Two days later and Blaine is pacing the apartment. He had waited for Tyler to leave for class then quickly packed as many of his belongings as he could into two suitcases and pushed them to the front door. He looked at his reflection in the hall mirror. The bruises around his eyes were still dark but slowly turning purple, the cuts on his lips were scabbing over, and the gash on his temple was no longer bloody but very swollen. Blaine knew that Burt was going to take one look at him and want to hunt Tyler down but that was something he was going to have to chance because the alternative of staying in the situation was no longer an option. He needed out. And he needed out now.

The doorbell rang and after peering through the peep-hole Blaine opened the door to find a worried Burt. His worried face turned to shock and then anger.

"Blaine? What happened to your face? Who did this to you?"

"Burt, it doesn't matter. I just want to go home…"

"Blaine, who?"

"Please Burt.."

"BLAINE."

Tears swelled in Blaine's eyes. "I will tell you everything. Just please. Get me the hell out of here."

Burt realized that Blaine was just as broken emotionally as he was physically. He put his arm around him and pulled him out into the hall. "Come on then. Let's go."

Blaine let out a sigh of relief and grabbed his suitcases. He closed the door without even bothering to lock it then followed Burt out. Once he was belted into the passenger seat of the rental car Burt turned to him. "If my son were to see you like this he would break, Blaine. So you owe it to me to tell me the truth and start from the beginning. You talk. I drive." And with that Blaine began as Burt pulled out onto the street and toward the airport.

Santana tried to keep herself busy. Today she didn't have work to occupy her mind so she dedicated herself to scouring the whole apartment. Kurt hadn't been home for two nights and everything in her wanted to go to all the usual spots to drag him back home but she knew that in order for Kurt to truly hit rock bottom, to truly realize what was really happening to him he was going to have to make the next move on his own.

And that is what he did.

Santana didn't hear the door open behind her; she had her earbuds in blasting the Wicked soundtrack as she vacuumed the cushions of the sofa. Kurt dropped his keys and hung up his coat. He was wearing the same thing he had on when he had left two nights ago. His eyes were red-rimmed and his skin was paler than usual. His hair was mussed in all different directions and he had a thick coat of stubble. This was not the Kurt Hummel anyone was used to. Santana turned and screamed when she saw him standing in the doorway. "Jesus Kurt, you scared me," she said as she tugged the earbuds out and turned off the vacuum. He didn't answer and when she really looked at him she saw that he was shattered - more shattered than he had ever been.

"Oh honey," she said and wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. All he could do was let her hold him as he cried and cried and cried some more into her long dark hair. "Shhhh. I've got you. It's in the past now. It's nothing but up from here, okay?" She leaned back to grab his shoulders and look into his eyes. "Okay?" She said again.

Kurt nodded. "Okay. I just can't let Blaine see me like this. I decided that I don't really care who sees me anymore – even my dad but I just can't let Blaine see me. He'd be devastated."

"I know honey. That's why you're going to go back to Lima and we'll worry about Blaine only after you're better."

"Thank you Santana. I love you." And again he fell into her embrace and cried.

Blaine woke up in the guest room of the Hummel-Hudson home. It was the only home he knew so he felt comfortable there and not having the constant fear of being beat up whenever he turned a corner or said something wrong was a huge weight off his shoulders. But he knew he would have a lot to deal with now. It wouldn't be an easy fix. He was broken. He would have to claw his way back from the hole he was in until he found the confident and happy Blaine Anderson he knew was hiding within him somewhere. The thing is he didn't know how to do that – he didn't know if that Blaine was gone for good and he felt that the only way he'd be able to find him is with Kurt at his side. Kurt, the boy he fell in love with all those years ago. The boy he hadn't talked to for eight months. He wondered how he was doing in New York. Blaine wouldn't be the least bit surprised if he was top of his class, had a large circle of friends and already had professional offers being thrown at him. Blaine smiled at the thought.

"Breakfast," Burt bellowed up the stairs.

Ten minutes later and Blaine was seated at the table with Burt and Carole scooping two pancakes onto his plate. "Thank you Carole. It smells delicious."

"Oh, it's my pleasure, honey." Carole leaned over and patted his hand. "I'm really glad that you called us. It looks like you have been having a really hard time in Boston." She eyed his face with concern in her gaze.

"Yeah. It really has been a nightmare. I'm sure Burt told you the story." Blaine looked down, ashamed and proceeded to cut up his pancake. "I-I'm sorry that I've brought you into all this but really I have nowhere else to go. And to be honest, I feel safe here. Safer here than anywhere."

"We know that and we are just glad to help in any way we can," Burt said. "What do you want us to do? We can do medical stuff, legal stuff, or emotional stuff. If it were up to me I would find that son of a …" he paused as Carole put her hand on his. "It's not up to me though. You tell us what you need for us to do."

Blaine chewed quickly, "right now I just want to rest and heal and maybe in the next few days I'll decide a course of action. I hurt and I need to heal first and foremost – physically and emotionally."

Burt eyed him cautiously, "are you going to contact Kurt?"

"No." Blaine set his cutlery down and dabbed his sore lips with the napkin. "But, how is he?"

"I haven't heard, son."

Blaine lifted a brow. "Really?"

Burt sighed and got up to pour more coffee, trying to hide the tears in his eyes. "I haven't heard from him in in eight months."

"Eight months? Burt? You haven't called him?"

"Of course I have," he growled. "Of course I have called my son. But he hasn't answered and hasn't returned my calls or texts or emails. I take solace in that Santana is with him and she's been in contact with me. I guess, well… Blaine, he's not doing the greatest but I think he's ok. He just needs time."

Blaine's heart lurched painfully. Kurt wasn't okay. Kurt idolized his dad more than anyone and for him to not call him in eight months? Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Blaine got up and took his plate to the dishwasher. "I need to get my shit together because as soon as I'm able to I'm going to New York and getting to the bottom of it."

Both Burt and Carole looked at Blaine and smiled softly as they saw a glimpse of the Blaine they knew and loved.

An hour later, Blaine was alone in the house as both Burt and Carole had gone into work. He made himself comfortable on the couch with a cup of tea and started looked through photo albums of when Kurt was a little boy. His moist eyes gazed at little Kurt setting up tea parties, wearing little bowties, and dancing in a tutu. He shook his head at how silly and adorable he had been … and still was. He was roused from these happy images when he heard the key in the door, imagining that Burt or Carole forgot something. He placed the book aside and wandered into the hall to greet them but what he saw made him stop dead in the doorway. He took a step back as his hazel eyes grew to the size of saucers. Standing before him was the love of his life.

"Kurt…"