Nothing seemed real. Blaine knew people cared about him. Not just Kurt, but everyone in Glee. He could have answered the door to Sam and Mercedes, but what then? What could anyone do to help him?

He steadied his breathing and fought with his tears. Was he really going to give everything up? He gripped the knife tighter in his hand. He had to. His dad called out again.

"Fetch me a beer."

Blaine squeezed his eyes shut and then walked towards his dad. There was no beer. Just the knife. His dad was slumped in his usual chair. He looked up at Blaine and then glanced at the weapon in his hand. A moment of surprise flickered across his face, then he sneered at his son.

"No beer?"

Blaine advanced towards his dad.

Officer Carlisle wiped his mouth with a crisp white handkerchief. He noticed his partner grinning at him. He replaced his hanky and gave her a sheepish smile.

"You got a problem Jen?" he asked.

Officer Wiley's grin grew. "I don't got me a problem," she said. "But can I borrow your hanky?"

Officer Carlisle pulled a face. He was used to being mocked about his proclivity for always having a clean handkerchief about his person. His last partner had found it funny too. And every birthday, his precinct decorated his desk, not with balloons, but with handkerchiefs.

"You're funny," he said to her and turned over the ignition of the patrol car. "You ready to go and speak to this scum, or you wanna keep on hassling me for liking to have a clean mouth?"

Jen Carlisle sniggered. She loved working with Eric. He was good for a laugh and she secretly enjoyed how clean he was, and how tidy he kept their car. And he always smelt nice too. She blushed to herself. Get a grip a little voice whispered.

"Let's go and sort this scumbag out," she replied, getting back to business.

"What are you doing, son?" Blaine's dad struggled to his feet. He held his arms out wide. "You gonna kill an innocent, unarmed man?"

Blaine frowned. "Innocent?" He stepped towards his dad. His dad kept his eyes on the knife in his son's hand. "Look at me, dad…" Blaine took another step. There was just a small area of greasy carpet between them. His dad looked at him, and for a moment, nothing happened.

Blaine tried to understand what his dad was thinking. He tried to look beyond the watery eyes, to something else. He tried to see love and guilt, or sorrow. Anything. Fear even…

"What is it about hurting me that you enjoy?" he asked. He shook his head, dislodging the unwelcome image of himself cowering on the floor, pleading. "Does it give you a sense of power? Or do you just like hearing me cry and beg…?" His dad said nothing. "I actually want you to answer…"

His dad cleared his throat. His pale eyes never left Blaine's face. Then he smiled at him.

"I'm ashamed of you, if you must know," he said. "You mean nothing to me and your presence here, bothers me…"

Despite himself, the words cut Blaine as if he had turned the knife on himself. He looked down at it. It would do a lot of damage. Irreparable, probably. He looked back up and held out the knife, the handle facing towards his dad's flabby stomach.

"Take it…" The smile left his dad's face. He suspected a trick. He looked down at the knife and then back at Blaine. Blaine nodded and closed the gap between them. "Take it, dad," he said. His dad slowly took hold of the handle and Blaine gripped his hand, tightly, with both of his. "Now kill me with it," he hissed. He began to ease the knife towards his stomach.

His dad realised what was happening and fought back; the point of the knife was perilously close to Blaine's abdomen. He pushed himself closer and the point touched the fabric of his jumper. Blaine suddenly thought how ironic it was, that he was wearing red. It would make the blood less noticeable.

"I said to kill me," he said again. The expression on his dad's face turned to horror and Blaine realised he was scared. It made him feel stronger.

"Kill me," he said. "Because if you don't, I'm going to kill you…"

"Let's do this." Finn took a steadying breath. He walked towards Blaine's house, noticing the drawn curtains downstairs. Sam and Mercedes had said Blaine wasn't there, but Finn didn't want to see Blaine. He wanted to see his dad, and he was certain he would be there, wallowing in the gloom. Drunk probably. He felt a surge of renewed anger and clenched his fists.

He banged on the door.

"Mr Anderson, I need to speak with you!" He heard Puck's heavy breathing next to him.

"Open up," Puck shouted. He went to the window and banged hard with his fist. "We know you're in there, we just want to talk."

"Is there a problem here?"

Finn and Puck spun around. They hadn't heard a car pulling up, but two police officers were standing there.

"Yeah, you could say there was a problem…" Finn glanced at Puck, nervously. He didn't want to get him in anymore trouble with the cops, but Puck let Finn do the talking. "Our friend lives here…"

"So, what's all the banging about?"

The police officer was taught, his hand resting on top of his gun. His colleague, a woman with short dark hair mirrored her partner's stance.

"Why don't you boys head home," she said with a smile. "We need to speak to Mr Anderson…"

"Speaking won't do anything," Puck said aggressively.

Finn put a hand on his arm. "We're just worried about our friend," he said.

The woman officer relaxed. "Okay," she said. "We understand that, right Eric?"

Eric nodded. "Blaine Anderson your friend?"

"Yeah, he's our friend and he's turning up to school with bruises every day."

"That's rough…"

"So, what are you going to do about it?" Pucks eyes blazed and he grew stiff with anger.

"Take it easy." The male officer held up a hand. "I understand why you want to give this guy a taste of his own medicine. Trust me." He pulled a face. The kid with the mohawk reminded him of himself when he was younger. He had a stepdad who enjoying hitting his mum and he got in trouble more than once for retaliating. He glanced at the bigger boy. A football player, he thought. No doubt. "Do me a favour, will you?" He took a step towards them. "Let us handle this and then we can try and work something out, afterwards. Maybe figure out a way to get your friend the help he needs, okay?"

Finn nodded and took hold of Puck's arm.

"We're not leaving," Finn said, as he steered Puck away from the front door.

"Just wait by the car, okay?" The officer smiled. "And stay put."

Finn nodded again and Puck felt his anger dissipate. He glanced at the female officer and was hit by a rush of hormones. She smiled at him and Puck wondered if she liked younger men.

The door was opened by a middle-aged man, with greying hair, wearing stained clothes. He was a disgusting sight, but it wasn't his appearance that bothered Officers Carlisle and Wiley, it was the huge knife he was holding in his hand.

They both reached for their guns at the same time.

"Sir, put down the knife…" Officer Wiley spoke with an even voice. It was important not to alarm the armed man. He surprised her by grinning.

"Sure," he said. "Where would you like me to put it?"

Officer Carlisle thought how good it would feel to wipe the smile from this man's face.

"Put the knife on the ground," he said calmly. He noticed a smear of blood on it. "You cut yourself, Sir?" he asked.

The man stooped to put the knife down.

"My son ran into it," he said. He grinned again, but his grin disappeared when both officers cocked their guns.

The choir room was quiet except for the sound of someone crying. It was a mournful sound, but no one had the heart to tell Sugar to be quiet.

Mr Schue looked around at his students. "I know this is hard," he said, "but it's all we know." He shrugged, defeated, despairing. "I'm sorry…"

"Will that monster face any charges?"

Mr Schue shook his head, but it was Finn who spoke. He looked across at Santana.

"No. There's nothing they can do about it, not without Blaine…" He trailed off.

"Are the police sure he's not been buried under the kitchen floor?"

Rachel glared at Santana. "It's no joking matter, Santana," she said.

Santana glared back. "Who's joking?" She stood up and walked to the front of the choir room. "Seriously," she said. "This is nuts. How can he be walking around, free, after everything he's done? It's not fair…" Tears spilled from her eyes and she brushed them away, angrily. "It's not fair."

Kurt walked into the choir room. His eyes were red from crying. He walked over to Santana and took her hand. Then he smiled, weakly.

"If you don't mind, Mr Schue," he said. "I have a song to sing. I know we finished the Cat Stevens week, but I think this song is perfect."

Mr Schue nodded and took a seat in the front row, next to Arty.

Kurt kept hold of Santana's hand and squeezed hard.

"I want to try and be strong," he said. "But I don't think I could do it, without all of you…" He wiped a tear and smiled. He turned to Brad. "You know what to play," he said.

Brad's gentle piano playing filled the choir room hauntingly and Kurt began to sing…

"Now that I've lost everything to you, you say you wanna start something new, and it's breaking my heart you're leaving, baby I'm grieving…"

His grip on Santana's hand was keeping him steady on his feet and when she joined in, he felt stronger. Then Brittany stood and took hold of his other hand. He felt their love and saw the love of the people in front of him.

"Ooh baby, baby, it's a wide world, it's hard to get by just upon a smile…"

Blaine shrugged his bag over his shoulder. He felt freer than he had felt in a long time and he knew he was far enough away now to avoid bumping into anyone he knew. He hadn't planned on hitching a lift, but he was glad he had. The truck driver had been friendly and hadn't asked awkward questions.

Now he was a stranger to every person he met. He knew it would be tough. He had little money and no plan, but he wouldn't have to face humiliation anymore. He thought back to his dad. To the moment when he thought he would feel the knife going through his flesh. They had struggled, but his dad had been stronger and wrestled the knife from him, cutting himself in the process.

But Blaine had seen his dad's fear and it had galvanised him. The knife had dropped to the floor and Blaine had walked away. He had thought he needed to die to be free, to feel peace, but he had been wrong.

"You'll never hurt me again," he said to his dad.

And he walked away without a backward glance.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hope people approve of this ending. I might consider writing an AU about Blaine on the road if people think it's a good idea. Would love to receive your lovely reviews. Not so keen on the not so lovely ones, but feel free to be honest. :-)