Hey. A quicker update than the last few. I know by anybody else's standards it took ages in between getting last chapter and this chapter up but I'm slow and crap and anyway, it's here now =] This chapter has a flashback scene which follows on from the flashback scene in the last chapter. And as this chapter follows directly after the last one I'll do a quick recap of what happened in it and the story so far:

Kurt and Joseph had a fight in Gym that afternoon which was arranged by Banks. Kurt beat Joseph and Joseph was dragged off to get his injuries checked out and hasn't been back to the dormitory yet. All the adrenalin running through him meant Kurt couldn't sleep that night so he got out of bed and went to the bathroom in the dormitory. Left alone with his thoughts, he started reminiscing about that day when he had been leaving school and ran into three bullies who had been making his life hell…

Blaine then entered the bathroom, disrupting his thoughts, and proceeded to reassure Kurt hat everything was going to be alright and that they would somehow make it out of Dalton. The two shared a moment and then kissed. Unfortunately, Banks chose that moment to enter the bathroom and ordered Kurt to go back to bed, leaving Banks alone in the bathroom with Blaine…

"Don't you fuck with me, Anderson."

Kurt winced at the sound of a heavy boot connecting with somewhere on Blaine's body. Banks had been in the bathroom in the dormitory with Blaine for the past twenty minutes. Worryingly, Kurt hadn't heard any sounds (even those of pain) coming from Blaine for the last five and sincerely hoped he hadn't been beaten to unconsciousness. It wasn't uncommon. Teachers and mentors beat students into unconsciousness all the time. He had beaten Joseph into unconsciousness earlier that day. He didn't feel bad about that and was certain Banks didn't feel bad about this.

"Because you won't live to regret it."

Another boot. Kurt was in bed and lying on his side, his back turned from the bathroom in a pitiful attempt it might help make Blaine's punishment a little easier for him to endure, although it of course didn't. Every time Blaine was hit, Kurt's own body curled up just that little tighter until he found himself in the foetal position. He imagined Blaine might be resembling a similar pose… Two minutes went by and no noise was coming from the bathroom anymore. None from Blaine but, nor from Banks…

Then the bathroom door was flung violently open and the fluorescent light from the bathroom flooded into the dorm. Kurt instantly clamped his eyes shut. He hated how he had to and did do, so automatically, but if Banks had spotted him watching (spying, he would have called it) then he may have dished out the same to Kurt, so he made sure he kept his eyes firmly shut because fear of punishment presided all at Dalton. He kept his facial features completely still and porcelain-like whilst making sure his breathing sounded naturally even. Kurt bet there was not one boy in that dormitory who was not awake (apart from maybe Blaine) because nobody could have slept through the sound of that beating, but he also bet that they, like himself, were all feigning sleep for the same reason. He heard the sound of the bathroom light cord being yanked and the faint light from the bathroom showing through his eyelids vanished into blackness, and it was after ten seconds or so that only then did he dare open his eyes - just a squint - to witness what was happening.

He wished he hadn't. Though it was dark he could still see the broad back of Banks making his way to the dormitory exit and literally dragging a completely slumped and broken figure of Blaine behind him by a fistful of his hair. He watched as Banks easily tossed Blaine out into the corridor and then stepped out after him, shutting the dormitory door quietly.

Though it was safe now, Kurt shut his eyes again hoping to get away from it all, though since he had been transferred to this nightmare school, he could never, ever get away. Everything was so miserable and depressing at Dalton; the students literally beaten until they gave up and new kids not standing a chance against the longstanding strict regime that the Academy enforced. It made him think of the quote Joseph had tattooed on his arm after they attempted to stand up for themselves in science class: The new boys are tender, the old ones sadistic.

He wanted to stay awake in case Banks took Blaine back to the dormitory and Blaine needed help cleaning his wounds, but the silence in the room was so deafening that he forced himself to submit to sleep.

It was the silence that killed Kurt the most. Compared to McKinley and compared to being out in the real world where real conversation was permitted to take place, Dalton Academy just seemed so quiet and so lifeless…

He was currently sat in the grand dining hall at the designated table for dormitory thirteen, eating the cold, grey slop that was supposed to pass as breakfast, and it was so silent a pin could have been heard if one had dropped to the floor. The teachers and the mentors were of course allowed to talk amongst themselves and did so in mumbled undertones, in between eating their piping hot breakfasts cooked by whichever boys that had been assigned to kitchen duty that morning. Their tables were on a raised platform at the front of the hall; useful for all of them to cast an ever watchful eye over the students to make sure they were not doing anything they considered troublesome.

Kurt reluctantly forced another spoonful of slop down his throat and suppressed the urge to throw up. He had eaten what seemed like a thousand bowls of this stuff yet he still hadn't gotten used to the foul and bitter taste. It took everything inside of him not to gaze up to the staff table to watch them eat a decent meal with jealous longing. This was not an easy feat, especially as the glorious smells wafted down to the Dalton boys like unattainable gifts from the gods above.

Kurt had previously been able to fight the urges with somewhat ease because previously, dormitory thirteen had been seated at the back, away from the staff tables and he was therefore not close enough to drool over what he couldn't have. But with the absence of Wes, Joseph, and, since last night, Blaine, they had today been propelled to the front of the dining hall leaving dormitory seven, which looked like it had gained a new kid this morning, to sit at their old, bigger table.

He had awoken that morning and looked over to Blaine's bed, only to find it empty. And with Blaine not at breakfast and (after throwing a cautious glance to the staff tables as he entered the hall) finding Banks absent too, his heart had sank to his stomach. How could he and Blaine have been so utterly careless last night? For a teacher to catch students kissing? He had broken an unholy rule of Dalton. Even at the time, he knew it was wrong…

No He told himself fiercely. It is not wrong. Dalton is wrong.

Joseph hadn't been seen either, since he was dragged from the gym after their fight yesterday. Kurt couldn't have cared less.

But it was the disappearance of Wes that was troubling him the most. He hadn't been in attendance for any of yesterday's classes and Kurt could only think that he must be locked in solitary confinement. Blaine had whispered warnings to Kurt about the horror of solitary confinement; how sitting in that dark pit underground as thoughts of never making contact with another human being again was enough to drive a person into temporary insanity.

Having to go through his first session with the ring on Sunday had been bad enough so Kurt felt glad that he hadn't had to go through solitary confinement yet; it sounded like torture.

He forced himself not to focus on the fact his mind automatically thought that he hadn't had to go through it yet. When it came to Dalton's twisted ways, yet seemed to be around every corner.

After breakfast it was English, a class Kurt particularly hated thanks to the teacher, Bronson. Bronson referred to Kurt as ladyfag. He subjected Wes to blackfag, William to limpfag and alternated between various other insults for the others. Kurt wished he could inform Bronson of his own nickname for him - dumbuglycunt - but knew that that would only ever remain a wish. The classroom door suddenly opened, causing Kurt to snap out of his thoughts and look attentive. His composed demeanour faltered for a second though, when he saw Blaine stumble into the classroom thanks to a rough shove from Banks who had escorted him there, obviously finished with him. Banks nodded to Bronson in greeting and then shut the classroom door behind him. Blaine shuffled to his seat and even though every one of the boys in the classroom obediently stared straight ahead, all the attention in that room was focused on Blaine. He looked terrible - Banks had clearly done a real number on him. There was a dark blue bruise underlining his right eye and it had swelled up monstrously. There were faint lines of red down across his left cheek and his lips were swollen and bruised. He was walking with a noticeable limp and as Blaine took his seat at the desk in front of Kurt, he did so slowly and obviously with great pain, something which seemed to amuse Bronson.

Though Bronson was identical to the rest of the teachers at Dalton in many ways, it was one particular thing about him that stood him apart from them. Whilst the others had an air of self-importance about them, like they were in this position because they truly had a mission to complete, to 'cure' the boys who passed through Dalton, Bronson just gave off the air that he was a man that was really, really lucky to have this job. Because it seemed like he found everything the boys had to go through at Dalton rib-ticklingly hilarious. And the fact that he could join in with these punishments and get paid for it made it a dream role for him. The upside of this was that Bronson didn't beat them nowhere near as brutal as some of the other teachers could (who literally put their entire force in it to make sure the boys truly learnt their lesson) and he was never sexual in any way towards them.

"Would you rather me get a stool for you, faggot?" he smirked, in reference to Blaine's awkwardness at sitting in his seat. "Then turn it upside down so you can slide onto one of the legs like a bitch in heat to get yourself more comfortable?" He snorted in immature laughter at his own 'joke'.

Kurt wanted to clench his fists in anger but knew he couldn't in case the teacher spotted him doing it. So he sat there, impassively, with Bronson's laughter ringing in his ears and Blaine's pain emitting from his body and getting under Kurt's skin. The bubbling rush of rage simmering in the pit of Kurt's stomach at the injustice of it all belied the emotionless expression he wore on his face.

Blaine was more hardened by the end of the day, Kurt could tell. All of the boys in dormitory thirteen were undressing by their beds and getting into their nightclothes. Banks was standing at the door, making sure the boys didn't touch, look or even glance at each other as they did so. Banks, however, was watching them all very intently and it made Kurt sick, especially when Banks insisted William had mumbled something to Anthony even though he hadn't, and made him get fully dressed, then undress again, just so he could enjoy a repeat performance.

Blaine had a completely blank look on his face but despite this, like in English earlier when Kurt could literally feel Blaine's pain, he could now feel Blaine's fury radiating from his body in waves. And Blaine was wearing the same blank mask on his face as Kurt had earlier. Kurt wondered, and hoped, that they were all wearing masks but deep down, he knew that the majority of the Dalton boys had long since been ground into complete submission. Whether it was through beatings, fear, or psychological damage, Kurt wasn't sure, but the result was some of the boys reverted back to an almost childlike status. The ratio in his own dormitory wasn't bad as only Anthony seemed like he was not all there, like he was hiding in a dark, black corner somewhere in the back of his mind, only coming to the forefront when presented with a question or an instruction by a member of staff. But some of the boys from other dormitories were so haunted by everything they had been put through, they couldn't even physically speak any more.

Once William was done and in bed, Banks grunted - his way of saying goodnight, Kurt supposed - and slammed the door shut. Kurt could still feel the anger pouring out of Blaine's body and it was for this reason he did not attempt to whisper to him until after almost an hour had passed.

"Are you alright?" Kurt had whispered this so quietly but whispers always sounded loud in the dead of night. He could tell Blaine was still awake by the sound of his breathing.

Blaine hummed in the affirmative but it wasn't good enough for Kurt.

"Banks didn't hold back?"

"He never does." Blaine's answers were short and to the point and Kurt could tell that he wasn't in the mood for talking, so was going to let the conversation drop, but then through the darkness, Kurt saw Blaine prop himself up on one elbow to face him, a sick, bitter grimace on his face. "We're never getting out of here, you know."

"Don't say that," Kurt said quietly. He knew Blaine was hurting, but he couldn't afford for him to bring him down into his pit of depression right now. "We'll get out of here, Blaine. Somehow."

Blaine snorted derisively. "How, Kurt? How will we get out of here, huh? Do you think Principal Lowry is just going to escort us to the exit, lead us through security, let us out into the open world and cheeringly bid us adieu?"

And Kurt wanted to reply, but he didn't have an answer because really, he didn't let himself think about it that long. Sure, he longed to go home, and often slipped into fantasies or daydreams about being there, only to suffer with crushing disappointment as he realised he was in fact still in this Dalton reality nightmare, but all in all, he just tried to survive day by day rather than think about the future. He'd been here for a month or so now and although it seemed like a lifetime, he didn't really think it would last a lifetime. He'd be out soon enough. Wouldn't he? His dad wouldn't leave him here forever. Would he?

"I think you're wrong," Kurt said finally. He was careful to say this in an even but firm tone, as he knew Blaine was embittered over what he had gone through yet still wanted him to know that he wasn't going to tolerate his mood being dragged down to Blaine's level. This is what Dalton did to them and how the mood deteriorated so rapidly - last night it had been Blaine promising Kurt they'd be free of the school. "Even if we can't physically escape, our parents won't let us rot here," Kurt continued.

"Yeah right," Blaine spat. "Mine couldn't wait to get rid of me. And your dad willingly put you here just like all of the other parents willingly put us here, so yes, Kurt, they would let us rot here. They probably think we deserve it."

Kurt was silent for a while before he replied in a small, tight voice: "I haven't wrote him a letter in weeks."

During his first week at Dalton, Kurt had wrote three letters, all detailing how psychotic the place was and how miserable it made him and how he was begging to come home. The students were not allowed unsupervised with pens and paper, so was forced to write it in the library, under the prying eyes of mentors. Karofsky mostly supervised him and Kurt could tell he was dying to look over his shoulder to see what he was writing, but he kept his distance until Kurt sealed the letter in an envelope and then took it from him wordlessly. He had been anxious to receive a reply but when one didn't come after the first, second or third letter he sent, his heart sank. And when a reply didn't come in his second week after the fourth, fifth and sixth letters he sent, he was less sure he was going to get one back. When nothing came after the seventh and finally the eighth, Kurt gave up altogether.

Blaine sneered. "They don't send any of the letters we write. They probably keep them and read them and laugh at them amongst themselves."

"If they don't send them, and nobody has heard anything from us, then why hasn't anybody got in contact with us?" Kurt retaliated.

"How Kurt?" Blaine snapped. Again, all noise sounded loud at night, but Kurt winced at the sharpness in Blaine's voice and hoped that a member of staff wasn't on their way to the dormitory. "Are they trying to ring us on the cellphones we don't have? Or maybe sending us messages on our Facebook accounts that we don't have access to? They don't care about us."

Kurt shook his head. "My dad wouldn't stand for that. If he hadn't heard from me and couldn't get in contact with me, he wouldn't rest until he'd made it happen. No parent can say they truly love their child if they're prepared to let them waste away here."

An uncomfortable silence followed Kurt's implication before Blaine broke it by saying: "Your dad hasn't exactly broken down any doors to rescue you though, has he?"

Kurt didn't reply and knew the conversation was done, at least from his side of things. He also knew that whilst Blaine's words may have rang true and with a steely conviction, that the only reason Blaine was saying them was down to the own insecurities he felt with his own parents. Given late-night conversations they'd had in the past, Kurt had gathered that Blaine's relationship with his parents weren't anything like the one he had with his dad.

Still, after all the beatings and punishments he had endured at Dalton, Blaine's comment to him stung. A lot.

Kurt rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. His mind was racing and refusing to wind down and he knew that sleep was a long way away. Blaine's words kept buzzing in his head over and over, taunting and hurting him. Why hadn't his dad come for him?

"'Sup, homo?"

The tone of Lee Bartley was neutral, though Kurt knew that his intentions were dangerous. The 'homo' insult left his lips in a conversational tone, as though that was actually his name. Kurt wasn't sure which was worse - when the bullies forced venom and spite into the insults or when they used them casually like it had been said so many times that it was second nature to them to associate those terms with him.

Kurt didn't respond. Being in such close proximity to the three guys who were currently making each day at school a living hell was making his heart beat so hard it was threatening to burst from his chest. The silence seemed to anger Peter Finlay, who seized Kurt by the shoulder and shoved him backwards. Kurt stumbled but with great effort managed to stay upright. He tightened the grip on his satchel and forced himself not to look down or cower away, even though he wanted to, and stared straight at them.

"He's fuckin' talkin' to you, Hummel," Dane Kitcher snarled. "What? You think you're better than us, huh?" Another shove backwards. Given that they were near the gates of the school and it was the end of another school day, there were loads of people around but hardly any paid attention to the scene that was taking place around them. And those that did notice didn't seem bothered to what was going on, or at least were unwilling to get involved. Kurt wanted to scream in frustration.

Peter pushed him again and this time, Kurt fell squarely on his ass. Before he even realised what was happening, his satchel had been snatched away from him by one of the three guys - Kurt wasn't sure which - and then the contents of his bag were being tossed onto the concrete next to him. The guys laughter was cruel and mocking and Dane was providing a running commentary.

"Let's see, we have a cellphone - nice model homo, but I don't want to catch any fag germs so I won't steal it from you." The phone was thrown carelessly to the floor and it would be a miracle if the screen hadn't have cracked. "Moisturiser… fucking moisturiser! You are so gay, Hummel." Dane lobbed it at his head laughing. Kurt wanted to cry but was sure as hell not giving them the satisfaction of seeing him do so. He would hold it in until he got home. Because he was a survivor. He was strong. He had to be strong because if he showed weakness, they would have tortured him all the more. He was so much smaller than any of them and yet they had no qualms in a three-on-one situation. If he cared about any of them, he might have wondered if they were as strong as they made themselves out to be.

"Diet pills. My god, Hummel, what the fuck is wrong with you? You're already as skinny as a twig. I could snap your entire body in half without breaking a sweat." They weren't diet pills, they were various vitamins that fulfilled various purpose, but Kurt didn't bother to explain. Keeping his mouth shut was much easier than trying to argue back. There was a time when he always argued back, but he had been pushed and pushed until he did so no more.

The vitamins were flung to the ground and spilled out around him. Kurt felt like his life too was spilling out of control and he wasn't sure what, but something triggered off inside his head at that moment. It was like a light went off in his head, that he had to regain some control back over his own life, that he was tired of being pushed and poked and prodded into silent submission. Something inside of him suddenly snapped and as though he was having an out of body experience, he got to his feet slowly, stared at Dane wordlessly and then, with superhuman anger coursing through every single one of his veins and every stream of his blood, pushed Dane full on in the chest, causing the bigger guy to stumble back and fall onto his ass too.

He stood there, breathing heavily, and sort of not believing what he had just done.

"You fuckin' little shit," Dane snarled angrily, standing back up. "You are going to fuckin' PAY."

Survival instinct kicked in and Kurt shoved through Lee and Peter and started running like crazy, leaving his bag and the items from it on the floor. He could live without them. He couldn't live without his life. The sound of his military boots pounding the concrete as well as those of the three guys chasing after him caused more people to look up now and notice what was going on. Kurt could hardly see the faces of them as he passed them by in a blur, but did notice some people looking concerned or sympathetic. But they were not helping.

Kurt wanted to blame them, but couldn't. There had been a number of times in the past when he had slunk past some other guy getting beat up by these three, making it home safely and then thanking his lucky stars that they had been too busy with someone else to notice him that day, so it would have been unfair and hypocritical of him to be genuinely angry with those that didn't step in.

He charged out of the school gates and started running down the street, angry yells and threats from the three guys getting closer and closer. If it was an open field or he had space to run, he might have just been able to escape from them. Kurt was great at running. If he hadn't have been tortured so much in the locker room, he might have even stayed on the track team when he attempted to join earlier that year. But on the street, having to navigate through people and look out for traffic, he was slower than usual and dread shot through every inch of his body as he felt fingers curling on the back of his jacket, before he was bodily slammed into a thick tree trunk. His eyes blurred for a moment and he sank in big gulps of air having had it knocked out of him at the impact. When his eyes focused again, he was met with cars and buses speeding down the street behind the hulking figure of Dane in front of him, physically shaking with rage. Lee and Peter were hovering in the background, watching the event unfold, though they were throwing cautious glances to each other, maybe knowing that if Dane didn't keep his temper in check, he could end up doing some serious damage… maybe even permanent. And that wasn't cool with witnesses around.

"Fuckin' stupid bitch," Dane spat. "You wanna fight me? Huh?" The statement was concluded with a punch to Kurt's gut. The hit was so hard, Kurt automatically slumped in on himself, but Dane had other ideas and wrapped his fingers around Kurt's throat and used it as leverage to prop him back up ready for another go. He drove his fist again into Kurt's stomach and Kurt thought he was going to vomit. Would anybody stop this?

And then.

"HEY!" The voice rang loud, angry and disbelieving at what was going on. But instead of feeling relief, Kurt's heart sank even lower. That was his mom's voice.

From the corner of his eye, Kurt saw Lee and Peter walk off quickly, clearly not wanting to have anything to do with a potentially troublesome situation. Dane threw a glance in his mom's direction, who was slamming her car door shut and rushing over, his fingers still wrapped around Kurt's throat. As he saw her getting closer, he squeezed tight so that Kurt's air supply started to get cut off. Kurt didn't even have any strength to attempt to throw him off because the size difference was that great.

"GET OFF OF HIM!"

"It may be over this time, Hummel, but I'll get you back for this," Dane insisted warningly, in a low and dangerous voice. "I'll beat you into a fuckin' coma." He released the grip he had on Kurt and with one last steely gaze, turned on his heel and walked away. Kurt sank to a sitting position on the floor and hugged his knees.

"Oh my god, Kurt!" His mom was all over him, her hands cupping his face forcing him to turn his head to look at her so she could examine if any serious damage had been done. And Kurt wasn't sure what it was, because he was usually so good at keeping his emotions in check and his feelings bottled up, but today he couldn't keep up the facade. It might have been the fact that his mother, so kind, so warm and so trusting, was so shocked at seeing him in this state that it broke his heart, her familiar lovely scent out of place in the crushing black pit that was his school life. He felt shattered. He had always been fragile but now it was like he had been broken into a million little pieces and the floodgates just opened, and silent, shaming tears cascaded down his cheeks. And that was enough for Elizabeth Hummel to completely lose it.

Kurt could see the conflict in her eyes, of wanting to keep Kurt safe yet wanting to go after the guy who had reduced her boy to tears. Her angry side won. With a torn look, and a final squeeze of Kurt's shoulder, she whirled around to face the retreating figure of Dane.

"COME HERE!"

Dane turned around, smirked, and stuck his middle finger up at her, and then turned back in the direction he was walking without breaking his stride. Kurt shakily managed to get up, yet he leaned back against the tree trunk for support, unsure of whether his legs could support his own weight at that moment. His throat was sore and it scratched and burned as he called his mother to come back, but she didn't hear him.

"GET BACK HERE OR I WILL CALL THE POLICE!"

If the scene hadn't perked everybody's interest it certainly had now. At the mention of the police, the bystanders who hadn't done so already whipped out their phones and cameras recording what was unfolding in front of them. Elizabeth was running now, determined to make Dane pay for what he did. Kurt felt sick but pushed off against the tree trunk and went after her, pushing past the mindless drones filming the drama. He saw his mom grab a hold of Dane's shoulder and saw red when Dane brushed her off angrily, causing her to stumble back. It wasn't intentional, he could see that much even through his anger, it was just the sheer size of Dane that made her trip, but the act in itself looked aggressive and it pushed him to get to her faster.

She had a look of disbelief on her face at the disrespect Dane had just shown her and she watched him cross the street to begin the walk home. It looked like she was going to go after him, but Kurt had reached her now and forced her to turn to him by grabbing hold of her sleeve.

"What the hell, Kurt?" She was angry, humiliated, but most of all, hurt. And Kurt felt so ashamed at subjecting her to this. This was meant to be his own private hell; not something that she should have ever been witness to. Yes, it was hard and yes, he didn't want to go through it, but that was tough. But she shouldn't have had to go through it, and neither should his dad. This was his mountain to climb. The burden shouldn't have to fall to anybody else. "How long has this been going on for?" she demanded.

Kurt shook his head. "Mom, just leave it."

"No! Something needs to be done about this. That boy needs to know he can't treat people that way."

"Mom, please." He said this in quieter tones, horribly aware of the increasing amount of phones and gadgets faced in his direction to capture the moment that would no doubt be played back to him over and over again tomorrow at school. "Lets go home and talk about it," he added, trying to diffuse the situation and take it somewhere private.

Elizabeth shook her head angrily. "This stops. Right now." She wrenched her sleeve out of his grip and stepped out in between two parked cars. Dane had crossed over and was strolling along slowly, like he hadn't got a care in the world. The street was rammed as usual full of people leaving the school premises. Why was she even here? Kurt had vehemently and repeatedly enforced the rule that neither of his parents were ever to show up at the school gates - to avoid them being involved in a scene like this.

"Mom, I'm okay. Really!"

She spun around to face him. "You are not okay, Kurt! Look at the state of you!" She turned back round and shouted to the retreating figure of Dane, "YOU ARE A COWARD, YOUNG MAN!"

Dane could have pretended not to hear. Or could have refused not to retaliate. But had Dane done either of those things; he'd have been a different guy to what he was and therefore probably wouldn't have given Kurt the hard time he had done in the first place. But Dane, predictably, stopped in his tracks and faced them, from across the street.

"AND YOUR SON IS A FAGGOT, OLD WOMAN!" He shouted back in reply, mocking her.

Elizabeth reeled back like she had been slapped in the face. Kurt knew what it felt like. He had been called that word ever since he was little and way before he knew what it meant. And when he got older and first realised the term was an insulting and derogatory one, he still remembered the complete ice-cold shock at being called it, the heart-wrenching humiliation of being forced to stand there and take it, whilst others looked on and laughed or joined in. He supposed it might have been even worse for her, made to hear her son, her only child, being insulted like that. This is why he didn't want his parents here. They thought that the prank phone calls they received (the ones where he couldn't get to the phone first and then lie and say it was just some unwanted cold caller) and the furniture-nailed-to-the-roof debacle were just isolated incidents. They didn't know he went through this stuff every day and he didn't want them to know. Because now he had put that look of hurt on his mother's face and he felt completely shit and full of self-loathing because of it.

Elizabeth shook her head and walked into the road determinedly to confront Dane once and for all. There was a screeching of tires and a sound of a horn being blasted but all Kurt heard was the sound of his mom's body hitting the concrete. He stood there, paralysed, transfixed in appalled horror as a gathering crowd surged forward to witness the damage. A white static sort of noise filled his ears and infiltrated his head and the scene turned to grey, as though all the colours and brightness in the world faded as his mom's life did the same. He staggered over to her, silent tears running down his cheek and his hand clamped over his mouth as though he was going to be sick. He sank down onto his knees next to her body. Thick liquid that Kurt knew was blood despite the greyness was seeping out from underneath her skull, but even though her body was still, her eyes were flickering and that was enough to give Kurt a chance.

A woman - forty or so - pushed through and knelt down beside him.

"Don't touch her," she warned. Her voice sounded hazy and far away. "I've called an ambulance, they'll be here soon."

Now you want to fucking help? He thought bitterly. He wanted desperately to hold her hand, but knew the woman was right, he couldn't touch her, and so had to be content with just staring into her flickering eyes, praying, pleading that she would open her eyes and make it through this. He looked up to see if the ambulance was on its way. The amount of devices facing him and the accident was hurtful, especially as he always dreamed that one day he would be famous and the cameras would love him and so far in his life, right now seemed to be the most famous he had ever been.

Kurt rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling of the dormitory. He was uncomfortable, he always was when he thought of the day his mom died, and there was a tightness in his chest he could not get rid of. It was pain. Pain caused by the thought that Blaine might be right and that his dad wouldn't be rescuing him from this hellhole any time soon.

Hmm, not sure about this one. I was trying to spread the content out throughout the chapters but all the stuff here had to be included in this one to set up the future instalments, but I'm not sure If I'm pleased with the outcome. Blah. Hope you enjoyed it anyways : ) Hopefully the next chapter will be better (and come quicker) and if all goes to plan them I'm particularly looking forward to writing thirteen cos I've got some stuff planned :D

However. This is what I wrote on the authors notes at the end of the last chapter:

"I'm not sure what will be in the next chapter, so I won't do any teasers about what to expect in case it doesn't turn out the way I want it to. However, I'm like 90% sure that the Warblers will be in the next chapter."

Yet were they in this chapter? No. Lol. I am about about 99.999% sure they will be in the next chapter though… I think! Also, I think there will be one more flashback scene continuing on from what happened on that day in either the next chapter or the one after but I'm not sure yet. I'm still not sure how many chapters this story is going to have, but from chapter one to this chapter, the story has only spanned literally a couple of days (chapter one - Sunday, chapter eleven - Wednesday) and as the story started after Kurt had been at Dalton for a little longer than a month, he's been at Dalton for roughly five weeks, not even a full term yet. Eek. And he's been so ground down already.. (but not defeated by a long shot.)

Also, from a user on here, I've just discovered that the lead singer from one of my favourite bands (my username comes from the opening line from one of their songs) died around this time last year. I had no idea but :( RIP, love xxx

Johnny x