Puck, Santana, and Brittany pulled into Blaine's driveway, and Puck parked behind Will's car. He glanced at the two unfamiliar cars in front of Will's, and got even more nervous than he already was.

After realizing what was going on, Puck had immediately called Will, and they'd all headed over directly, under Will's strict instructions not to do anything if they arrived before him. But they'd ended up behind him on their way out of Lima, and the two cars had both driven like NASCAR drivers to get there as fast as possible. The clock on Puck's dashboard read six forty nine. They'd made it from Lima to Westerville in 18 minutes. Puck was pretty sure that was a record of some sort, and normally he would have patted himself on the back and helped himself to a congratulatory beer, but now was not the time for that. Kurt, Finn and Will all piled out of Will's car at the same time as Puck, Santana and Brittany, and the six of them rushed to the door.

Puck peered in through the newly replaced glass, noting that Blaine's dad sure did do some fast work in getting his repairs taken care of, and he could only pray that he didn't work quite as fast in all business he felt needed taken care of.

"I don't see anyone…," Puck's voice trailed off as his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light he could glimpse in Blaine's house. "Shit. I do see a destroyed fuckin' house though."

They all heard the sound of something crashing, and multiple voices yelling, one sounding like it was in pain, and then laughter. The laughter caused Puck's blood to run cold. He'd never heard laughter sound quite so spiteful and malignant before. For the second time that week, Puck flung a stupid, ugly, marble statue of a stupid, ugly, dumb lion through the glass at Blaine's house, and the group all scurried inside.

Will held out a hand, stopping them. "We need to catch them in the act. So we need to be quiet going up." They could all still hear the hollering and the laughter and that horrible, horrible laughter coming from upstairs, so it was assumed that whoever was up there was either too drunk, too involved in their current activities, or both to have properly heard the commotion of breaking glass and six people climbing in.

Everyone nodded their understanding to Will, even though Kurt looked close to running up the stairs and attempting to take on whoever was hurting Blaine all by himself. But this had been his idea, his plan, and he knew it might very well be the only way to ensure Blaine's safety. If Blaine is still alive. Don't think that way! He scolded himself immediately after thinking that. One by one, they crept silently up the stairs. Will first, then Puck, Kurt, Santana, Finn and Brittany in the back, who'd stopped at the bottom of the steps to scoop up a teddy bear off the floor. The teddy bear looked a little worse for the wear than it had when she'd dropped Blaine off. It had some blood and glass on it, which she brushed off best she could, but it still lit up when she squeezed it's paw.

Will waited until everyone was outside the open door leading to Blaine's bedroom, and everyone entered at roughly the same time. Everyone also stopped dead in their tracks at the same time. The sight that lay before their eyes was worse than any of them had imagined. Blaine lay on the floor, clad in nothing but a pair of black cotton boxers that looked pulled up rather hastily, and weren't quite all the way on. His face was such a swollen mess he was hardly recognizable and Finn couldn't help but be reminded of how Dean's face had looked at the end of Supernatural season five, when Sam as Lucifer had beat his face to a bloody pulp. He'd never understood that term before, bloody pulp, but he now understood it fully. A piece of jagged glass was jutting out of Blaine's left hip, and his body held a revolting collection of bruises, scratches, fingernail claw marks, and burns about the size of a cigar. His right hand was one, big mass of burns, scorched and blistered, so painful looking that no one could keep their eyes on it. His right arm was twisted at a funny angle, an angle it should not have been able to twist at, and his neck was filled with bruises in the shape of hands and fingerprints.

There was so much blood that no one moved. So much…wrong…about the situation, about Blaine's physical state that everyone was glued to their spots on the floor. The men, all of whom were obviously drunk and bitter, were too engaged in their sick and twisted little game that they had yet to notice their uninvited guests.

When Blaine's father brought his leg back, aiming a kick directly at Blaine's head, Kurt was snapped from his daze, and he lunged himself at the much stronger looking man.

"Don't you lay another finger on him!" He cried, grabbing him by the shirt, and pounding him with his fists. Kurt's outburst shook everyone else out of their dazes as well, and everyone jumped into action. Santana turned to Brittany, telling her to call 911 immediately, and then she launched herself into the struggles between Kurt and Blaine's dad. Will had grabbed one of the other men from where he'd been about to twist the glass in Blaine's side and sucker punched him in the jaw, shoving him against the wall, easily overpowering the other man, who may have been bigger and stronger, but was also a lot more clumsy in his drunken stupor than a sober Will. Finn and Puck took a hold of the other man, throwing their own set of punches.

The commotion was astounding and overbearing. No one could understand anything that was being said or done, until finally Will got his glee kids to listen to him. "Don't stoop to their levels any longer, guys. We can't have them trying to pin anything on us. Just hold them off best you can until the ambulance and police arrive."

At the word police the other three men sobered up a little and realized what was going on. Then they began struggling to get free even more. Brittany had left the room so the operator could understand her, and she came back in to find Blaine's dad close to fighting his way from Kurt and Santana's grip. Will had his man under decent control, and Puck and Finn weren't having too much of an issue with the guy they had, so Brittany helped out Kurt and Santana. All of them wanted nothing more than to drop down beside Blaine and see if he was breathing, but they had no people to spare.

That didn't much matter to Kurt, though, who's main concern was Blaine. "Brittany, can you check on Blaine? Please? See if he has a pulse?" He pleaded desperately.

Brittany looked torn, since she could see that Kurt and Santana could use her help, but the pain in Kurt's eyes forced her to do as he asked. She dropped down onto her knees next to Blaine, and gingerly felt around his bruised neck for signs of life.

"Th-there's a pulse. It' weak and slow, but it's there," She finally said to the relief of everyone. Brittany tried to wake Blaine, even though she knew it would be ineffective. "Blaine?" She asked softly, brushing the hair out of his eyes. "Blaine are you awake?"

He didn't respond, so Brittany took the teddy bear she still had clutched in her hand, and placed it near his good hand. "I found our bear," She whispered sadly, as she pulled his boxers up the rest of the way.

Blaine stirred, and his hand gripped the soft fur of the teddy bear, right on it's paw, causing it to start lighting the room with the rainbow colors that seemed so out of place at a time like this. His eyes fluttered open, and searched the room, finally settling on Brittany who kneeled over him. "I can't feel it," He told her in ragged voice, before his eyes closed again and he slipped back into his precious cocoon of unfeeling and unconsciousness.

It was essentially a madhouse when the police and paramedics arrived on the scene. Will still held Bruce against the wall, Puck and Finn still had Jimmy in a headlock, and Brittany had reluctantly left Blaine to help Santana and Kurt with Blaine's dad. The police quickly snapped handcuffs on the three struggling men, and took them outside, telling the others not to go anywhere, that they needed statements. The paramedics dropped down to Blaine and got quickly to work.

Will went over to Kurt and Brittany, who looked the most shook up and put a comforting arm around both their shoulders.

"Is he going to be okay?" Kurt asked, afraid of the answer.

"I honestly don't know, kid," Answered one of the EMTs, without bothering to turn from the task at hand.

Kurt's shoulders shook with silent sobs, and Will handed him off to Santana, and motioned at Finn to step into the hallway with him.

"Why don't you call your mom, let her know what's going on, see if her and Kurt's dad can meet us at the hospital."

Finn nodded, already reaching for his phone and scrolling through the contacts list.

"Sir?"

Will looked up and saw the same police officers he talked to at the hospital earlier that week.

"Do you know of any relatives we can contact? Anyone of blood relation to the boy?"

Will shook his head. "His mother passed away, and none of us really know much about him. I'm sorry," Will replied.

The police nodded solemnly, and stepped aside to allow the paramedics to take the stretcher with Blaine on it by. "All right. We'll figure it out. Listen, I know you and these kids are anxious to get to the hospital and hear how he is, but we really need all of you to remain on the scene until we get statements from everyone."

Will nodded, and grabbed Kurt who was dead set on following the paramedics out. "Kurt, we can't go over quite yet. The whole reason we did this was so we could give witness statements to the police and it will discredit us just a bit if we leave the scene."

Kurt looked torn. On one hand, of course he didn't want to ruin the chances of getting Blaine away from his dad, but on the other how the hell was he supposed to concentrate on anything right now other than whether Blaine was alive or not. He faltered, watching the paramedics take the stretcher out the door before giving a small, sad nod. "Okay, Mr. Schuester."

He walked over and sat on the top step, resting his chin in his hand, trying to think positive, but failing miserably. Brittany and Santana soon joined him, each putting an arm around his shoulders, and the trio sat there in silence, with everyone lost in their own thoughts. Brittany had the bear back again, since the paramedics had pried it out of Blaine's grasp, and she handed it to Kurt, who gave her an odd look, but too it anyway, hugging it to his chest. Will joined Finn and Puck back in Blaine's bedroom, where Finn informed him he'd talked to his parents and they said they'd meet them at the hospital.

Out of the window, Puck watched the swirling red and blue lights of the police cars, and he watched as the ambulance pulled out of the driveway. He was itching to hit something or someone, and he was glad the three men were locked safely away in the cop cars, about to be carted off to the station where he hoped they'd rot in jail.

Blaine was panicking. He had no idea where he was, and it was pitch black. He could not see a single thing, and he could not find a light switch, no matter how long he wandered around the dark room, feeling along every inch of the walls. He didn't even remember how he got here…wherever here was.

After what felt like hours of stumbling around, he knocked into a heavy object that he was pretty sure hadn't been there before. He slowly explored the object, running his hands over it until he realized what it was. A television. He figured that if he turned the TV on, it would probably cast some light in the room, so he felt around until he found buttons, pressing each one until finally the TV flickered on. The sound of static filled the room, and even though it was snow on the screen, and not an actual picture, it did what he'd hoped. He surveyed his surroundings, trying to place where he was. The room he was in was small, tiny, in fact; no bigger than twelve square feet, and the brick walls were painted a stark black. The floor was cold, hard cement, no rugs or carpet in sight. He looked for a door, but didn't see one. That was impossible, though. He had to have gotten in here somehow, so he looked up, assuming there would be some type of door like the one that led to the attic in his house, with a string he could pull down, and a ladder attached. No such luck. He looked helplessly at the cement floor, and found no door or way out there, either. He was trapped.

His panic rose ever so slightly at this realization. Ever since his father had locked him in a closet for nine hours when he was six he'd been just a little bit claustrophobic. He was just about to start yelling for help when the snow on the TV changed to an image. It looked to be a badly made home movie that played out on the screen, and he went over and stood directly in front f it, curious as to what it was, and who had turned it on.

The static that had been thrumming through the room just moments ago had given way to another sound. A sound of a voice that was all too familiar to Blaine. Blaine froze, unable to tear his eyes away from the images that played across the screen, unable to block the horrible voice that filled his ears.

Blaine watched the man on the television screen as he continuously struck his own son, and he listened to the man calling his son worthless and stupid. Telling him that this was his fault, and it didn't matter if he ended up dead, because no one would care. The memories flooded into his brain, and he couldn't remember which stung worse, the fists or the words.

Blaine was finally able to force himself to turn around, and was surprised that an illuminated, full length mirror had appeared behind him. He stood stock still, taking in his own appearance, something he rarely did unless he was fully clothed, but right now all he had on was a pair of black boxers. His face was barely recognizable, covered in a mass of bruises and dried blood, as was most of his body. He saw a piece of glass sticking out of his left side, and gritted his teeth before reaching down and yanking it out. That's when he noticed yet another thing that wasn't quite right. He didn't feel it at all when he pulled it out. Now that he thought about, he didn't feel anything. He knew he should be in pain, and he had no idea why he wasn't. He noticed the images in the TV screen changing in the mirror, and couldn't stop himself from turning around. The scene had changed from the living room to his bedroom and there were two new characters in the twisted home movie. With an almost morbid fascination, Blaine watched as they held a knife near his groin and forced him to beg for it. He listened to the names they called him, which differed drastically from the names his father called him, but both sets of names still managed to tear into the teenager's mind, and build a little nest there, repeating themselves to him, over and over again until Blaine couldn't stand it anymore. Sticks and stones can break your bones, but words can hurt like hell.

It all got to be too much for Blaine, who turned around with surprising agility for someone in his shape and punched his fist through the mirror behind him, sending shards of glass flying every which way. He turned back towards the TV, unable to handle watching or listening to the gruesome scene anymore, and he put his fist through the TV, as well. But unlike the mirror, the TV didn't shatter. It didn't even spider web. It was like he hadn't touched it. He hit a few more times to no avail, before he began frantically searching for the buttons. He hit all of them, but none of them did anything. The channel wouldn't change, the sound wouldn't mute, the TV wouldn't turn off. With every ounce of energy in him, Blaine began attacking the TV, but it was as if it was made of the same cement as the floor it sat on. He couldn't even scratch it. Blaine had no clue how long he continued his assault on the TV before he fell to the ground exhausted, where he curled up into himself, burying his head in his arms and slapping his hands over his ears, yelling for someone, anyone to make it stop, to turn it off, to rescue him.

Burt Hummel and his wife, Carole arrived at the hospital first, searching for their sons until Carole's phone vibrated, alerting her to an incoming text.

"Finn and Kurt are still at Blaine's house, giving their testimonies to the police," Carole must have paraphrased the text to Burt, because he highly doubted his step son, God bless him, could spell the word testimonies, even with auto correct, much less knew what it meant.

Burt nodded, and walked up to the nurse's station. "Excuse me I'm looking for any information on Blaine Anderson? He should have been admitted recently?"

The nurse looked up, and held up one finger indicating for him to wait while she searched the database on the computer.

"I'm sorry, sir, it looks like Blaine Anderson has already been discharged."

"Yes, earlier today, I know. But he should have just been re-admitted," Burt explained impatiently. He felt Carole grab a tight hold of his upper arm, and he turned to her. "What is it?" He asked, following her eyes to where they were watching a pair of EMTs bring in a stretcher.

"Shit. That's not…" Burt stopped talking when he realized it was actually his son's friend. At least, he thought it was. It was hard to be positive who was truly under all of the bruises, cuts and blood.

The husband and wife watched as a doctor and a couple nurses rushed over to the stretcher, yelling things about surgery, and operating rooms, about blood loss and head trauma, and about a million other medical terms that Burt had never heard anywhere outside of those stupid hospital dramas Carole made him watch with her.

"How is he alive?" Burt asked his wife.

Carole glanced at him with sadness in her eyes, and gave a small shrug. "I'm not sure, but when Kurt get's here, I suggest you refrain from saying things like that within his ear shot."

Burt knew his wife was right, like always, so he shut his mouth, and they followed Blaine's stretcher down the hall.

They were stopped outside of the room, and asked to wait in the adjoining waiting area, where they sat, waited, and prayed.

When the detectives finally gave them the clear to leave, Kurt was the first one in the car and Puck was surprised to see him in his car and not Will's.

"You're not quite as concerned with breaking the speed limit," Kurt gave as way of explanation.

Puck gave a wry grin, and waited on Brittany and Santana to get in before he rolled down his window and told Will and Finn they'd meet them there. He put the car in reverse, backed out of the driveway for what he hoped was the last time, and took off down the road, telling Kurt to keep his eyes peeled for cops so they didn't have to waste time with getting pulled over.

The second he pulled into a parking space, Kurt's door flew open, as did Brittany's and Santana's, and Puck had to hurry to catch up with the trio.

Thanks to a text from Carole sent to both Kurt and Finn, they knew exactly where they were going, and Kurt had never been happier to see his own dad when they got to the waiting room.

"Dad," He cried, as Burt enveloped him in a fierce hug.

"I know, kid. I know," Burt tried to soothe his distraught son.

Kurt pulled away after a few minutes, and searched his dad's eyes for a hint of Blaine's condition. "Is he… Have they…"

"We don't know anything yet, Kurt. They took him into surgery about an hour ago, right as we got here. And we may not know anything for quite some time. Remember, they won't be able to tell any of us a whole lot, we aren't family," Burt gently reminded him.

"Well they have to tell someone," Kurt protested. "Blaine doesn't really have any family. So how does that work?"

"I don't know, Kurt," Burt told him.

Finn and Will arrived a few minutes after the others, and everyone sat down to the only thing they could. Wait and hope.

When Blaine finally got the nerve to look around he noticed his surroundings had changed again. He was in his bedroom, but it was decorated as it had been when he was five years old. And the door was missing. He was not a fan of this new trend of waking up in rooms without doors. Instead of the door there was a maroon seat that looked like it had been taking from a movie theater. The second he sat down in the seat he was suddenly not alone in the room.

His five year old self was in the middle of the room, drawing diligently with broken crayons on a piece of scrap paper. "Look what I drew!" Young Blaine exclaimed.

At first, Blaine thought he was talking to him, and he was about to answer when someone else appeared in the room. It was a younger, slightly less drunk version of his father. Blaine began to scramble in the movie theater seat, but he couldn't get out of it. He couldn't shut his eyes either and he was forced to watch the scene play out.

"It's mommy!" Young Blaine said with a big smile, looking pleased with himself, and showing his father the paper.

His father scoffed, and grabbed the paper from his small son's hands, tearing it into pieces. "Your mommy is dead. She couldn't stand having such a spoiled little brat for a son, so she killed herself, remember, you idiot?"

Young Blaine's face crumpled and tears began to leak from his eyes, which only angered his father further.

"What are you crying about? She didn't love you. No one loves you. Who in their right mind could love such a stupid, pathetic child?"

"Sh-sh-she did so love me!" Wailed the child. "She told me all the time!"

Whatever patience the older Anderson had left disappeared, and he took his belt off, striking the little boy with it across the back of his shoulder blades with the buckle side. "No. One. Loves. You!" Each word was punctuated with another strike with the belt, until the child was curled in a ball on the floor trying to shield himself. With a disgusted snarl, his father disappeared, and it was just the two versions of Blaine left in the room.

Blaine looked at himself, lying defeated on the floor, and found he could get out of the seat now. He crouched down next to the boy, shushing him, and telling him that if he kept up the crying it would just spur his father to come back and make it that much worse.

He put his hand under the little boy's chin, and waited until the hysterical sobs had dwindled to a silent cry, accented with hiccups.

He looked into his own eyes, and waited until he had the by's full attention. "Don't listen to him, okay? Mom hated him, not you. Mom killed herself because of him, not you, okay?"

Young Blaine slapped his hand away, and stood up, yelling at his future self. "What do you know about it? Just leave me alone!"

Blaine reached back towards the child, only for his hand to connect with empty space. Once again he was alone in the room. He picked up all that was left to indicate a kid had been in the room with him, a crudely drawn picture of a beautiful, olive skinned woman. He knew right away who it was, but he also knew the kid hadn't bothered to draw their mom as she actually had been. Missing were the bruises and scars, the same ones he himself had, and missing was the desperate, helpless look in her eyes. As a tear drop fell onto the picture, the lights began to dim, and the scene began to change once again.