Kurt ran to the bathroom. The faces of concerned parents sped past him, Carole's voice rising in desperation behind him, "Did something happen to Finn?" Kurt threw open the doors to the bathroom and began pounding on stall doors.

"Finn! Finn!"

"Hey, what's your problem? Guy trying to use the loo, here!"

Kurt backed away, glancing under the doors. No sign of the hideous baggy jeans Finn wore tonight. Kurt was too focused on finding Finn to feel embarrassed when one of the stall doors flew open, and Trent caught him peeking underneath.

"Are you looking for someone?" Trent said, politely. His eyes were darting to Kurt's, questioning, but Kurt knew he wouldn't ask, and frankly, he didn't care.

"I'm looking for my brother. He's tall, wearing hideous baggy jeans and a t-shirt, and I, I just really need to find him!"

"Oh, young Finnegan!" Trent said brightly, ignoring Kurt's growing panic. Kurt was grateful, rather than irritated; the last thing he needed was to waste time fending off Trent's concern on top of everything else. "Yes, he was trying to call his girlfriend, but the phones weren't working in here. Strange, isn't it? I told him that we've been losing reception left and right lately, and he should try the parking lot." And then Trent turned away, washing his hands under gold plated taps. Kurt ran out the door and toward the parking lot as fast as he could.

Kurt heard the pounding of feet behind him, and the murmurs of the people he shoved to the side as he ran past. The woman with the monocle shrieked as he knocked her aside; the tinkling sound of glass breaking barely reached his ears. He hit the doors and slammed into them, pain crushing his palms as cold night air stung his face.

"AHHHHHHHH!"

Kurt spun in the direction of the scream, and watched in horror as his brother's long form crumpled to the ground. Kurt was on his knees by Finn's side before he could think. "Finn! Finn, come on, wake up! Finn… Oh, my…"

Kurt's eyes traveled to Finn's left leg, which was twisted at an unnatural angle, warm blood flowing from beneath it to fill in the cracks in the cold cement. Kurt watched it, transfixed until his view was obscured by a large black boot.

Finn shrieked in pain as his broken leg was stomped on again. Kurt's eyes travelled up the leg to a huge figure dressed all in black. "What is wrong with you, you psycho!" Kurt screamed.

Large hands, covered in thick black leather gloves wrapped themselves around Kurt's biceps and yanked upward; Kurt found himself crushed against a broad, heaving chest, staring into a black ski mask, with Karofsky's voice dropped to a low growl as it hissed in his ear, "You shouldn't have misbehaved, Kurt. Now all the rules have changed."

Kurt kicked feebly, too afraid to fight, terrified to struggle away. Finn sobbed weakly with pain under their combined weight. Karofsky pulled Kurt even closer, the fleece around his mouth brushing against Kurt's ear. Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing quick and pained as tears began forming in the back of his eyes.

"Get off of him!"

Kurt dropped to the ground as Karofsky grunted in surprise. Blaine may be small, but running from the door of the school had given him momentum, and he successfully managed to knock the air of Karofsky and back him into the car he'd parked behind them. Blaine even managed to get one more punch in before Karofsky's huge, black fist collided with the side of his head.

Kurt screamed, "Blaine!"

Blaine's father, who had finally fought his way through the crowd behind his son, gave a growl of rage and screamed, "Don't you ever touch my boy!"

Kurt crawled over to Blaine and pulled his limp body away to the side walk. Kurt's parents had followed Blaine's father, and Carole was currently hovering over her son, taking his pulse with shaking hands and paying no attention to the men fighting two feet away. Burt ran to Kurt's side, loudly demanded, "Is that the guy who's doing all this?" And rushed to join Mr. Anderson, who was punching every inch of Karofsky he could reach.

"Dad," Kurt said, "Dad, no, please, you're sick." But Blaine was stirring in his arms, slowly sitting up and rubbing the blood out of his eyes, "Blaine, oh, thank goodness. Are you okay?"

Blaine turned his head to the fight, just in time to see Karofsky pull out a gun and aim it at his father.

The parking lot went silent, the bystanders who had wandered out after the shouting and yelling fell into a hushed sort of shock. Burt and Mr. Anderson went still, both of their eyes trained on the gun in Karofsky's hand. Blaine whimpered, getting to his knees, "Daddy?"

"Blaine, don't move," Mr. Anderson barked. His eyes flickered to his child for an instant, and then darted back to the gun. Karofsky's shoulders shook with silent laughter. He got into his car and drove away.

...

For the second in his life, Kurt was sleeping in Blaine's room. Blaine silently set up his bed on the floor, tilting his head toward his bed, for Kurt to climb into.

Blaine bit his bottom lip, dark eyes darting to Kurt. An ugly bruise was covering one side of Blaine's face, blacking out one eye. Kurt's insides rose with guilt. Thanks to him, Blaine had a black eye and was sleeping on the floor and Kurt's family was sleeping in a hospital room twenty miles away. Finn was going to be fine, but he had a broken leg and a thousand cuts and bruises from the beating. Kurt, who wasn't eighteen yet, had to stay at Dalton. Blaine had promised his dad that he would look after him.

"I thought you were mad at me," Kurt said.

"I am," Blaine said, "But I can't leave you alone like this, not after what happened."

Kurt closed his eyes, exhausted and touched, "You are… an amazing person, Blaine."

"Please, don't," Blaine whispered.

Kurt swallowed, hard, and climbed into Blaine's bed. Blaine collapsed into a chair by Kurt's bedside, steadfastly looking everywhere but at Kurt. David was sleeping in the other bed; he hadn't even stirred when the boys walked in. Blaine sighed and reached for the bottle of sleeping pills the doctor had sent home with Kurt, "You should take these."

Kurt swallowed the pills without complaint, washing them down with a glass of water. He settled back into bed. The drugs quickly took effect, making everything blurry and driving Kurt into sleep. His stomach felt a little queasy, his mind vulnerable, so when Blaine shifted in his chair Kurt was saying, "Please, don't leave me," before he could stop himself.

"I won't," Blaine said. Kurt sighed and fell asleep.

Blaine stayed awake by Kurt's side long after the boy's breathing evened out and his eyelashes stopped fluttering. There was a large lump in Blaine's throat that refused to go away. He had never felt so betrayed, and hurt, and scared in his entire life. Kurt's phone lay, innocent, on Blaine's desk, and Blaine was seized by a sudden, irrational desire to break it. That stupid phone that Kurt always carried around, that Kurt thought was more important than him, than them…

The phone rang.

Kurt shuddered violently in his sleep, but didn't move. Blaine cast a furtive look at his sleeping crush as he picked it up, staring at the flashing letters spelling out "Unknown number" across the screen. He lifted the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"