A/N: Thanks to everyone reading so far and hello to anyone just joining in! This chapter's got a lot more angst but hopefully some answers. I'd love a review to hear about whether you like the way I revealed the info or not, if it's in character and realistic. I promise the angst will lighten up a bit from here, though it'll probably ebb and flow for a bit. :P

D/C: I don't own any of the Glee characters. The rest are my own.

Neither Hiram nor LeRoy Berry went in to work on Friday morning. Their talk with Rachel the previous night had not gone at all how they'd hoped. After pleading with their shrieking daughter to try and calm down and listen, and after said daughter stormed off in tears to hole herself up in her bedroom, and after both men listened to Rachel's hysterical sobs for over an hour, they both decided they could all use the day off to regain their bearings. After all, it wasn't every day a person learned they had a son – or in Rachel's case a brother – they didn't know existed.

It was nearly 10:00 in the morning and Hiram, leaning against the kitchen counter with coffee in hand, exchanged a pregnant glance with LeRoy, who was cradling his own mug at the breakfast table. This was one of the rare days that things were actually silent in the Berry household. Save for the ticking of the wall clock and the low hum of the refrigerator motor, there wasn't a sound to be heard, but even in silence, a conversation wrought with understanding and a promise to stick together was exchanged between the two men with only that look. They'd made it through worse, and they'd make it through again.

Hiram sighed tiredly and glanced at his watch, then brought his mug to his lips, blew gently across the surface of his coffee, and took a sip. The sound of footsteps on the staircase drew the attention of both men and they watched the entrance to the kitchen expectantly until their teenage daughter appeared. The men exchanged another glance, then looked back at their daughter. Her blotchy skin and puffy eyes would have given away the fact that she'd been crying half the night, even if they hadn't been able to hear it loud and clear. Rachel shifted uncomfortably under their gaze, though she held her head high as she pulled the flaps of her fluffy pink robe more tightly around herself. Her eyes averted making contact with either of theirs. She was still angry, and intended to tell them so – just as soon as she found the words. LeRoy beat her to speaking, though. "Hi there, Sweetheart. Did you sleep ok?" he asked gently.

Her eyes snapped up to his and her mouth bobbed open, his hopeful and hurt-filled expression doing a good job at deflating the ire she'd so determinately held on to. Hiram took a few steps towards the table, though his eyes remained on Rachel. Meanwhile, the girl seemed to struggle for words. "I," she began, bringing a hand to her temple before dropping it down again. "I can't believe you two. You promised me no secrets," she said, her words steadily gaining speed as she talked, "you – you said you'd never lie to me and-and-and that I could trust you. You told me I was the only one and now –"

The girl gestured her exasperation, lifting both her hands and letting them drop again limply. She patted her chest with the palm of her hand. "How was I supposed to take it, learning that all this time there's someone out there who shares my parent, maybe even my blood and you two were just – keeping him from me. Why?" Rachel's chin trembled and she was sure that if she hadn't cried so much already, she'd be tearing up right then, but now was not the time. She was angry, damn it.

Both Hiram and LeRoy looked at Rachel with woe and regret. Rachel might as well have asked them for an explanation as to why they'd kicked her puppy. It didn't matter how perfectly logical the explanation was, how impossible it would have been to tell her to truth since neither had known the truth to begin with – their little girl was hurting and both men felt a wave of guilt and shame and a desire to grovel and beg and plead for her forgiveness. But now was not the time for doting. Rachel was hurting, yes, but now another little boy was possibly hurting worse, and Hiram and LeRoy, for the first time in their lives, had to find a way to meet the needs of both their children at once, one of whom they'd never even met.

With a regretful sigh, Hiram took a seat at the table. "Have a seat, Honey," he said, gesturing with his free hand as he laid his coffee mug down.

Rachel considered refusing for only a moment before deciding that whatever they had to say, it was probably best she be seated to hear it. Without a word, she did as she was asked, taking a seat as far away from her fathers as she could.

"We understand you're upset," LeRoy began, his eyes darting towards Hiram.

"And believe me, we never intended to hurt you, it's just…," Hiram added, trailing off, only to have LeRoy complete his sentence.

"We didn't know he even existed until we got the call."

Hiram saw the protest bubbling up and cut his daughter off, "Because his mother lied to us."

"And said she lost the baby..."

"Which of course, left us devastated..."

"Because you know how much we wanted a baby…"

"But even after she backed out, we didn't quit…"

"And we kept looking..."

"Until Shelby came along."

"Shelby was perfect."

"Absolutely perfect."

The two men shared a fond smile. This was the part of the story Rachel was very familiar with. Turning his attention back to his daughter, Hiram scooted his chair closer and reached out a tentative hand to pat hers. "We never lied about that. We wanted you. And you are as perfect a daughter as Shelby was a surrogate."

Behind him LeRoy nodded his agreement, then continued their joint explanation. "If we'd had any idea we had another child we would have told you. It's just that when Christy gave us the news…"

Hiram frowned.

Leroy hesitated but when his husband didn't finish the thought on his behalf, he was forced to do it himself. "It was a shock to say the least. We'd gotten are hopes up so high, only to be disappointed so suddenly. And she didn't want to try again."

"No, said losing one baby was hard enough. And then she didn't answer any calls."

"This wasn't how we wanted you to find out. And we certainly never thought…"

"That is, the idea she might have been lying…"

Both men looked at one another and fell silent. Rachel, who'd been staring at the table all this time was having a hard time processing everything they were telling her. "So – wait. You're telling me you kept this brother of mine a secret from me because you didn't know he existed, and now you know, and so – you told me?" Her fathers nodded. "And you expect me to believe that all this time you had no idea that there was someone out there who shared your blood?"

Hiram and LeRoy exchanged another glance. "Honestly, Sweetheart, this is just as much a shock to us as it is to you," LeRoy told her, but it was clear he was getting nervous.

"Your father's right. We had no idea we might have another child out there until the call came."

Rachel looked pointedly at her own hands, frowning deeply. She looked up at the mention of the phone call. "And how do you know it was even for real. How do we know this guy isn't just trying to take advantage of us or something? I mean, you don't know anything about this guy. He could be a con artist or something who calls up random gay couples with failed surrogacies and claims to be their long-lost son," she demanded, her tone raising in volume and pitch until she was practically shrieking. This was too much – it was all too much.

Hiram sighed before taking it upon himself to answer her gently, "It wasn't him that called us, Rachel. It was his social worker." He felt exhausted, and day wasn't even halfway over.

Blaine paced restlessly in the small room he'd been taken to. His arms were crossed protectively across his middle and he was shaking his head defiantly. "No – no, you're lying. My father left me. And my mom. He walked out on us. He doesn't give a crap about me, never has. Whoever told you different was lying!" The boy gritted his teeth, pulled out a chair and dropped into the seat. He lowered his hands into his palms and rubbed his face and tired eyes with the heels of his hands. Finally carding his fingers through his curls, Blaine let his head hang there, supported by his hands, propped by his elbows, his eyes unfocused on the table below.

"Blaine," responded the Latina calmly, "your father did not walk out on you. He didn't even know you existed until yesterday."

Blaine wanted to scream, to yell, to throw things. She was wrong. They were all wrong. He was angry – so angry – but he felt so tired. He was too exhausted, too drained, and Blaine let his hands drop to the table, his eyes looking up at the woman. It had been days since he'd last laid his head on a pillow on a real live bed. "Why does this even matter? All I want is my mom. I don't need anyone else. Can we just – leave it?" He wanted to fight but Blaine could feel his energy waning. "If I say I believe you can I just go? My mom should be out of surgery soon. I need to get back to her. I promised I'd be waiting for her." Though he wasn't saying "please" his eyes were tired and pleading. He just wanted to go. He didn't care about some guy he'd never met and who'd never even bothered acknowledging Blaine's existence as long as the boy could remember. He didn't care why he'd grown up without a real father. He didn't need another parent. In fact, he and his mom did best when Blaine was the only man in the house. Her boyfriends only made things harder on all of them.

But for some reason, the cold, unreadable woman, wasn't budging. Except now she wasn't looking at him either. She seemed to be contemplating something. In fact, she was contemplating that something so hard it was a wonder her eyes hadn't burned a hole through the table. Blaine watched her, his exhaustion having given way temporarily to curiosity. But then she lifted her head, and the mixture of sadness and regret that tinted her gaze did nothing short of stop Blaine's heart on the spot. "There's something else, Blaine. Something you need to know that I'd hoped I'd be able to tell you with a parent or guardian present but as it were…" The frowning Latina trailed off with a bitter edge, but shook away her train of thought before continuing. She lifted her eyes again and locked them on Blaine's. Leaning forward slightly, the woman laced her fingers together on top of the table. "Blaine," she said, her voice taking on a gentler timbre, "I understand you want to go home with your mom, and I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, but – the thing is – your mother's injuries – they were very serious. Whoever hurt her hurt her badly. She – the doctors did what they could, Blaine – they tried to make her better but – I'm – I'm afraid she's passed away."

Blaine's eyes had widened. His head shook from side to side. "No. No!" The boy stood suddenly, accidentally knocking over his chair as his fear and panic devolved into rage. "She was fine! I was there when they took her and she was fine. She was going to make it! You can't – she can't –"

It took Blaine a long moment to realize he was crying. His legs gave way beneath him and he dropped to the floor. He tucked his forehead into his knees and wrapped his arms over his head. The fabric from his jeans muffled his wails, but they still filled his own ears. He didn't hear his social worker speak to him. He didn't hear her reason with him that his mother in fact had not been fine – that with internal bleeding and the swelling in her brain her chances of survival without any permanent damage had been quite slim. He didn't hear her hesitate, or walk around the table and crouch beside him. He'd practically forgotten she was there until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Blaine jumped at the unexpected contact, knocking her hand away and scrambling away from her. It was only when he backed up to the wall and turned his tear-streaked face towards her again that he remembered who he was with. The woman looked stunned, frozen with wide eyes and a hanging jaw, but Blaine didn't have the capacity to care. He choked out another sob and covered his head with his arms again. He refused to believe it. He didn't want to believe it. But a part of him knew it was true – a part of him knew from the moment he'd seen his mother, her face swollen and bruised beyond all recognition, that she wouldn't make it out alive. Not this time.