A/N: Hello, everyone. First of all, I want to thank all of you who have reviewed and sent me messages for your kind words of encouragement. I am so glad to know that you're enjoying this story, and honestly, every review I've gotten has made me so wonderfully happy! I would like to address one thing that I've heard a lot, and that is to do with Rachel as I've portrayed her. She is, as many of you noted, a huge bitch to Blaine. :P I want you to know I agree with you, that she has not been very understanding and has acted really childishly. There are, however, reasons behind this, and I do want to assure you all that the Rachel in this story is not as callous as she has come across. I'll explain a bit more in an A/N at the end of this chapter if you're curious, or feel free to skip it if you don't really care about Rachel's psychology (though warning, my analysis includes some light spoilers). :P It will all be revealed in the story in due time anyway.

WARNINGS for the chapter ahead: scenes involving homophobic language and physical abuse of a child.

Hiram's brows furrowed as he listened to the person on the other end of the phone. "Yeah, yeah. No, it's fine. It's all fine," he said. LeRoy sat perched on the arm of the couch, watching his husband intently. Hiram raised a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it absentmindedly before lowering and resting it on his cocked hip. "Right - yeah, he turned up just like you said he would." Hiram glanced back at LeRoy, who was frowning, his forehead creased in unease.

The pair had managed to keep it together that time, but it wasn't an easy feat by any means. They'd promised each other, though - promised that whatever happened, they would be there for Blaine, they wouldn't blame him or yell at him, but it had been really, really hard for LeRoy at least to keep from blowing his top.

"Uh-huh. Yeah. Thanks. I definitely will. All right, Hal. Thanks again. Bye." Hiram let out a loud sigh as he hung up his cell. He walked over to the couch, dropped his phone on the coffee table, flopped down into a seat and buried his face in his hands. LeRoy's heart nearly broke.

"It's ok, baby," he said and placed a comforting hand between Hiram's shoulder blades. He rubbed circles into his back, very much expecting him to have started crying, but when Hiram dropped his hands, his eyes were dry.

"What on Earth were we thinking?" he asked LeRoy, and looked up at him.

LeRoy frowned and inhaled a quick breath. "We were thinking," he replied calmly, "that we were doing something nice for our son." And there was nothing wrong with that.

Hiram pointed his finger at nothing in particular. "No, no, no," he insisted, giving his finger a wag for emphasis. "We were thinking that Blaine is exactly the same as our Rachel - that he would like a surprise as much as our Rachel." LeRoy stopped rubbing Hiram's back and straightened somewhat. Of course, Hiram was right. He'd thought it a few times ever since the pair had first decided to convert the den, but he had pushed the doubts from his mind, certain - or hopeful - that seeing a room the pair created just for him would end in a scene straight out of a movie, with smiles and hugs and broken-down barriers and maybe even a heartfelt and teary "Thank you, Dads." It had all played out just perfectly in his head…

"Maybe we're really not equipped for this. Maybe…"

At Hiram's musings LeRoy snapped out of his own thoughts. "Maybe what?" he snapped. Hiram looked at him, his eyes widening. He instantly reached for the other man's hand.

"Oh honey, no, no, I didn't mean… I just - I think we maybe need to talk about referring him to someone other than us for therapy. Maybe go back and talk to Dr. Golding ourselves, too, or maybe do a family session. I thought - I had an idea that we could do it all, but I'm -," Hiram hesitated, "I'm not exactly sure that that's a good idea anymore. I never expected… If anything had happened…"

LeRoy's expression softened. He pulled Hiram's head into his side and shushed him. "It's all right, Hiram. Nothing happened. Blaine is fine, Rachel is fine, we're all fine," he said with a painted on grin. He placed a quick kiss on the top of Hiram's head. "Let's not fret about it anymore tonight. Hal was right, Blaine is back, and we can deal with all this therapy business tomorrow, yeah?"

LeRoy smiled as Hiram lifted his adorable puppy eyes to look up at him. Hiram pouted his lip and nodded and LeRoy laughed. The man slid off the arm of the couch and walked around to sit on Hiram's other side. He brought up both hands to cradle Hiram's face, then leaned in and captured the other man's lips with his own. Both men hummed at the same time, then broke apart with smiles on their faces. "What do you say we move this somewhere more comfortable, Mr. Berry?"

Hiram smiled brightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. LeRoy knew that Blaine's reaction was still upsetting his husband, and still would until he could sort out some understanding or solution, but he also knew that Hiram never said no to a distraction when he was distressed, as long as he knew his child - children - were safe and sound. As LeRoy anticipated, Hiram responded quickly. "I say what are we waiting for, Mr. Berry?" LeRoy's grin widened to match Hiram's, and both men scurried off to their bedroom up the stairs and down the hall.

A middle-aged man in a blue police uniform sighed and hit the red "end" button on his cell phone. He'd only just tucked the phone away in his utility belt - he really needed to remember to request the next size up when he got the chance - when a younger man, twenty-something in appearance with bright blue eyes, and angular jaw, and a physique the middle-aged officer used to have, came walking out of the 7-Eleven carrying two paper coffee cups.

"Got your coffee here, Hal. Everything ok?" asked the younger man. He was dressed in the same blue uniform as his partner. A look of concern had etched itself onto his face and the man called Hal, who used to have just as much hair as the younger one, nodded once.

"Fine," he replied gruffly. The younger officer held out one of the coffee cups and Hal accepted it. He took a sip without waiting for it to cool and gulped it down with a hiss. He'd burned his tongue again, but one of these days - Hal was convinced - one of these days his tongue would just get used to it. Grow a callous or something.

The younger officer watched him out of the corners of his bright blue eyes, pulled the top off his coffee, and blew across the surface. Sissy, Hal thought, though deep down he was scolding himself for not having done it himself.

"He says the kid came back. I thought he would. No money, no ID - he wasn't going to get very far on looks alone." Hal knew what his daughter would say if she knew he'd told a parent to see if his teenage son had left his wallet behind.

The younger man stopped blowing on the coffee and took an experimental sip. Hal, meanwhile, took another manly swig of his coffee. He managed to disguise the hiss this time as a smacking of his lips. The rookie didn't even seem to notice.

"Yeah, true," said the rookie. He affixed the top back onto the coffee cup. "And he probably wouldn't have stopped to hang out in a park four blocks from home if he really wanted to get away from there. How'd you say you know this guy again?"

Though the kid's tone was light and conversational, Hal couldn't help but feel suspicious of his motives for asking. He couldn't remember if he'd mentioned that the Berrys were a couple of gays - not that there was anything wrong with that - but he wasn't sure if Tom, the rookie, was trying to insinuate something about him. The truth was, Hiram had been his therapist back when he and his wife were going through a rough patch. At the end of it all they got divorced once and for all. Best decision he'd ever made. Instead of telling the truth, though, he simply grunted, "Family friend." And that was that.

The kid was new on the force. Only five weeks in. And Hal knew better than to get attached to the puppies until they proved that they could hack it. "Come on, let's get patrolling," said Hal, not wanting to set the example of a lollygagger.

Untucking his hat from beneath his arm, the older officer set it firmly on his head, pulling it far enough down to cover the receding of his hairline, then marched purposefully around the squad car they were standing in front of to get in the driver's seat. So far, their evening had been totally quiet except for the runaway teen, and aside from a couple of domestic disturbances and a handful of speeding tickets, the past few weeks had not been anything to write home about.

Part of him wanted it to stay that way. He liked it when it was quiet. But unless something more exciting than a wife-beating happened sooner rather than later, he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to see if his partner had the chops or not for the job.

Blaine's breaths came fast and heavy, his heart thundered rapidly in his chest. The room around him spun. A large fist grabbed him by the collar and a loud crash and crack sounded when his back connected with wall, instantly followed by his head. The pain hit like a shockwave, vibrating all the way up his spine and God, his head. His eyes watered. The pain in his head hit him sharply, then stuck around, resounding and pounding. No, he thought. No, no no!

He pawed at the fingered fisting his collar, holding him up against the wall. The grip tightened, the fist pressed against his windpipe. No, NO! He choked and gagged. He tried to kick his legs but they were pinned by the larger man's knees.

"Is the sissy, faggot crying?" asked a deep, growling voice. Thin lips spread into a cruel grin. Rank breath, the smell of beer, of stale smoke - it overwhelmed his senses. "You like to cry, don't you, fag? You like this, don't you? You didn't mind when I took you to that baseball game, or when I bought you all those presents. You liked me then, didn't you?"

The hand at his throat gave his collar a shake, the other hand, the grown-up hand, squeezed Blaine's hip so tightly, the younger boy whimpered, but only because he couldn't scream. Fear gripped him, sent a shiver of terror over every inch of skin. The man with the rough, angry voice leaned forward. His unshaved cheek scratched Blaine's as he brought his lips and breath to his ear. "Time to pay up," said the voice, but now it wasn't quite so low and growling. It sounded familiar, sounded like someone he knew. "You. Owe. Me."

Somewhere, music started playing.

"No!"

Blaine bolted upright, his eyes snapping open. He gasped and gulped for breath and both of his hands flew straight to his throat. Nothing there, he told himself, no one there, but the images swam in front of his eyes, lingering against the darkness of the bedroom. It took his heart a minute to calm, his breaths a minute to even.

He ran a hand across his forehead. He was sweating heavily. Tears streaked his cheeks. His ears felt numb and he felt two wires leading down from them. He tugged the earbuds out of his ears. He consciously tried to slow his breathing further. (In through the nose, out through the mouth…)

His phone pinged and glowed a brighter green, which Blaine realized meant that he had missed at least one text or call already. It had been glowing from the moment he'd awoken - but though Blaine had seen it the implication of the fact hadn't immediately registered.

He reached for the phone. His movements felt stiff compared to usual. He'd fallen asleep in his jeans, which he hadn't meant to do. Ignoring his clothing for the time being he flipped the phone open and saw he had a text from Bethany. It was comprised of two words only: "Call me."

He backed out of the message and saw he had three missed calls from her. He cursed. And then he froze. Outside the door, were quiet footsteps. They stopped outside his door. Then, there were whispers - whispers in voices he recognized. Whispers in voices that sent a shudder residual fear up his spine. Then, the knock.

Blaine didn't move. The knock was light. It was like they didn't expect the boy to be awake. Trying his best not to speak, or say a sound, or even breathe, Blaine listened, as he was sure the men were doing outside his door. He listened, waited for them to knock louder, or worse, to start to turn the knob, but after a minute of silence, he heard a soft, resigned voice say something indiscernible the footsteps carrying both the men away.

He exhaled heavily, bowing his head and closing his eyes. He ran his fingers through his sweaty hair and held them there, propping his forehead on his palms and both his elbows on his knees. He hadn't meant to really hold his breath, but God, that was close. He wondered if he hadn't shouted out this time in his sleep. He didn't do that most of the time. Except that this time he was partially awake. This time when he screamed, he'd already heard his cell phone's ringer. He cursed again, then straightened, let his eyes rest on the phone still in his hand, and braced himself. He flipped the cell phone open, highlighted Bethany on his missed calls, and hit the green button "Send".

A/N Part II: Thank you again to all of you reading. I am always glad to hear your thoughts about my story. As I said 3 chapters ago, I am quite overwhelmed at work, and I cannot promise when the next chapter will be posted, but I do promise this project will not be abandoned. I enjoy it too much, and have too many ideas for future chapters to let it go that easily. )

And finally, as promised, a bit more about my Rachel - I know how she has been acting has been really insensitive to Blaine, but this was done to be as true to canon as possible. Remember - as much as she has redeeming qualities, Rachel is the girl who asked "Wait - does this mean you're competing against us at sectionals?" when Kurt revealed he was going to Dalton for fear of his life. She was also the girl who sent Sunshine Corazon to a crackhouse just because the girl, who was sweet and nice and didn't even seem like she wanted to steal Rachel's spotlight, was just as talented as (and shorter than!) Rachel was. The way I have approached her character is, given what we know she can be like in those circumstances, what would she be like if confronted with the ultimate threat to the very foundations of her world.

Up until Blaine showed up, her fathers have been her twin rocks, forever supportive, constantly doting. In short, they spoiled her rotten. Even while she's having issues at school and having to fight for the spotlight there, she can come home and know she'll always be the center of her fathers' worlds. She is always in the spotlight at home. (They built her a stage for Heaven's sake!) But with Blaine there, her fathers' attention and love is now split between her and a stranger. So while she has it in her to be sensitive and caring towards someone who lost a parent (or might lose a parent - like Kurt almost lost his father), she is very self-absorbed to the point that if caring for someone else gets in the way of her dreams, she'll choose the path of caring about herself first. At least until season 3 when she humbles a bit. ) I promise, though, that the good parts of Rachel's character have not been forgotten, and I will be writing more from her POV.