And that was about the moment that they walked in. A small group of two men and a woman in bright police uniforms, followed by Blaine's doctor. She didn't look happy, her red hair even messier than it had been before. "He needs to rest, the trauma this boy has been through - "
"Is exactly the reason we're here. Now, if you really care about your patient, you'll let us do our job," The woman said, before turning cold blue eyes on Joe. She was middle aged, with a square face and stringy brown hair. Her gaze was intense, "Joseph Anderson?"
Joe stood, providing a sharp barrier between these people and his son, "Yes?"
"I'm Officer Payne; this is Officer Jones and Officer Perotta. We've been assigned to your son's case, and, with your permission, we'd like to ask him a few questions."
Joe looked over his shoulder at his son, "Is that okay with you, baby boy?"
Blaine's face was white. He looked from person to person, sinking further into the bed. "She can ask me."
Officer Payne stepped forward, taking a seat by the side of Blaine's bed, "Okay, Blaine. I want to ask you a few questions about how you got hurt, and who did that to you. I need you to be as honest as possible with me. Can you do that?"
Blaine nodded slowly.
"Can you tell me the name of the person who did this to you?" She asked gently.
"J-Jeremiah. Jeremiah Wilson." Blaine's breathing quickened at the name, his eyes growing even larger and his skin paler. His hands twitched, as if he was searching for something. Blaine pressed his palms together. "He used to work at the GAP at the North Hills Mall."
"Okay," Payne said. Officer Perotta was writing down the information. "Can you tell me what Jeremiah did to you?"
Blaine shook his head, "I don't want to talk about that." His breathing was getting faster, too fast.
"Blaine?" Payne said quickly, "Blaine, you need to calm down. You don't have to talk to us about this right now; we'll go and arrest Jeremiah on the doctor's report and your father's information. You did a good job, Blaine." But Blaine didn't seem to hear her anymore.
"I can't be here right now," He said quietly.
Blaine stood up, pulling all of the sensors off of his body. Machines beeped frantically. Blaine whimpered as he ripped the IV line out of his arm, and lunged for the door. Officer Jones stepped forward. He was a huge man, almost twice Blaine's size. Blaine stopped stock still and stared at him, pale and trembling.
"Please," Blaine whispered.
"This is ridiculous. Kid, you need to stay in bed." And before Joe could yell at the man to leave his son alone, the officer had one meaty hand around Blaine's forearm. It was the first time someone had touched Blaine since he regained consciousness. Blaine froze and stared down at the hand around his arm, all the blood draining from his face. Officer Jones squeezed.
Blaine started screaming.
"What on Earth have you done?" The doctor screamed, rushing through the door. "I told you he wouldn't be able to handle this… Let go of him, you ignorant brute!"
"He was trying to leave," Officer Jones grunted, but he let go of Blaine. Blaine fell to the ground, shrieking and writhing as if he were being burned. Joe hovered around his son, wishing he could do something, anything to help.
"What's wrong with him?" Joe asked desperately.
"He's been thrown into a flashback," The doctor said impatiently, her fingers flying along the IV line, hooking up a new bag, "And from his breathing patterns, he's suffering a panic attack. We need to get him sedated before he hurts himself." Some nurses had run in behind her, fluttering around like large, sterile insects. And through it all, Blaine was screaming.
"Stop! Stop, please, I'll do anything, get off of me. Stop! Get off of me, get out of me! It hurts, oh, please, stop. Daddy! Daddy, he's hurting me, please make him stop! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Get out of me, please…" Blaine was sobbing, his wrists straining against invisible bonds at his sides. He was feebly kicking at the air, his movements growing even more sluggish as the needle slid back into his vein.
"We need to get him back on the bed," The doctor said. Joe ran forward, gently putting his arms beneath his son's body and lifting him into bed. The nurses stepped away; Officer Perotta was trying to apologize on behalf of the police department while Payne was reprimanding Jones outside. The doctor was explaining how the sedative worked, saying Blaine would still be trapped in the memory of what had happened to him, but the drug should numb the worst of it until it passed.
"Please, just leave," Joe begged. The officer and nurses complied, leaving him alone with his son. The noise continued just outside the door, but Joe only had ears for Blaine. His son was sobbing weakly, teetering on the edge of consciousness.
"Daddy… Please… Help me…"