Blaine's feet found the floor and before he could even comprehend what was happening he was racing to the bathroom, spewing up the contents of his stomach into the (thankfully open) toilet bowl. As he retched and heaved, the sound reached his mother and her sleepy form appeared at the doorframe.

"Blaine," she said wearily, her eyes wide and fearful as she crossed the space, kneeling beside him. "What's going on, darling?"

Blaine answered with another wretch, leaning back over the basin.

Mrs Anderson sighed sadly, stroking his hair through it. When he was finally done, he slowly leant back on his knees, grabbing onto the counter for support as he stood, his knees trembling under him.

"Sorry," he muttered. Mrs Anderson silently filled up a cup of water, handing it to him. He rinsed his mouth out the best he could before re-filling the cup and drinking it down.

"I think we need to talk," Mrs Anderson said gently. "I'll make breakfast."

Piling blueberry pancakes on his plate, Mrs Anderson sat opposite her son. As he cut out a generous fork full, piling food into his mouth enthusiastically, she took advantage of his occupation to truly look at him.

Things hadn't been easy for Mrs Anderson over the years. When her son came out, all she wanted was for her beautiful, only son to have the best of everything. Initially, when he came out she blamed herself. She wondered if she had done something wrong.

It took her a while to see that there had never been anything wrong.

They had made a problem out of nothing.

And ultimately, it had led to her husband leaving.

Her biggest regret was not supporting her son from day one. Things had grown strained in the household and it had taken a while for Blaine to feel comfortable enough with them again to even confide in them about the bullying he had endured.

Things only got worse.

Anonymous phone calls, physical abuse to her son, verbal abuse against all of them and vandalism were only some of the hardships they endured in that first year.

And then he husband left, taking a large part of both of them with him. She told her friends he was a scoundrel that he didn't deserve either of them.

But she didn't believe that for a second.

Heartbroken, and scared for her son, she tried to move on, tried to support Blaine the best she could, working two jobs, always making sure he continued with his studies and his piano, although he gave up football, polo and fencing (he claimed it was for academic purposes, but she knew better now).

She hadn't seen it coming.

The calls into the principal's office, claiming Blaine had been fighting of all things.

It was ridiculous. Blaine couldn't hurt a fly, she had said.

But then she saw the bandages across his knuckles, heard him sneaking out on his motorbike when he thought she was sleeping.

She found him practicing boxing in the garage.

They had fought about it. She cried, he screamed and both of their voices gave out.

"I stood up for you, Blaine!"

"Not when it fucking counted – not when I needed you."

That Monday was the last time she was ever called into the principal's office.

"We request that Blaine transfer schools. Immediately."

The principal gave them the flyer for Dalton Reform Academy for Boys and Mrs Anderson made up her mind almost instantly. That night he was enrolled and he packed through the night, leaving for the school on his motorbike the next morning.

And like her husband, he hadn't said goodbye.

"These are really good, mom," Blaine said, swallowing a generous gulp of orange juice. Mrs Anderson gave him a small smile, taking a bite of her own serving.

He was starving, Mrs Anderson noticed. A quick sign that he had been drinking the night before.

She knew him well enough to know the signs.

This was a side of Blaine she hadn't seen in a while. It used to be a common occurrence to find Blaine retching in the bathroom, shoving down hot food when he was done and returning to bed for the rest of the day, sleeping it off before getting up at some late hour of the night and sneaking out on his bike.

She had seen it all.

She hadn't noticed the day it stopped. But for a while, it had, and she had never been more grateful. She knew the reason of course. The blue eyed reason who looked at Blaine like he was an angel and liked to say they were 'just good friends'. Blaine would counter that they were best friends, and Mrs Anderson would smile because they both had giant hearts in their eyes and still remained adorably oblivious.

"So you were drinking last night," Mrs Anderson ventured conversationally.

Blaine swallowed his mouthful slowly, contemplating how best to answer.

Mrs Anderson gave a weak laugh. "That wasn't a question, Blaine. I know you were."

"Okay," Blaine said finally, looking a little confused.

"I just want to know why," Mrs Anderson said lightly. "You haven't been out in a while."

"I felt like it," Blaine said, shrugging and Mrs Anderson felt a stab of nostalgia unable to ignore the comparison from present Blaine sitting in front of her to fifteen year old Blaine after his father left and all of this started, with all his walls and barriers up.

"Well I'm glad you had fun," Mrs Anderson quipped.

"Was that sarcasm?" Blaine asked, amused smile tugging at his lips. Mrs Anderson couldn't hide a smile of her own. Her son reminded her far too much of her husband sometimes.

He also knew her too well.

"Reverse psychology, actually," Mrs Anderson corrected. Blaine let out a short laugh. "Did it work?"

Blaine's mouth twitched and all of a sudden the illusion to her old son vanished. Fifteen year old Blaine would have batted off her comment in an instant.

"Nope. But I have a paper to write. Could we talk at dinner?"

But they never did.

And this time, for the first time, it looked like Blaine was actually going to cave. After all these years he was going to let his mother in.

She had been waiting.

"I was…" Blaine hesitated, "I got into a fight… with one of Kurt's friends."

Mrs Anderson felt disapproval turn in her stomach but she held off any reprimands. That would instantly send Blaine running and she had only just got him talking.

"It wasn't my fault," Blaine defended himself. "He provoked me."

"It wasn't my fault, mom. He provoked me. He called me a-"

"He insulted dad."

Mrs Anderson's heart caught in her throat.

"He called him 'good for nothing' and then said I would end up like him. So I pushed him up against a wall and threatened to kill him," Blaine said lowly, not quite meeting his mother's eyes. "And Kurt walked in and broke it up. And then he had his grad dinner and I skipped it."

Mrs Anderson sighed. "Oh, Blaine…" she frowned sadly.

"That's not the worst part," Blaine said quietly, his voice breaking a little. "I-I was so mad at myself that I wanted to drink… to forget. And I met a guy…"

Mrs Anderson winced, pulling her face in her hands. "Blaine, honey, please tell me you didn't…"

"Mom," Blaine sobbed and Mrs Anderson looked up with a start to see her son fall apart. His face crumbled and tears leaked out his beautiful eyes, so very like his father's that her heart broke.

"I'm so tired, Carmelia."

"I'm so tired, mom," Blaine wept, his chest heaving with desperate sobs. Mrs Anderson rose and walked around the table, pulling Blaine up and guiding him into the living room. She sat him down on the couch and kissed his forehead, crossing the room and opening the lid of the piano, ignoring Blaine's surprised gasp behind her. Nobody had touched that piano in a long time.

Her fingers tapped carefully across the keys. She played the tune from memory. She had played this song for Blaine many times before, when he was a little boy. It had been his favourite lullaby.

"If you're tired darling," she cooed, "you should go to sleep."

Blaine's eyes widened in surprise as he recognised the hauntingly beautiful little tune.

There is a castle on a cloud

I like to go there in my sleep

Aren't any floors for me to sweep

Not in my castle on a cloud

Slowly, Blaine's eyes fluttered shut. Mrs Anderson exhaled happily as his breathing evened out and he snored just ever so lightly. She giggled a little, closing the piano case and crossing the room, brushing the curls off her little boy's face.

"Carmelia," he muttered through his sleep, turning restlessly.

"Mom."

"It's okay, honey," Mrs Anderson replied, her voice wavering lightly. "It's all going to be okay."

When Blaine woke up his head felt clearer and he felt lighter somehow. Like a weight had been lifted.

It had felt good confiding in his mom like that. He found a note on the table from her telling him that she had gone out for work that night but would be home in the morning.

The last sentence broke his heart.

Please, take care of yourself.

So much of him just wanted to grab his bike and hit Scandals again, drink down the memory of the past night. It would the easiest option; ignoring it.

But he knew that wasn't right and it wasn't fair to anybody. Not to his mom, not to Kurt – and not to him.

"You can deny it all you want, Blaine Anderson," Kurt continued seriously, "but deep inside of you there is a boy, a boy who has been hurt and no matter how much you try to supress him with fighting and cigarettes and alcohol," Blaine's eyes shifted uncomfortably but Kurt reached for his hand, turning his gaze back on him, "he is going to keep hurting until you try and help him." He took a deep breath, giving Blaine a moment to digest this before continuing in a softer voice. "You can do better than this, Blaine… it's not too late."

Those words, spoken so long ago, yet still so fresh in his memory, echoed at the forefront of his mind. Those had been those words he had been longing to hear his whole life.

You can do better than this.

Kurt had believed in him then. It could be too late now.

But Blaine had to try.

Pouring himself through his bedroom door, Kurt dumped his bags against the wall and slumped against his mattress with relief. Shopping always took it out of him…

It had been the perfect distraction. He and Rachel had gone shopping for things to take to New York and Kurt was filled with nervous excitement at the prospect. For someone with such bad clothing choices she had considerable taste for home décor design, although with their sparing budgets, they were despairingly limited.

He hadn't thought about Blaine all day.

It had been easy to forget about everything under the spell of pastel colours and soft rugs, but now that he was alone all his thoughts came flooding back and his stomach turned with worry. The same questions ran through his mind. What had happened with Sam? Where had he gone last night? Why hadn't he called…?

Speak of the devil.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he retrieved it, his heart stuttering at the sight of Blaine's icon. Without a moment of hesitation he opened the new message, not sure what to think as he read its contents.

We need to talk, the message read, meet me at the Lima Bean at 8?

Kurt groaned, tossing his phone across his bed in annoyance. He really wasn't in the mood to be a grown up today, no matter how hard the world persisted.

But still, he pulled himself off the bed and opened his wardrobe, flicking through his shirts.

He needed to get ready.