Kurt watches Blaine leave with a smile on his face. The iPod is still resting in his hands and the smell of fresh flowers occasionally drifts by his nose; it reminds him that people care about him, that they want him to feel better. He tries not to think about how it also means they know he's been hiding things from them.

He is scrolling through the selection of music, searching for something that calls to him, when his dad walks in the door. The man looks worn, older than he really is, and Kurt can't help but feel a pang of guilt.

"How're you feeling?" Burt sits in the chair best his bed and leans back, barely sparing a glance for the device in Kurt's hands.

Kurt shrugs minutely and says, "Not too bad, considering."

His dad nods. "Yeah." He stretching his legs out a little in front of him and then leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. "The cops are probably going to come by soon. Are you going to be okay talking to them?"

Kurt stops playing with the iPod and gives his father his full attention. "I – I think so." He licks his lips, wincing at the pull it causes to the swollen and tender flesh of his cheek. "They're going to charge him?"

Burt nods. "Yeah – what he did at the mall? They've got enough evidence to convict him for assault. Especially with the witness."

"Who was he?"

Burt smiles a little, and Kurt knows it's because he's happy that there is some good in the world. "Just a man who happened to take his lunch in the food court. His name's Ben."

"Dad. If – if he, Ben, hadn't walked in, if he hadn't been there –"

"He did and he was. And I will be forever grateful to him."

Kurt finds himself nodding; his dad, without saying it explicitly, is telling him not to think of 'what if's. Not to focus on how bad it could have been; to try and stay positive.

"He's already provided his statement. They also have security footage of the hall where the bathrooms are – they will be able to identify Karofsky there, too. He won't get away with this." His dad's voice is determined and sure.

Kurt looks at his hands, at his broken fingers, and asks in a small voice, "What about before? What he did – before," Kurt finishes lamely, not able to voice his question fully.

"I don't know." His dad looks pained, like he wishes he could solving everything for Kurt, but knows he can't.

"Right."

~?~

Finn comes into Kurt's hospital room after the cops leave, and Kurt wants nothing more than to be alone. He's been asked so many questions, had to repeat himself over and over again, and no matter how well he concealed it, one of the police officers was more condescending than sympathetic.

It feels like his mind has been ripped apart in their attempt to gather information, and as much as Kurt tries not to be, he is angry that they were so thorough. Because right now everything is swirling around in his mind and his emotions are running wild.

Finn doesn't say anything as his sits in one of the two chairs by Kurt's bed, just pulls out his phone and starts typing a message. Kurt wishes they were in the ICU or any of the cell-restricted zones just so that he would have a reason to yell at Finn. It is completely absurd, his irritation at his step-brother, but it's there and he can't help but feel it.

Something like disgust rolls over Kurt's shoulders and down his back as he considers his emotions and how they are playing at the tense chords of his body. He hates being out of control, and it seems, lately, that he finds himself that way more and more often.

"Did I make you feel like this?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Last year, when I had that stupid crush on you, did I make you feel scared? Or – or threatened?" Kurt pauses, breath catching. "That I would do something to you?"

Finn's eyebrows shoot up and he is shaking his head almost instantly. "No! I mean, yeah it was kind of weird, and you know I'm sorry about what I said. But I wasn't – scared."

Kurt nods shakily, but feels no relief.

"Why would you think that?" Finn looks so confused, so lost, and it is more of a reassurance than any of his words.

"It's just – I don't know." Kurt ends with a shrug. He really doesn't know; half of the things he does and says are propelled by some feeling, something that he doesn't quite understand. This is just one of those things.

A deep silence passes between them, and when Kurt looks over at Finn he knows something is wrong, that Finn is thinking about something unsavoury. Finn is still, almost unnaturally so, as they sit in silence. His posture is slumped but tense, as though he is trying to hide and protect himself – Kurt doesn't know what from.

"I never knew how bad it was – how much he hurt you. Maybe if I has stepped up sooner, really manned up before it was too late, I could have stopped it."

Kurt's head jerks left and right slowly and he tries to interrupt. "Finn –"

"I knew he was harassing you, that it was more than just bullying, and I didn't do anything. I let this happen."

Finn is staring at the ground intently, his lips pulled into a frown, and Kurt can see how angry Finn is, angry at himself, by the red tint to his face. "Finn you couldn't have known. You can't blame yourself for this, just like – just like I can't blame myself for this." Finn looks up at Kurt, eyebrows pinched together. "If there is one thing I've learned from all of this, it's that I couldn't control what Karofsky did, and neither could you. Or anybody, for that matter, not when we had no idea what he was going to do."

Another thing that Kurt has learned from all of this is that people like to give and take blame more than any other emotion.

~?~

Kurt leaves the hospital in a wheelchair, his lap full of flowers and gifts from friends, with Finn pushing him just a little too slow. His dad is parked in the hospital's patient pick-up zone, and Kurt winces as he stands, bracing an arm around his ribs, and lets two sets of hands help him into the passenger seat.

While Finn rolls the empty wheelchair back inside the hospital, his dad hands Kurt one of the vases of flowers to hold between his feet on the ride home. It's the arrangement that Blaine gave him – the borrowed iPod rests in his jacket pocket.

"You still feeling good, kiddo?"

Kurt looks at his dad. "Yes. You don't have to ask me every five minutes."

His dad smiles at him and shakes his head. "I know, I know. You remember what it was like when I came home from the hospital?" At Kurt's nod he continues, "Then you know what this feels like. Give me a break."

The easy way that they are speaking, the lack of tension in their relationship, makes it easy for Kurt to say, "I'll try. But I don't promise anything."

His dad just laughs.

~?~

Kurt has only been home for two hours when the doorbell rings and his dad shrugs at him before going to answer it. Kurt is propped on the couch with a blanket covering him, the remnants of a quick meal – soft and easy to chew – in a bowl beside him.

"Hey Kurt?" His dad pokes his head around the corner, a questioning expression on his face. "Do you mind having a couple of visitors?"

"No – that's fine," Kurt replies. "But dad?" His dad comes back around the corner at his question. "I don't want them to know everything." Meaning only that he was attacked by Karofsky, not what fuelled the attacks.

His dad nods in understanding and adjusts the hat on his head. "I won't say anything, buddy. I'll talk to Finn, too, just in case."

"Thanks." Kurt is so lucky to have his father; he honestly doesn't know what he would do without him.

Kurt tries to sit up straighter as Mercedes walks into the room, her eyes red and sorrow standing out loudly in her posture.

"Oh, Boo," she sighs as she comes in close, hand reaching out like she wants to cradle his face, but is afraid to hurt him even more. The bruising on his face is spectacular, spread across the whole left side in a mass of black, blue and red.

"Hey, 'Cedes." Kurt uses his uninjured hand to pull her in for a light hug, stopping only when his ribs start to protest. "That coat is fabulous," he compliments.

Mercedes smirks at him and stands to do a little twirl. "You think so? I just got it on Friday."

"Absolutely," Kurt assures her. "If it wasn't for the fact that it would never go with my complexion, I would be jealous."

Mercedes giggles and sits next to him on the couch, grabbing his left hand in her own. "We'll just have to go shopping and get something equally fantastic."

Kurt is about to answer when he hears a very familiar voice speaking from just around the corner. Mercedes rolls her eyes, not entirely fondly, and says, "Rachel came, too."

Understanding dawning, Kurt stifles a sigh as he hears what she is saying to his dad.

"I've spoken to my dads, and we are all in agreement that you should seek the backing of the ACLU in this matter." Rachel's voice is loud and demanding, and it reminds Kurt of many times in New Directions.

"She's been on a tirade since it happened," whispers Mercedes. "Well, we all were, but she's been pushing for development of a local PFLAG and anti-bullying assemblies."

Kurt huffs and smiles. "It's actually nice to know that she cares, you know?"

"Rachel, I really appreciate the advice, but really –"

Mercedes and Kurt exchange a look and laugh as Rachel cuts his dad off and starts listing the benefits of the ACLU. Kurt has missed Mercedes, and having her here, having Rachel here, lets him fall into a place of familiar and comfortable friendship.

It helps him to feel a little less alone.

~?~

Kurt jerks awake, sweat cooling on his brow and the sheets of his bed thrown haphazardly to the side.

There are fresh tear tracks on his face, trailing to wet his neck and pool in his ears. They are cold and slick beneath his fingers as he brushes them away, wiping them on to his duvet with shaking fingers.

His room is dark and quiet around him, the veil of late night having descended in full – it makes every little feeling of fear and isolation magnified.

The nightmare has already faded into oblivion, but the fear, the helplessness, remains. The phantom sensation of pain and despair are crawling under his skin, bug-like and lingering.

He feels disgusting and scared; the fear has him shaking, heart beating rapidly and an odd, wrong, sensation is buzzing throughout him.

As he turns to his right side and curls into a foetal position, he can't help but want to be with someone. Someone who can help alleviate his agony and soothe his fear.

Sniffling and wiping at his eyes again, Kurt makes his way out of bed and across his room to the hallway. Opening the door allows the sound of the downstairs TV to wash over him; it is well passed midnight, and Kurt knows from experience that his father has likely fallen asleep on the couch. When Burt can't sleep, he will crash on the couch with the sound of the TV playing in the background.

Descending the stairs and walking quietly into the living room, Kurt sees his dad lying on the couch, feet stretched out to push against the opposite armrest and one hand hanging over the edge. Infomercials are playing on the TV, the enthusiastic voice of the narrator a low buzz of noise that complements the changing lights reflecting around the room.

Kurt wants to crawl into his dad's arms and let everything fall away.

But he's kept so much to himself for so long, has been so private, that going to his father now is something that he both does and does not want to do. There is a mixture of embarrassment and shame that tightens his throat, makes it nearly impossible to share how he is feeling and what he needs.

Instead of waking his slumbering father, Kurt pads silently until he is standing in front of the couch. It is the same one that his dad spent many months recovering from his heart attack on, and Kurt has many memories surrounding the piece of furniture. Some wonderful and some not.

Looking down at his father and battling with his deep desire to wake him, talk to him, Kurt bites his lips and shakes his head. He then sinks down until he is settled on the floor in front of the couch, right side leaning into the cushions without disturbing his dad, and pulls his knees up until he can comfortably rest his head on them.

With the sound of his dad's deep, even breaths just inches away, Kurt is eventually lulled into a light sleep. He feels like he is floating, caught on a buoyant current of unconscious thought propelled by his exhaustion.

Time loses all meaning, and when a hand suddenly connects to Kurt's shoulder, pulling him out of sleep and grounding him solidly, he can't remember where he is or why.

Blinking open his eyes wearily, Kurt sees his dad laying half propped up on the couch, face reflecting tiredness and concern.

"Hey kiddo. What are you doing out here?"

As the fog of sleep clears from his mind, memories of fear and pain are revealed, reminded Kurt exactly why he fell asleep leaning against the couch.

Tired, Kurt leans his head against a soft cushion, close enough to his father's arm that he can feel the warmth of it. "Bad dreams."

The hand on his shoulder disappears and a wash of loss, of loneliness, comes over him. He hears his dad shift position, sitting up, and Kurt glances over just in time for a set of hands to return and start tugging him.

"Up," his dad says, pulling Kurt until he is sitting in the gap left between him and the arm of the couch.

A strong arm wraps around Kurt's shoulders and holds him close, allowing Kurt to lean his head on his dad's shoulder and relax into the embrace.

His dad doesn't say anything, just sits with him and holds him, and Kurt is stripped by the simplicity of it. This simple gesture of caring and love is like a downpour that puts out the fire of anxiety and depression burning within him.

He's not alone, and he doesn't have to deal with his pain alone.

~?~

Kurt is walking out of Dalton's counselling centre when he sees Wes sitting on a small bench across the hall. At his appearance, the other Warbler stands and motions for Kurt to walk with him.

Other students pay them no mind as they walk in silence, and Kurt wonders when he became so comfortable within these halls.

Approaching a small alcove filled with benches and illuminated by a multitude to windows, Wes slows to a stop, sitting with his back straight. Kurt winces as his ribs protest the movement of sitting as he takes a place next to Wes.

"Doctor Georgescu is nice," Kurt eventually says. He sees Wes nod out of the corner of his eyes.

"He is. He has helped me through a lot."

Class has ended for the day and the halls of Dalton are relatively barren, very few students wandering by to disrupt the peace.

"Thank you." Kurt looks over at Wes, eyes sincere. "Everything that you have done – it means a lot."

Wes smiles and nods. "It was no problem." He hesitates briefly before saying, "If you ever feel the need to talk – I want you to know that you can still come to me."

Kurt searches Wes' face, sees the genuine concern and friendship, and then smiles in return.

~?~

Spring is in full blossom, the dredges of winter having sloughed off to reveal life beneath the cold, dead beauty of ice crystals.

Kurt is walking, hands encased in fingerless gloves not exactly necessary for the weather, but which are necessary for his outfit. The breeze is cool but the sun is warm, and as he feels both on his skin, he smiles.

However cheesy and cliche it may be, Kurt can't help but compare his life, the recent events in his life, as the beginnings of spring, a prelude to summer. To something better. He knows that every day won't be easy, and that he can't just breeze through the rest of his life; there will be rainy days and sunny days and cloudy days.

At least now he isn't stuck in some perpetual frozen state of fear and anxiety and sadness.

There is a small bench off to the side under a tall elm tree, the branches of which reach high overhead and provide shade, where a lone figure sits. Kurt smiles a little as he approaches, the ends of his scarf fluttering in the light wind.

"Kurt," Blaine greets, standing to pull Kurt into a hug. Kurt rests his chin gently on Blaine's shoulder and allows himself to just feel the solid form of the other boy.

As they pull apart and Blaine gestures for Kurt to sit next to him, Kurt asks, "How've you been?"

"Good – glad that you're back, though," Blaine says with a smile.

Kurt nods. "Yeah, me too."

Kurt has only been back at Dalton for a week, but it seems like so much longer. He has bi-weekly appointments with the school counsellor, something that he isn't comfortable with, not yet, but it isn't as horrible as he thought it would be.

Telling people hasn't made everything better; it hasn't lifted some weight from his chest like some instantaneous miracle. Sometimes he even feels worse for it; wishes that he had kept his mouth shut and stayed vigilant.

But then there are the times when he wants to cry, wants to scream the unfairness of it all into the sky, and he'll see a pair of understanding eyes looking at him. It's not pity that his friends and family look at him with – it's sympathy. They might not understand exactly what he's feeling, but they don't blame him and they don't want to bury what happened like some rotting corpse of a problem.

It is both better and worse than he ever imagined it would be.

The grass around his feet is green and shot-through with the shadows of the sparsely-leafed branches above, the sun glowing almost golden on the blades of grass where it shines through. "The grounds really are beautiful in spring."

Blaine smiles softly as his eyes take in the world around them. "They are. I remember my first year here, and how the spring brought everything to life and made every day seem just a little bit magical."

Kurt is amused by Blaine's thoughts, but he doesn't disagree. There is something about the beauty of it that makes him less sad and more content.

Kurt knows he will never 'get over' what happened; he'll carry the scars, both physical and mental, for the rest of his life. He will feel the bite marks on his neck under his fingers; will forever associate the scent of Irish Springs soap with horror, pain and humiliation.

But it won't always be fresh. The events, his rape and assault, won't be at the forefront of his mind everyday. He will probably even learn to go through a day, a week, maybe a month or year, without thinking about it.

Yes, there might be tough times ahead – he may encounter situation that take him right back to that locker room, he might panic when someone touches him unexpectedly. But he can handle that without crumbling.

He knows this because he won't let this run his life, not if he has any control over it, and he refuses to let Karofsky's cruel actions sink him.

"Do you want to go for coffee?"

Kurt glances over at Blaine, taking in the dark curls and compassionate eyes, and shakes his head. "Not really. Do you mind if we just stay here for a little while?"

The other boy nods slowly and reaches down to take his hand, which he just holds. "Sure."

Smiling at Blaine, Kurt then turns back to the landscape. The flowers will be blooming soon, sending their colourful petals sky-ward in a display of elegance and beauty. With the green grass and partially-leaved trees surrounding him, with Blaine's hand holding his, he lets his expression fade. His smile becomes more relaxed and less defined, touching his lips gently as he watches the world around him.

~The End~

A/N: It's finished. It's really finished. Woah. I suppose now is a good time to mention that there is a one-shot on the way based on an angst meme prompt that is in this universe. Yay?

I'd like to thank EVERYONE who commented – your words mean the world to me.

I hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading :)