We Dreamed a Dream

by CminorAdagio

Blaine made a promise to Kurt all those years ago to always protect him; they made plans together, and they made dreams. But then everything changed. Six years later, as Carole Hudson drives to work, she makes a heartbreaking, yet fateful discovery which will change not only her life, but her family's lives forever.

7. Chapter 7

Apologies for the delay. Thank you to you wonderful people who reviewed, favourited and followed the last chapter and I shall incorporate your suggestions as much as I can into the strory. As requested by some of you, the second half of this chapter is the that of the last chapter, but from Blaine's pov. They are quite different. The first half is a little insight into Blaine's home life and perhaps, why Grace Anderson felt the need to commit suicide. Hope you like the chapter :)

Blaine was roused from his peaceful sleep by the terrifying but almost familiar sound of a car door slamming from outside. Following that sounded the distinctly slurred voice of his father as he stepped out of the taxi – not his car, which had inevitably been left at whatever bar at which he had drunk himself silly, that night. Blaine rubbed his still sleep-filled eyes and sat up in bed, the duvet still wrapped tightly around him, just as his mommy had left it when he dozed off earlier. Had it been any other sound that disturbed him, he might have just rolled over and fallen asleep again, but even at just four years-old, he still recalled many of the times in which his father had arrived home in a drunken state, meaner than ever, determined to hurt his mommy, and constantly making her cry. The worst part was that he never said or seemed sorry, even though Blaine distinctly remembered his mommy telling him that you should say 'sorry' and mean it if you hurt or upset someone.

Biting his lip and cowering under his blanket as he heard the frequently fumbled attempts of his father to insert his key into the front door lock, Blaine heard Mr Anderson utter a violent string of swear words including a threat that sounded like "bitch is going to pay for locking me out". After that he heard a series of quick footsteps on the stairs; ones he recognised as his mommy's, because as usual, they were hurrying away from her husband's violent nature. A few seconds later, the form of Grace Anderson slipped into his bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her. When she turned around again, Blaine saw that her face was a picture of absolute terror.

"Mommy?" he whispered softly, shifting in bed to get a better look; to check that she was alright.

Grace, who had seemingly been staring into space, almost paralysed with fear, looked over in the direction of the voice, and once she saw her little boy's vulnerable expression; his eyes wide with fear and concern, her own expression softened considerably, yet her chin jutted out slightly in determination.

"Hey baby boy," she greeted him in a hushed, soothing voice, despite the fact that Blaine could still see the terror in her hazel eyes, especially as his father's angry shouts could be heard from downstairs in the hall. "What are you doing up?" She approached him and ran a comforting hand through his dark curls; hair which was so like hers, it was often astonishing.

"Are you okay?" Blaine asked quietly, jumping in terror as the sound of Jonathan angrily smashing his plate of now cold dinner to the floor, resonated through the house from downstairs.

Grace, whose eyes had slowly been welling with tears, let out a watery chuckle at his thoughtful question, and gently lifted him into her arms, wincing as she balanced him on her hip, which Blaine knew was bruised after his father came home angry the night before. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, partly in an aim to comfort her and partly to adjust himself so that he wasn't placing so much weight on her injured hip. "I'm okay, baby." His Mommy replied, although she did not sound in the least bit okay.

"GRACE!" his father suddenly bellowed venomously from downstairs and this time, both of them jumped. "Get down here now, and explain to me why my dinner's cold! Are you trying to poison me?!" he demanded, his voice still clearly slurred.

Blaine watched as Grace bit her lip, trying not to release a full sob for fear of upsetting her four year-old son. But even Blaine knew that she was resigning herself to her fate, considering tucking him back in bed and then facing up to whatever pain Jonathan would put her through for that night, and he couldn't bear it. He had been on the receiving end of a few of his father's slaps, but he knew that his mommy had received much worse.

"Mommy," he pleaded, tears also beginning to form in his eyes, as he clung desperately to her, as if he could protect her by merely holing onto her. "Please don't go. Please don't let him hurt you."

Yet they both knew what happened if they disobeyed Jonathan Anderson. In public, he was the most charming, polite man, with a winning smile and a set of pearly white teeth; at home, he was a monster. Blaine could never understand what he had done to make his father hate him so much; what his mommy had done to make his father hurt her so often. They both heard Jonathan's angry roars from below; the throwing of various objects into the wall, and Blaine couldn't help but finally reveal how scared he was, burying his head into his mommy's neck. Grace took one look at her terrified little boy and made a split decision. She hurried hastily over to Blaine's walk-in closet and stumbled inside, lowering Blaine to the ground before shutting the doors behind them. Blaine did not even need to ask why she didn't lock the door; there was no lock. There were no locks on the inside of any doors in the house, except the front one; there was no privacy because Jonathan forbade it. He claimed it was so that Grace couldn't get up to any dirty little affairs, but Blaine often wondered if it was so that he and his mommy had nowhere to hide when something like this happened.

He tried not to cry as his mommy pushed him gently to the back of the closet, so that they both sat as far away from the door as possible, before wrapping her arms around him again tightly.

"What are we doing?" Blaine whispered as he buried his face into his mommy's baggy jumper.

There was a pause as they listened to the increasingly furious shouts of his father, audible even from inside the closet. "We're playing hide and seek, baby." Grace eventually replied, and even though it was pitch black inside the wardrobe, Blaine could feel his mommy shaking. Despite his own fear and tears, he wrapped his arms round her in a desperate attempt to comfort her; to do anything to make her happy. He couldn't remember the last time she had been truly happy, and he just wished he could make her so.

They heard slow, heavy footsteps on the stairs, and were both filled with an impending sense of dread. They heard his violent hurls of abuse, and Blaine knew his father was coming for them. They had hidden… they had disobeyed his orders and now Jonathan Anderson was truly angry. Blaine heard his mother's shaky breath speed up, and she hurriedly ripped some of his clothes from the hangers above them and frantically began to cover him.

"Mommy," Blaine sniffed, becoming truly scared now. "What are you doing?"

It appeared that Grace did not hear him because she didn't reply, gently placing one of Blaine's vest jumpers on top of his head, covering his face.

"Mommy, I can't see." He said, beginning to cry, not understanding what was going on. "Please stop it. What's going on?"

It was only when she heard his frantic pleas that his mommy stopped briefly, and kissed his forehead tenderly. "It's okay, baby." She assured him, even though they both knew that it wasn't as Jonathan's prowling feet came to a stop outside Blaine's bedroom door. "It's okay… it's a game, alright? This is a game."

Blaine couldn't possibly see how this was game when she was so upset, he was so scared, and when his father yelling expletives outside the door was obviously so angry, but he nodded anyway, feeling his mommy covering all traces of him with mountains of clothes.

"This is a game, sweetheart," Grace continued, even though they both knew she wasn't fooling anyone. "If your father looks inside here, I need you to keep absolutely still, and as quiet as a mouse, okay? If you don't then your father will find you and you lose the game, understand?"

"Yes." Blaine replied in a small voice, not understanding what was going on, but trusting his mother all the same, especially with the increasing urgency of his father hammering on Blaine's door, apparently in his drunken state no realising that there were no locks preventing him from just walking in.

"Good boy." His mommy whispered back, stopping as she was apparently satisfied that he was entirely covered up. "If your father makes me come out of here, then you're not to follow okay?"

"Mommy-" Blaine began to object.

"I'm serious, Blaine." Grace sniffed, though her voice had hardened to emphasise her point. "Promise me that you won't say anything, you won't follow me, and that you won't leave this closet okay?"

"But-"

"Promise me." Grace said in as stern a voice as she could manage, especially, with his father beating down the door.

Blaine didn't want to promise. He wanted to stop his father hurting his mommy, but he knew he couldn't. He knew he couldn't disobey his mommy either, and he was so, so scared. Eventually he squeezed his eyes shut, his chin trembling and stuttered, "I-I promise."

At that precise moment, Blaine's bedroom door slammed open as Jonathan must have finally remembered there wasn't a lock, and the room was filled with his booming, violent voice:

"Are you in here, you bitch?!" he demanded, and Blaine squeezed his eyes shut beneath his hiding place. "You know I don't like it when you hide from me! Just face up to what you've done, you pathetic wimp!"

Blaine held his breath as he listened to his father's footsteps travel around the room outside the closet.

"GET HERE NOW!" His father suddenly roared, and Blaine clenched his teeth to prevent a sob from escaping. His mommy wasn't quite so careful and she elicited a loud whimper. His father's raging stopped for an instant before loud footsteps travelled in their direction. A second later, Blaine heard the closet door swing open and small rays of light were cast into the darkened cupboard; he closed his eyes tightly, waiting for the rage to begin again. It came.

"YOU LITTLE BITCH!" Jonathan screamed, stomping forwards towards them and even from beneath the pile of clothes, under which Blaine was hiding, he heard his mommy release a small sob as his father dragged her out of the closet. Blaine supposed he should have felt glad that thanks to his mommy, his father did not see him, but he wasn't. Instead, he listened in distress as the closet door slammed shut, and his mother was shoved violently onto Blaine's wooden bedroom floor.

"WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING IN THERE?!" Mr Anderson's voice sounded clearly through the wood of the closet.

His mommy clearly didn't reply because she was now sobbing so much. Blaine began to cry silently into the vest jumper that had been placed carefully over his head. He wanted to do something, but he had promised not to. And he was still so scared. Why, oh why, did his father hate them so much?

"Answer me!" Jonathan roared. "You were hiding weren't you?!" Blaine heard the distinct sound of a slap resonate against his mommy's skin, issued by his father, their tormentor. "WEREN'T YOU?!"

"Y-y-yes." Blaine heard his mommy sob, and at her pain, he began to cry even more, yet still silently, just as Grace had instructed.

"And why were you hiding from me?" Mr Anderson demanded, as though it wasn't obvious. "WHY?!" he bellowed when his wife didn't reply instantly. "Was it because you let my dinner go cold? WELL?!"

"Y-yes J-John." Grace sobbed in return.

"Why are you so pathetic?" Jonathan spat aggressively. "Why can't you do anything right?"

"I don't know… I'm s-so s-s-sorry."

Blaine continued to cry despairingly quietly into his clothing, still unmoving, just as his mommy had instructed. He tried to hold his breath when his father screamed:

"WHERE'S THE LITTLE RUNT?!"

"H-He's a-at a s-s-sleepover." Blaine heard his mommy lie blatantly, and he felt suddenly sick. Was she going to get hurt because of him? He tried to summon the courage to move, but he couldn't.

"HE'S WHAT?!" His father exploded.

"He's at a s-s-sleepover at a f-friend's h-h-house." Grace continued hysterically.

"The fucking runt doesn't have any friends!" Jonathan slurred, and Blaine heard another punch be issued in his mommy's direction, followed by her desperate sobs and cries of pain. Blaine lost all ability to consider his promise to his mommy and he finally moved, slamming his hand to his mouth to stifle his sobs, some of the garments slipping off him in the process. Slowly, he clambered to his knees and crawled slowly towards the closet door, looking through the keyhole. As soon as he saw what was happening, he wished he had stayed underneath his safe haven of clothes. His mommy was lying sprawled on the floor, weeping into her arm whilst his father aimed consistent kicks at her abdomen and back, or anywhere he could reach in his drunken state. Blaine wanted it to stop. He wanted to cry out, but he couldn't. Instead he rammed his eyes shut and slid into the corner of the closet, crying silently.

"I-It's a f-friend from k-kindergarten." Grace sobbed, moaning in pain as Blaine heard his father's foot connect with some other part of her body.

"YOU BITCH!" Mr Anderson roared. "WHEN DID I GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO LET HIM GO ON A SLEEPOVER?!" His wife just continued to cry. "WHEN?"

"Y-You d-d-didn't."

"That's right I didn't, you cunt!" Blaine winced at the violence in his father's words. Why did this have to happen? Why was his father doing this? "Now the world and its wife are going to see his bruises." Sure enough, Blaine could still feel the bruises on his wrists and face from where his dad had staggered home, not drunk, but still angry, two nights ago. "And if they come calling at my door asking why they're there, then it's all your fault!" Jonathan's voice rose in a crescendo until he was roaring himself hoarse. "DO YOU WANT ME TO GO TO JAIL, IS THAT IT?"

"N-no John… of c-c-course not-"

"YOU DO, DON'T YOU?!" the eldest Anderson bellowed in fury. "AFTER EVERYTHING I'VE DONE FOR YOU AND YOUR PATHETIC KIDS-"

"O-Our k-kids." Grace interjected bravely, and screamed in agony as Jonathan released yet more kicks to her anatomy.

"HOW DARE YOU INTERUPT ME!" Mr Anderson raged. "HOW DARE YOU! THEY'RE YOUR KIDS! ONE WHO RUNS OUT AT THE FIRST OPPORTUNITY AND CUTS HIMSELF OFF AND THE OTHER… A FUCKING LITTLE, WIMPY MOMMY'S BOY!"

Blaine buried his face into his knees and slammed his hands over his ears, desperate for it all to stop. He knew that it was all his fault. His mommy was being hurt because she was protecting him, and because he didn't have to courage to get out of the closet and do something, she was in so much pain. Blaine wanted it to stop. He wanted it all to stop.

"Get on the bed!" His father suddenly aimed coldly at his mommy.

If it was possible Blaine clamped his hands over his ears even tighter as his mommy begged desperately, "Please… no… John… not now-"

"DO IT!"

"John, p-please… you're drunk-"

"DO IT!" Another slap resounded around the room, followed by scrapings along the wooden floor – the sound of Grace Anderson stumbling to her feet.

"P-please J-John... it's Blaine's b-bed... w-we can't… we can't d-do th-that here-"

Another slap echoed, and then, "DO IT! If you love me, do it! Show me that you love me!"

Blaine's breathing became heavy, like something was compressing his lungs, preventing him from receiving the amount of air required. His vision was becoming blurry, and his head was reeling; the world before him began to spin. The image of meticulously ironed clothes began to fall away, and the metal hangers swirled into the form of majestic oak tree branches, high above his head; the rumpled pile of clothes he had left behind on the floor converted into a large pile of fallen, orange and brown leaves. The sound of his mother's screams grew louder, and more eerie in his ears, before he realised that it was he who was screaming. And then he felt it: white hot agony ripping through his backside, like he was being torn apart. His father's rage turned into grunts and sneers from somewhere behind him, and Blaine reached round desperately to see what was going on, only to realise he was lying face down on some muddy ground with a large, devastatingly strong man whose face was covered by a balaclava, pushing himself roughly, deeper and more painfully inside Blaine with each second that passed. Blaine really couldn't breathe anymore, yet he screamed for all he was worth; screamed for help… someone… anyone to come.

"Shut the fuck up!" the man growled threateningly into his ear from behind before manoeuvring a hand between Blaine's legs and yanking his penis roughly. Blaine cried out again in utter agony, followed by a few more sobs of distress as his attacker thrust inside him in such a way that Blaine felt as though his entire lower half was on fire.

"S-Stop." Blaine begged hysterically, even though his brain could barely remember how to articulate words; he couldn't recall anything other than the notion of pain. "P-P-Please s-s-stop. H-Hurts… p-p-please."

However, his attacker paid him no heed. Instead, the hulking man laughed coldly and kept going, grunting with the force of his thrusts. Blaine's brain could only think of one word:

Help!

"Blaine? Blaine, wake up."

An angelic voice penetrated Blaine's desperate distress, and he began to wonder what the man inside him had done to him. Had he done something to make Blaine hallucinate? Was he dreaming, because there was no way he was ever going to hear that voice again; that beautiful voice… kind, and soft and gentle. Another jeer and push from his attacker brought him back and he released another sob.

He suddenly felt something soft and gentle caress his hand amongst all the pain, and Blaine tried desperately to look around and see what it was, only to be pulled back in place by his torturer.

"Blaine? Honey, it's okay. It's alright."

Blaine couldn't remember the last time he had felt alright. All he could feel was the constant agony; the one thought. Why was there so much pain in this world? Why couldn't he stop it?

"Blaine, honey?" Why, oh why, could he hear that voice? What was happening to him? Was he going insane? If he was, Blaine decided that he liked it. Slowly the pain and the images around him were dissolving into dust as he listened desperately and clung to his one lifeline: that voice. He felt something equally as gentle as that in his hand, caress his head and Blaine fought with every little bit of strength he had to cling to this comfort, because it made everything bad thing drift away. "Come on, Blaine." The soft voice came again, this time accompanied by a squeeze of the hand. After a moment's thought, Blaine realised what the feathery object in his hand was… another hand… squeezing his. "Wake up… just wake up and it'll be okay. You're safe… you're here now… with me."

And suddenly, everything landed with a resounding thump. He realised that he had been sleeping, but although he was no longer screaming, he still could not seem to stop crying. Slowly, everything came back to him as he heard the guzzles and frequent bleeps from the machinery around him. He remembered that he was in the hospital… again. He remembered everything from the moment he left his father to the… to the… the attack. And the worse part was that it had all been real. The nightmare had been real and there was nothing he could do to stop it, or erase it from ever happening.

"Blaine? Come on, that's it. Wake up… you're okay… you're alright." A familiar voice soothed.

Slowly, he opened his eyes a fraction and took in the white hospital walls yet again. He continued to cry as he realised that someone was there with him, watching him, judging him… hating him… waiting to hurt him, and he tried his best to turn away and hunch over so that the person couldn't see him or his tears. It would hurt less that way when the blows came. However, as he moved he felt excruciating agony erupt down his backside and the lower half of his body once more, which only served to make him remember what had happened yet again, and with it, brought more hysterical tears. He couldn't stop. Oh he desperately wanted to stop hurting... to stop feeling so… constantly broken, like he was staring up from the bottom of a deep, dark abyss, feeling… no… knowing that there was no way out.

"Sweetie, it's me," The voice uttered softly, stroking the back of his hand tenderly. "It's Kurt. Kurt Hummel. You're okay… you're safe now."

Suddenly, even through his despairing cries, the high-pitched voice struck a chord with Blaine. He knew that voice, and it was truly wonderful. The softness and comfort it provided was incredible; it gave Blaine a sense of hope… that maybe, just maybe, things could be okay. But surely… no, he couldn't be there, could he? And then Blaine recalled his encounter with Burt Hummel; he remembered the kind man's words… that Kurt was coming. Gradually, Blaine felt himself calm slightly, and he became aware of a warm, tender pressure on his right hand. Seconds passed as Blaine lowered his eyes to his right hand, and noted the familiar hand on top of his. It was soft and smooth, and the touch was soothingly feather-light – a deliberate attempt to comfort him, not to cause pain. He knew that touch, and that perfect, pale, almost porcelain skin tone.

Slowly, ever so slowly, allowing himself time to calm down, because he was now almost sure that this person beside him would never hurt him, Blaine raised his throbbing head inch by inch until his eyes met… his. He was beautiful. From his sparkling glasz eyes, to his now perfectly coiffed brunette hair, to the way his cheeks, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled back at him, the other boy had changed so much, yet strangely, almost hadn't changed at all. He was just as Blaine had imagined him to be at six years older. And he was perfect. Blaine could smell the older boy's lingering scent – like coconut and hairspray, and was suddenly overwhelmed with the feelings of safety and hope… and most of all, for the first time in six years, he felt like he was home. The person he loved more than anyone else in the world was there, and perhaps… it was going to be okay. He couldn't believe Kurt was there. Amongst his overwhelming emotions, Blaine struggled to find his voice until he released a half-whisper, half-sob:

"K-Kurt?"

"Hey, you." Kurt smiled, his voice light and full of warmth.

Blaine watched as the older boy's smile grew slightly, his face a picture of tenderness and recognition, and he wanted to release a sob of relief. Kurt wasn't repulsed by him, and what he had done… what had been done to him. He didn't seem angry or too distressed being there. Blaine resolved that now he just had to be brave, for once in his life, to make sure Kurt didn't become upset. He had to protect Kurt. "Are you okay?" the older boy was asking gently, his eyes watering, as if sensing some of what was going on in his mind.

Seeing Kurt's eyes slowly fill with tears hit Blaine like a ton of bricks. He had only just resolved to protect Kurt… to stop upsetting him, and already he had failed. He was a failure just as his father had always yelled at him. He had abandoned Kurt; left him to the bullies and the hurt, and now this incredible boy was asking Blaine if he was okay, even though he was clearly upset.

A sense of panic returned to Blaine; the initial calmness upon seeing Kurt again slowly ebbing away. He looked away in shame, doing his best to avoid eye contact with the other boy now for fear of hurting him even more. "S-S-Sorry… upsetting you." He mumbled sorrowfully, berating himself inwardly for not even being able to even formulate a proper coherent sentence. He was pathetic like his father said and he almost began to wish the other boy would leave him in disgust. Then he realised he hadn't answered Kurt's question, "Y-yes, thank you."

Blaine, who was still focusing his gaze on the bedclothes, heard a rustle from beside him, and his heart began to pound rapidly with renewed panic. Despite his despairing thoughts, Blaine realised that he didn't want Kurt to leave. He was torn between wanting to protect Kurt, and from the warm, inviting comfort Kurt provided him with, just by merely being there. Kurt was home. After everything that had happened, and after being so, so scared, he finally felt as if things could be okay with Kurt there. He looked up to try and communicate this to the older boy at the exact moment the rustling stopped, and Blaine found himself staring at a pure, perfectly pressed handkerchief in Kurt's hand. He watched numbly as Kurt reached forwards and with the cloth, gently wiped tears tracks from Blaine's face that the younger boy hadn't even noticed. He just allowed the comforting material to drift over his face, despite the initial wince he couldn't help but let out as the handkerchief came into contact with one of his bruises. After a few seconds, Kurt placed the square cloth onto the bedside drawer, and turned back to face him. "Now you look okay."

Kurt's words drifted into the forefront of Blaine's mind, and slowly, ever so slowly, he recognised the reference. He remembered a time when things perhaps weren't so bad; in fact, that day, in that moment, things had been wonderful. That day he had met Kurt, the most perfect, kind, gentle, brave person he had ever known. He recalled the incident involving the notebook of drawings, and the way in which Tanner Westwood's gang had surrounded Kurt in a threatening manner Blaine knew all too well. He remembered the joy he had felt at realising he had a best friend, followed by the good times they had shared together, all mixed together in one go. That moment in the playground when Blaine had offered Kurt his tissue had instigated a friendship that Blaine had carried with him in his heart through everything. He and Kurt had undergone all the tribulations of school, and life together; they had dreamed a dream of travelling to New York and becoming performers, together. And then Blaine had left Kurt. He had left him behind all by himself in Ohio, setting in motion a very different life for them both. Suddenly, Blaine couldn't stop constant memories from flashing through his head of the night he had run from his father… of the attack. He could feel the lingering pain in his backside; he was remorselessly reminded of the fact that he had lost his virginity in such a way, to a stranger… to a… rapist. He hadn't been ready, and he hadn't known much, if anything, about sex; he had heard it was supposed to feel good. But it hadn't. It had hurt… so, so much, and now Blaine just felt so dirty – no one would ever want him now. It occurred to him that perhaps this was his punishment for running from his father that night; from the situation that might have occurred. Perhaps it was his penance for… for being gay.

He looked up at Kurt, perfect Kurt, was alarmed to see that his eyes were filling with more tears, and feeling overwhelmed with guilt and despair, Blaine began to cry quietly again. Seconds later, he was slightly alarmed to find a pair of arms enveloping him warmly, before he realised who it was and more or less fell into the embrace. Despite feeling so guilty for upsetting Kurt, Blaine was drawn desperately to the comfort the older boy offered and had always provided. He nestled his head into the crook of Kurt's neck and ignoring the stabbing pain the needle elicited in his right hand when he moved it, he clung desperately to the back of the older boy's jacket, feeling as though Kurt was the only thing preventing him from shattering into a billion pieces. He suddenly felt so selfish and so weak, and couldn't stop himself from sobbing in further misery; probably dampening Kurt's noticeably designer jacket considerably. But the loyal older boy didn't say a word about it, perhaps because Blaine too could feel Kurt's tears against his hospital gown.

"I-I-I'm s-s-so s-sorry, K-Kurt." Blaine sobbed inconsolably into Kurt's shoulder, wishing he could stop crying; wishing he could be brave and comfort Kurt instead, but the younger boy felt as if he just couldn't control anything anymore, even his own tears.

"Sshh," Kurt shushed him softly and soothingly, just making Blaine feel even guiltier "Don't be sorry. You're hurting. You need to cry."

Blaine indeed felt as if he needed to cry, but he felt that if he listened to his body's demand to cry, then that would be all he ever did. And with his tears came Kurt's pain. He could see it. He had always seen it.

"I-I'm j-just upsetting y-you," he cried, gulping desperately for air in a bid to stop his tears, but his attempts were in vain. "I'm t-trying to s-stop, I really am, b-b-but I can't." He needed Kurt to understand that he couldn't stop; that he wasn't deliberately trying to be selfish. He couldn't bear to see the other boy hurting.

"It's okay." Kurt whispered gently, but his face was sad and full of pain. "It's okay." The older boy muttered over and over again like a soothing mantra.

Blaine so badly wanted it to be okay, because he truly didn't want to feel so broken anymore. And more importantly, he wanted Kurt's pain to stop. He wanted to express how genuinely sorry he was for abandoning him six years ago; let him know that he had tried to fight against his father as he was dragged from the Hummel household, but he just hadn't been strong enough.

"I-I-I'm s-s-sorry f-for leaving you o-on y-your own." He cried, burying deeper into Kurt's shoulder; not wanting to see the disappointment in the other boy's eyes.

"Don't be sorry, Blaine. Please, don't think it's your fault. It's not." Kurt's voice soothed him, and despite the older boy comfortingly telling him that he wasn't to blame – something Blaine had desperately craved to hear over the past six years, he couldn't help but wonder if Kurt was just saying these things to make him stop crying.

"I p-p-promised you I'd p-protect you… that I w-w-wouldn't leave you." Blaine fretted, all the guilt and shame of the past years flowing out in an endless stream of anguish.

"It's okay," Kurt hushed softly into Blaine's ear. "Really, it's okay. You don't need to protect me. It wasn't your fault." He sounded so convincing that Blaine so badly wanted it to be true.

"But I p-p-promised you… we s-said we would a-always b-b-be th-there for each other…" Blaine recalled that pact they had made one time behind the greenhouse at school, after the Tanner Westwood and his cronies had given Kurt a particularly hard time. It had been the week after Kurt's mom had died, and Kurt had been so miserable that Blaine had wanted nothing more than to protect the other boy from the rest of the horrors in the world; to make him happy again. Yet now here he was, bringing his own problems to Kurt's new and quite possibly, now happy life. "I f-f-failed you." He realised distraughtly.

"No." Kurt said firmly, pulling back briefly to look him in the eye, and Blaine almost recoiled in fear at the forceful venom in his response, and the impassioned look in the other boy's eyes. "No, you didn't. You've helped me more than you'll ever know, Blaine. And we're here for each other now. You're never going back to him – to your dad. You're safe now."

Blaine couldn't stop himself from sobbing again at the mere mention of his father, yet part him this time felt relieved. Kurt said he wasn't going back to his father. And he trusted Kurt, more than anyone in the world. He thought of the manic look in his father's eyes that terrible night all those months ago and seized up in complete fear, clinging desperately to Kurt for anchorage. All at once, he dared to hope that Kurt was right; that he was safe. For the first time in years, being in Kurt's arms… he truly felt safe. At the sheer overwhelming realisation, Blaine began to sob harder than ever, and he felt Kurt pull him back into the tight embrace with a devastated mutter of, "What has he done to you, Blaine? What has the world done to you?"

Blaine clung tighter to Kurt, burying his head into the older boy's shoulder, "I-I was so s-s-scared, K-Kurt." He finally felt safe enough to admit, closing his eyes tightly as he fought to block out memories of that night, and Kurt, if it was possible, held him even closer.

"I know." Kurt whispered to him sympathetically. "You don't have to be scared anymore. It's okay. You're safe."

Blaine forced himself not to listen to Kurt's comforting words, however tempting they were. He just knew that he was being extremely selfish, taking so much from Kurt when he had given so little to him. "I'm a b-b-bad p-person." He berated himself quietly into Kurt's shoulder, needing to say it out loud to make sure his brain kept remembering it. He recalled all of the times his father had told him this. He had said it so often to him, and with such venom, that Blaine decided it must be true… especially after what he had discovered upon leaving his father that night. The fact that Kurt was here, comforting him instead of living his life was clear proof of this.

Blaine had not meant for Kurt to actually hear his words, and jumped upon hearing the firm tone to the other boy's voice; he sounded almost angry. That made Blaine feel even worse; he didn't want to make Kurt angry, or upset. "No. No. You. Are. Not." Kurt argued with him. "You are such a good person, Blaine. You're probably the best person I know. You were five years old when you stood up for me in that playground at recess… against a thirteen year old bully who was over half your size… and you didn't have to do that-"

Blaine couldn't even contemplate Kurt's words. Of course it had been something he had to do. Kurt could have ended up getting hurt; he was already crying when the bullies tossed his precious notebook from person to person. Even at five years-old, without any knowledge of Kurt Hummel at all, he hated to see the other boy so upset. And Blaine had witnessed and experienced bullying first hand at home; he knew what Tanner Westwood and his gang had been doing was cruel, unjust and inhumane. "It was the r-r-right th-thing to d-do." Blaine sniffed, not seeing at all how that supposedly made him a good person. He just did what any person would or should have done in that situation.

"You see?" Kurt was berating him lightly, moving one hand up and down his back soothingly, and Blaine so badly wanted to lean into the touch; to just accept the temptingly reassuring words as true. But he could not. "You see, Blaine? You have such… goodness in you, despite what this awful world's given you."

Blaine couldn't allow these words to be said of him any longer. He did not deserve their content, thoughtfulness or dedications to him, because deep down, he knew they weren't true. Kurt was just, as always, seeing the best in people. He looked at Kurt and saw the image of perfection: kind, compassionate, decent, beautiful, and with such morals that he knew he could never compete with him. He did not deserve Kurt; he wasn't good enough, and he knew it. Blaine shook his head desperately in a bid to shut out Kurt's insistent, though well-meaning untruths.

"Yes, Blaine," Kurt disputed so loudly that Blaine almost leapt out of his skin. "You are a good person." Unable to prevent his automatic responses, Blaine shrank back in fear. He really hadn't meant to make Kurt frustrated with him, yet as always, his actions were useless… he was useless.

"Y-Y-You're the g-good p-person, Kurt." He stammered honestly, trying, without to success to get his breathing back on an even keel. "If I'm any g-g-good at a-all it's b-b-because of y-you. Y-You're k-kind a-and f-f-funny and b-brave and-"

"You're brave, Blaine." Kurt interrupted him. It felt so good to have someone, especially Kurt believing in him, but it was wrong to accept this praise. He wasn't brave. He was anything but. "For heaven's sake, you're the bravest person I've ever known. To have gone what you have-"

Something in Blaine snapped as Kurt continued to try to reason with him. He could not and would not lead Kurt along any longer. He felt so comforted by the older boy's words, but he knew Kurt would be ashamed of him when he confessed the truth. Kurt had always believed in him, and relied on him to be the strong one… the brave one, when they were younger. Would he want him anymore when he discovered that Blaine was a coward; when he realised that Blaine had disrupted his new, perfect life? He sincerely doubted it. Sobbing, Blaine ripped himself from Kurt's tight embrace and screamed wretchedly to be heard:

"I'm not b-b-brave, K-K-Kurt. You n-n-never ran from your b-bullies. I r-ran, Kurt. My… my d-d-dad… he… he…" Petrifying images of that terrible night flashed before his eyes, and Blaine screwed his eyes tight shut in a bid to squeeze them out. It wasn't working. He saw his father's manic face as he threw him against the wall and held him in a deadly grip by the neck; he recalled the lack of air to his windpipe and the almost peaceful thoughts that finally he was going to die. He could still see in his minds eye the half-naked woman just standing a mere few metres away, in shock, but doing nothing to help. Blaine felt the weight of his father's hissed words adding to his already very painful, physical injuries. "I ran b-because my d-d-dad… he…" He tried so desperately to recount all this to Kurt, the one in whom he had always confided, but this time, he couldn't find the words. He did not want to say it out loud because then it became so very real. Finally, at long last, he gave up his straining attempts, just as Kurt drew him back into his arms, and Blaine sagged tearfully against him, spent: "I ran, Kurt."

"That's okay," Kurt kept reassuring him softly "Blaine, it's okay. You were scared. I can't even begin to imagine what you've been through."

Blaine didn't want Kurt to imagine what he had experienced. He wanted to protect him forever. Yet selfishly he had come to Lima to seek out Kurt, because he needed him, and because he loved him... but that didn't matter. Kurt mattered, and he had just invaded Kurt's life. He closed his eyes in shame, burying his head once again into the crook of Kurt's neck. "I-I-I ran a-a-and all I c-c-could think about w-w-was you." He tried to justify; again, he felt the need to explain himself and his actions. "I knew you w-would h-have a l-l-life… without me… I knew it… and s-s-still I ran to y-y-you… disrupting y-y-your l-l-life… making y-y-you come all the w-way here… I'm s-so sorry." he apologised desperately, trying to formulate a plan as to where he could go after he left the hospital. He couldn't put his burdens on Kurt and his family, regardless of Burt's generous offer to let him stay with them.

He felt Kurt squeeze him tightly before the older boy chastised him, "Don't you dare be sorry for coming back, Blaine Anderson." Blaine began to shake with the weight of everything upon him. "Don't you dare. For six years I waited for you to come back... every day, I waited. And now you're here, I don't think I've ever been so… miserable…" For a split second, Blaine felt crushed. "but so happy at the same time. I hate what Jonathan's done to you… what that… that man this morning did to you… but I am just so, so happy you're home. So don't even think that you're 'disrupting' my life. You're part of my life."

Blaine listened to Kurt's impassioned speech with tears continuing to trickle down his cheeks. He was so confused, and so scared, but he knew that he was so lucky to have Kurt supporting him. He couldn't help but feel relieved that Kurt wanted him in his life; as part of his life. Kurt even referred to his return to Lima as being 'home'. Kurt truly was his home, and although life was far from good at the moment, he decided that with Kurt there, just maybe, he could pull through. With supreme effort, Blaine raised his right arm and wrapped it tightly around Kurt's back, needing to convey how he felt. "I love you, Kurt." He admitted in a whisper, his voice now sore from his constant tears.

He felt Kurt smile against his sore head and squeeze him tightly in return, "Love you too. You're my best friend… always will be. We're Kurt and Blaine… best friends forever."

Blaine knew he should have felt glad that Kurt still considered them best friends. In fact, it was more than he could ever have hoped for, and he knew he was being so selfish. Yet he couldn't help but experience a sensation of sadness… heartbreak. Kurt loved Blaine in a very different way than he loved Kurt. But then again, why should he expect more? He didn't have the right. He was a bad person, and he was being irrational. He had been absent from Kurt's life for six years. He shouldn't even deserve friendship. And now, after that morning, Blaine wasn't even sure he could ever be in a relationship… with anyone. It hurt so much. Blaine buried his head into Kurt's shoulder, feeling so confused, but glad of the safeness Kurt made him feel. They sat in silence, and Blaine felt his breathing slowly calm, the crying dying down with it.

"I missed you so much." He confessed, quite surprised by the level of calmness he now felt, just by sitting there with Kurt.

"I missed you too." Kurt replied instantly, smiling and him gently, pulling back out of the embrace, but still holding Blaine's forearms, and Blaine was glad of the remaining comforting contact.

Their eyes met and Blaine felt almost breathless by the beauty of Kurt's eyes, which tentatively changed colour according to the positions he took up in the chair by the bed. The other boy was utterly beautiful. The man who ultimately married Kurt would be very lucky indeed. If Blaine hadn't been feeling so completely depressed and full of despair, he might have smiled. He tried to, but could only manage the slightest upturn of the mouth. He didn't feel as if he could ever smile again.

"Please don't go." He begged softly, feeling so selfish, yet so much better with Kurt there. Kurt was his still his best friend and his presence made him stop thinking, even if only for a few moments, about all the horrors that had occurred… that morning, and before.

"I won't." Kurt promised, still smiling so softly, wrapping Blaine's right hand in both of his, and Blaine almost felt like he could relax. "I'm not going anywhere."

Yes, angsty chapter. After everything that's happened to him, Blaine's in pain and is very frightened and confused; he doesn't think he deserves kindness, but he can't help feeling something for Kurt (he always has), regardless of the fact that they haven't seen each other in six years. And the story goes on! At this rate, this story is going to be very long - hope people don't mind! If people have any suggestions for upcoming chapters, let me know. Next up: some TLC from Kurt and his family, and preparations for welcoming Blaine into the Anderson home (probably). Please review, favourite and follow. They are very much appreciated.