Bit of a filler chapter, but I hope you like it anyway, because it took me a while to write. Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows and favourites. They really mean a lot and are very encouraging to keep going. Thank you emsylou1110 for your contribution as a nurse (this is not my profession so the information was very much appreciated), and fenomena, during this chapter, I tried to cut up the text as much as possible to make it a little easier to read :) But really, thank you to all of you who reviewed! Please read and review xx

It was dark. He would have been sitting in pitch black had the small crack underneath the closet door not allowed the slightest smidgeon of straw coloured light through. But Blaine liked it that way. He was curled up with his knees drawn tightly to his chest, his arms clinging to the array of coats which seemingly smothered him to his neck, yet provided a better barrier from the outside than he had felt in the last week. An awful, but familiar sniff and a forcefully croaky voice grew gradually more audible as the person he feared most in the world neared the closet. Blaine was now well-attuned to such situations; his mommy had taught him well, and he hastily tossed the hood of a fur coat over his head as the door opened a crack, only for two more heavy mackintoshes to be thrown unceremoniously inside; both landed painfully on top of Blaine, but he did not dare make a sound. He did not want to be found. He did not think he ever wanted to be found. He wished he could just stay huddled up in the mound of coats forever until his mommy came back for him. Blaine caught a snippet of the conversation his father was having with the latest guests; presumably the ones whose coats had just been carelessly tossed inside the coat closet, on top of his head:

"It's hard," he heard his father sniff, his vocal tone grave and sad. "I just… I don't know how I'm going to cope without her… and Blaine… the precious boy keeps asking where his mommy is and… I… we'll get through it though… thank you for asking… you're very kind." The man simpered as he slammed the door closed again. Some clearly sympathetic voices followed, but their words were incoherent to Blaine's ears.

Blaine did not understand. Before this morning, his father had not even seemed to care that Grace was gone. Blaine also couldn't understand why the ambulance had come to take his mommy away last week; she had only been sleeping. Blaine had seen that she was tired, and he had asked her what was wrong, but she had merely answered that she loved him so very much, and that she was so very sorry she couldn't be with him but she needed it all to stop. She needed to sleep. Blaine had of course, understood that she couldn't play with him that day; that she needed to get some sleep so that she wouldn't be as sad as she was that morning. However, he just didn't understand why that meant she had to go to the hospital. He had watched as the people in green uniforms held his mommy's wrist whist shaking their heads to one another before consequently covering her face with a blanket. Blaine had frowned, trying to tell them that she wouldn't be able to breathe properly in her sleep if they did that, but they had simply pulled him from the room. At the hospital, his father talked to the doctors, and he had visibly cried great fat tears; Blaine hadn't ever seen his father cry. Most of his memories of Jonathan Anderson displayed an angry face, and sharp, shooting pains as he was hit, or screams from his mommy. A while later, his father had led him gently down the hallway; it was only once they were standing in the elevator that the grip on his shoulder became agonising, and his father had hissed: 'precious mommy isn't coming back… and it's all your fault'. That night Blaine experienced more pain than he ever had; his arms, bottom, head and chest had hurt and hurt after repeated thumps… throughout he had sobbed that he just wanted his mommy. His father had in turn laughed cruelly and retorted emphatically that she wasn't coming back.

He didn't want to believe the man who had hit him at least five times each day that week… but his mommy still hadn't returned. Blaine had thought of everything. Perhaps she had gone on holiday until she felt better. Or maybe… maybe his father was right. Maybe it was his fault that she had gone… had he driven her away? Had he been bad… demanded too much from her? He missed her every day, with every fibre of his being, but his father didn't seem to. Jonathan had invited women Blaine had never seen before over to the house more or less every night, locking Blaine in his bedroom without dinner whilst the four-year-old listened to the bed springs in the room next to his go wild, and voices crescendo from grunts to loud screams. Blaine didn't understand. He didn't know what was going on.

Today had been even more confusing. He had accompanied his father to his mommy's funeral, the man growling at him beforehand to stay quiet and not say anything about the past week, or he would be sorry. So Blaine had obediently kept silent all the way through the service, even though he didn't understand why a party in honour of his mommy seemed so sombre and most importantly, why Grace wouldn't come back to enjoy it – not that anyone else seemed to be enjoying it. He had watched as a wooden box with his mommy's name engraved beautifully into it, was lowered down into a rectangular pit, and then everyone had returned to the house for something entitled a 'wake'. Blaine so desperately wanted to ask someone, anyone where his mommy was… if they knew where she had gone, or why she had left them… but he couldn't. His father would be so angry if he spoke; every time he had turned his head, his father had been there watching him, his cold, merciless grey eyes trained upon him, daring him to be disobedient. So his first instinct had been to run, blindly bumping into guests he had never seen before, some of them asking him how he was, but he couldn't speak. He couldn't. His father would know. Eventually, feeling tears welling up in his eyes, his breath growing panicky, he had sought solace in the first place he had cast eyes on: the coat closet by the front door.

It was an ideal hiding place. The light in the closet didn't work, and with his father constantly tossing coats into the cupboard, he was perfectly concealed from prying eyes. It was then Blaine had let himself cry… silently, so that no one would hear him outside, especially his father as the man frequently answered the door to more guests. Now he had cried himself out for the day, and he closed his eyes as the closet door slammed shut again; he considered the punishment he would inevitably receive from his father tonight and he whimpered quietly. What did he and his mommy do wrong? Why did his father hate him so much? He tried to be good. He tried so, so hard.

Blaine breathed in the heavily perfumed stench of the fur hood over his head and coughed. He clapped a hand over his mouth immediately to smother the sound, before removing the item of clothing from his face. He felt suffocated by rich furs and mackintoshes – undoubtedly belonging to colleagues and acquaintances of Jonathan Anderson's. Yet simultaneously, they provided temporary protection from the monster outside.

The distinct sound of a rapping on the door sounded, and Blaine could hear his father's heavy footsteps echo along the wooden floorboards before the door was opened.

"Thanks for comi – oh – " his father's voice stopped dead, before it took on a cooler, almost cold tone. "Elizabeth."

"Jonathan." A woman's voice sounded curtly, albeit muffled, but Blaine could still recognise it and he felt his heart leap just slightly. Elizabeth was that lovely woman from next door who had visited his mommy for coffee every week or so, depending on when Jonathan was out. Blaine knew that he liked Elizabeth; she had been really nice to him, and also, he realised that since she and his mommy were friends, she might know where Grace had gone.

"I… wasn't expecting you." His father said smoothly.

"Clearly. I wasn't invited to the funeral or this… little get-together" Blaine was only four-years-old but even he knew that Jonathan and Elizabeth did not really like each other.

"Well I-"

"But she was my friend Jonathan, and I'm here to pay my respects to her regardless, just as everyone in this room is doing, although I'm convinced that most of them didn't know her half as well as I did."

Blaine swore he heard his father growl, and he buried his face back into the fur hood, despite the heavily perfumed aroma.

"Fine." He heard his father snap, although Blaine knew perfectly well that all was not 'fine', but because there were so many people there who could witness his true character, he couldn't express his true feelings on the subject. His father wasn't happy, and Blaine would inevitably suffer for the man's anger tonight – on top of his own punishment. His chin trembled at the thought. "Fine." The man enunciated again, before turning and stomping back into the house, but he completely passed the closet, much to Blaine's relief. "If you knew her and this house so well, I assume you can find your own way inside and navigate your coat into its appropriate closet."

"You assume correctly." Elizabeth replied coolly; the clicking of heels sounded against the floorboards and seconds later, the room was flooded with light, Elizabeth Hummel framing the doorway.

He watched frozen, eyes wide, realising that it was too late to pull the fur coat back over his head to avoid being noticed. Had he not been scared of what his father would say and do, Blaine would have run to her and hugged her tightly; she was the first motherly, friendly face he had seen in a week and he so desperately needed comfort. Yet he just watched as the woman removed her plain black mackintosh to reveal an equally plain black dress, before folding it carefully and moving to hang it up on one of the vacant coat hangers. It was only as she finished slipping the coat over the hanger that her eyes landed on his. She paused in her actions before squinting, as if making sure what she was seeing was real.

"Blaine?" she asked quietly, her gentle tone welcome in place of the brisk one she had used whilst confronting his father. "Honey, is that you?"

Blaine wanted to reply – he really did – but at that moment he heard his father release a loud and clearly fake cry of 'Thank you so much for coming', and instead his frightened eyes flickered towards the closet door, still wide open. His father could move towards the front door at any moment and see him.

"He doesn't fool you either, huh?" Elizabeth asked gently, before stepping over the coats scattered across the floor and closing the door firmly. Blaine didn't know why, but at that precise moment he began to cry silently again. Perhaps it was from the sheer relief that someone else knew that his father didn't seem to care that Grace was gone. The faint outline of Elizabeth manoeuvring carefully towards him could be made out, and seconds later he felt a warm body sit down next to him, arms encircling around his back, pulling him gently into her lap. Blaine didn't even try to pull away; instead he automatically clung to her, still crying mutely.

"Oh, Blaine." Elizabeth murmured softly, stroking up and down his back soothingly. "I know, honey. I know. It's not fair… it's just not fair."

Blaine couldn't reply, but he agreed with all his heart. Instead he sniffed miserably into the sleeve of her plain black dress, and was extremely thankful that she didn't seem to mind. When he calmed down to a sensible degree she asked him softly:

"What are you doing all by yourself in the dark, honey?"

Still, Blaine refrained from replying, even though he wanted to. He looked up into relative darkness, in the direction of where he assumed her face to be and willed her to understand. It seemed that she did.

"I think perhaps I'd want to hide from all the scary people out there too. And I hate to say it, but I'd especially want to hide from your father… I'm a grown woman and he scares me sometimes."

Blaine looked up at her again, wanting to tell her how close to the truth she was… how scared he was of his father… how scared his mommy was.

"So let's just stay in here, eh?" Elizabeth whispered gently, slipping her long silky brunette hair behind her ear before doing the same with Blaine's poorly gelled-back dark curls. His father had forced him to cement his hair in gel in order to supposedly make him presentable, also adding that he should do it from now on because he looked less like a cissy that way. Blaine nodded gratefully in response to Elizabeth's suggestion.

Long minutes passed during which Blaine longed to ask the question which had been dominant in his mind for the last week, yet images of his father's angry face and painful slaps prevented him from evening opening his mouth. She continued to card a soothing hand through his restrained curls – an action that was so similar to how his mommy sent him to sleep each night that the tight feeling in his throat and chest returned; he blinked rapidly to rid himself of any more tears. He subconsciously pulled at the black tie his father had fastened so tightly around his neck that he could barely breathe. It only resulted in the noose-like article becoming tighter still.

"Let's loosen that for you, honey." Elizabeth said softly, leaning forwards, but Blaine's eyes widened in fright and he stumbled back, falling off the woman's lap in the process, shaking his head fiercely all the while. Mr Anderson had told him in no uncertain terms that he was to keep his clothes immaculate, and that included the unbearable knot in his tie. Blaine had never worn a tie before – he had never had cause to – and he hated it. Nevertheless, he would rather keep the offending article on rather than face his father's wrath.

Elizabeth paused in her actions, an expression flitting between shock and concern painting her face. "Okay." She said gently, as if taming a wild beast. "Okay. Let's just keep it as it is."

Blaine nodded, but swallowed nervously.

Another ten minutes of uneasy silence followed, which was broken when his father's booming voice could be heard outside, calling for him in a pleasant tone which he used so rarely.

"Blaine! Blaine, precious boy, where are you?"

Blaine was growing accustomed to sensing the lurking danger in his father's tone and it was very much present in those calls. On the outside, the eldest Anderson was merely searching for his son; on the inside… he was thinking about punishments for later when all the guests had gone, because his son had run away to hide.

"Blaine! Come on out! There's nothing to be afraid of… these people just want to see you!"

Blaine clenched his teeth together to stop himself from crying out; a quivering mess, he buried his face in Elizabeth's shoulder. He could smell perfume – not musty and cheap like the stench surrounding the variety of fake furs belonging to his father's business associates, but sweet and delicate like fragile flowers. He felt arms fold around him immediately:

"Oh, honey." Elizabeth sighed in response, although he couldn't see her face to consider what she was thinking.

Blaine couldn't suffer in silence anymore, "Mommy."

He whispered his plea to Elizabeth… to anyone who knew where his mother was. He just wanted his mother.

"Where's mommy?" he asked, his voice muffled into the nice woman's shoulder. "I want my mommy."

There was a pause during which Blaine thought he felt Elizabeth's breath hitch a little, and the sound of his father's footsteps filtered through from the kitchen to the wooden staircase, still apparently searching for his son.

"Oh, Blaine… honey… I…" Elizabeth trailed off, and Blaine finally looked up at her. Even with the dim light emerging through the gap under the closet door, he couldn't quite determine her facial expression. She definitely seemed sad but also… angry? Blaine began to panic. Was it wrong to ask where his mommy had gone? Was she going to betray him to his father? Elizabeth glanced down at him, producing a small, but clearly false smile. "Did… did your daddy not tell you… where she's gone?"

Blaine bit his lip. Any mention of his father and he grew automatically wary. His father had warned him not to say anything of the past week, but he had also said that Grace was gone because of Blaine… that it was his fault. In the end he didn't respond, verbally or otherwise. Elizabeth may have understood because she just flashed him an encouraging smile and continued gently:

"Honey… your mommy… left."

Blaine blinked up at her, desperate for more information, "W… When is she coming back?" he asked in a small voice.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, sniffed and sighed again. She sounded so sad. "Blaine… honey… your mommy… isn't coming back."

Blaine's heart stopped at the devastating words, and he felt his breathing speed up, tears pooling in his eyes, overflowing and running down his face. His mommy wasn't coming back… and it was his fault. He had been bad for too long. He had made her run away.

"W-Why?" he cried, his body trembling with the weight of his newfound knowledge. "Because I was bad? I can be good… I promise I can be good."

Elizabeth hugged him tighter to her, "No," she whispered into his gelled hair. "No, baby, it wasn't because you were bad. You're so, so good, okay?"

Blaine ignored the last statement. He didn't believe it was true. His father always said he was bad, so that must be right. "If I'm g-good, will she c-come b-back?" he sniffled desperately.

"No, honey," Elizabeth crooned into his hair again, clearly trying to comfort him, but it wasn't working. "I'm so, so sorry. There's nothing anyone can do to bring her back. She's dead."

Blaine couldn't believe it. He couldn't imagine a world without his mommy, so to be told that there wasn't anything he could do to bring her back was devastating. "W-What does that m-mean?" he sobbed, not caring that he was probably too loud now. It did not matter if his father found him.

He felt Elizabeth press a kiss to his forehead, "Baby, it means that… she's left this world… and she couldn't come back, even if she wanted to."

"She wouldn't want to see me again?" Blaine sobbed harder. He couldn't quite take it in, and to make matters worse, he could hear his footsteps thundering back down the stairs and across the wooden floor toward the closet. He had heard Blaine.

"Oh, honey… of course she would… she was just… so sad. But she loved you very much… so very much." Blaine could swear he heard the woman's voice break, and he berated himself for upsetting someone else as well. His mommy had been sad… because of him, and now he was making Elizabeth, his mommy's friend upset too.

"I w-want m-my m-m-mommy." He wept hysterically. The echoing footsteps loomed ever closer and ever louder. "I w-want m-mommy."

He cried at the agony of probably driving away the one person he knew loved him, and he in turn, loved the most. He cried that his mommy was dead, and that his father hadn't told him. He cried because Cooper wasn't there on such a heart-breaking, monumental occasion, and because the sixteen-year-old hadn't visited, called or written to the family since he left to become a television star.

"M-m-mommy!" He sobbed, withdrawing his hands from where they had been clinging to Elizabeth's dress, to rub his wet, tired eyes.

"Oh, Blaine," he heard Elizabeth whisper wretchedly. "I'm so sorry."

The closet was suddenly filled with blindingly, bright light as Jonathan Anderson's figure tore open the door and stood there, seething. Blaine took one look at him and cried harder than ever. Before others started to crowd around the doorway, his father cast him one glance at which Blaine knew he was in big trouble, and then the burly man turned to a miserable-looking Elizabeth. In the clear light, Blaine could now see that she too had tears running down her cheeks.

"Please get out." He snapped at her coldly. When she didn't move, standing her ground with her arms still tight around Blaine, Jonathan started towards her. Elizabeth must have got the message, because he hastily got to her feet, removing her warm, comforting touch from around Blaine's shoulders. "Get out of my house."

Elizabeth wiped her cheeks, cast one more sorrowful glance at Blaine, who was still crying loudly, before fetching her coat from the hanger and slipping it on.

"How dare you invite yourself into my house and upset my son." Blaine heard his father say, the man appearing to be the image of the doting, protective father, when really, Blaine was sure it was because Jonathan didn't want the woman to be speaking to his son anymore. "Get out now."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed in on Jonathan, regarding him coolly, despite her tears, before moving towards the door.

"N-No!" Blaine cried. "P-Please."

He tried to stumble after her, but his father caught him roughly by the arm and dragged him towards him, his grip bruising painfully.

Elizabeth smiled sadly at Blaine before opening the door and venturing out into the bleak afternoon.

"M-Mommy!" Blaine sobbed again. "I'm s-sorry. I w-want m-my m-m-mommy."

Suddenly, it was happening again. Blaine was vaguely aware of this having ensued before as the world before him seemed to blur and rearrange itself in a kaleidoscope of different colours and images. The painful grip on his arm became agonising, and he looked over to find that he had fallen over, face down, and his arm had taken the brunt of his fall, splaying out at an odd angle. And then he felt it: white hot, excruciating pain in his backside like he was being torn apart. Someone was inside him and it hurt so very much. He tried to look over at his assailant only to see the face of… his father.

"P-Please s-s-stop!" He begged, tears spilling onto the now muddy ground beneath. They had left the inside of the house long ago it seemed. He didn't know where he was or how he had got there. He just felt pain.

"No!" His father snarled, shoving himself inside Blaine with more brutality than the boy could ever have imagined. "It was your fault she died! It was all your fault! She couldn't bear to see your gay little face."

"I'm sorry!" Blaine sobbed, distressed at the accusation and the unbearable, relentless pain.

"Blaine."

"I'm so sorry." He repeated, before realising that something wasn't quite right.

"Blaine, honey."

As he thought more about what was happening, he found that the pain was lessening; each thrust growing weaker in impact. This… this had happened before. The pain had occurred before, and it didn't happen like this. His father wasn't the one who…

Blaine felt his eyes fly open, and suddenly, he wasn't facing muddy ground or his father's sweaty, incensed face, but something altogether more beautiful. Kurt's concerned, angelic face came swimming into view, and he had just a few seconds before he realised the significance of his nightmare, and then, the reason for Kurt being there with him. He took in the catheter, the IV, the cast on his left arm and finally, the white-washed hospital walls before dissolving into tears again. He wanted to stop crying, he really did, but in order for that to happen, he had to escape from the constant nightmare that was his life, and he knew there was no way for that to happen. He had tried running away, and that had even brought him back to Kurt, the person he loved more than anyone else in the world, and still, selfishly, he felt depressed and scared; constantly plagued by memories which he couldn't escape even when asleep. The thought that he had been raped on top of everything else just made him near-hysterical.

He hadn't realised that he had closed his eyes again until he felt the touch of another person on his body, and he couldn't see who it was. He instantly flinched and tried to wriggle away, only to realise once he was fully conscious that it was Kurt, precious Kurt, who was trying to fold him into a comforting embrace. Trembling from his harrowing nightmare and ever-demeaning thoughts, Blaine fell slowly into his best friend's arms; Kurt caught him carefully, and began running a soothing hand up and down the younger boy's quivering, but nevertheless stiff back. Slowly, the tears lessened and he allowed himself to relax under Kurt's ministrations, although the fear and disgust was still there. How many times was he going to disturb and worry Kurt with his constant crying? He had to stop. He was trying to stop. But one thought kept popping into the forefront of his mind; the same words his father had uttered that awful night.

"It's m-my f-f-fault." He sobbed helplessly into the older boy's neck. "It's a-all m-my f-fault sh-sh-she w-went."

He could see confusion written all over Kurt's face, but the other boy still tried to placate him, "No… no it's not."

Blaine was aware that Kurt probably had no idea what he was talking about, so how could he possibly believe him? "Y-Yes it is." He wept, thinking of all the times he had pressed his mother for her time; asked her to play dolls with him. "Sh-She c-couldn't w-want m-m-me anymore. B-Because I'm… g-gay. I-I-I'm so… wrong. This all h-happened b-b-because I'm…" He couldn't finish anymore. He had seen the hurt flash across Kurt's face, and could feel the older boy's hands stiffen over his back. He hadn't meant it like that.

"I'm s-sorry." He apologised feverishly. All he ever did was hurt the people he cared about. He hadn't meant that it was a bad thing for Kurt to be gay; he was perfect. "I'm s-so s-s-sorry." He iterated tearfully again.

As quickly as Kurt's hand had stopped smoothing concentric circles on the younger boy's back, it started up again, "No, don't be." Kurt soothed. "Don't be sorry. None of this is your fault, okay?"

The younger boy did not believe him.

Blaine didn't know how long it took for the tears to subside, or for his sweaty form to stop shivering, but at long last, his breathing evened out and he was able to move away from Kurt's gentle grip, eyes cast downwards onto the bedclothes in shame. He felt the same sharp, jabbing pain in his backside as he had before, but thankfully, it seemed to have at least diminished slightly.

"Blaine." Kurt whispered in a small voice, reaching for his hand. "Please look at me."

Blaine, despite his shame, had never been able to deny Kurt anything, so fearfully, he glanced up into the older boy's pale face, only to see his cheeks decorated in tears. The tightness in his throat and chest rose up again: his selfishness had caused Kurt to cry.

"I'm s-"

"Don't you dare say you're sorry, Blaine Anderson." Kurt warned him quite fiercely, swiping his own tears away before taking Blaine's hand again, carefully avoiding the needle and tubing. "This isn't your fault, I mean it."

Blaine so badly wanted to believe him, but he couldn't, so he just bit his lip and looked down.

"Another nightmare?" Kurt asked tentatively.

Blaine hesitated, "I… I don't… they're n-not-" he stammered softly.

"It's okay." The older boy soothed, always his patient self. "It's okay."

"They're not exactly… nightmares," Blaine admitted quietly. "More like… memories." He looked away again when Kurt's eyes turned sad; he didn't want to be pitied, and he especially didn't want to upset his best friend yet again. "But… but this one… the end… the end…" He squeezed his eyes shut; frustrated that he could not get the words out.

"It's okay."

He could feel the pads of Kurt's thumbs stroking his right hand in comfort and felt guilty. Kurt was giving him so much and he couldn't give anything in return; he couldn't even tell him about a nightmare. His father's furious face just crowded his mind, and the feel of his assailant ramming brutally inside him somehow prevented him from speaking. He felt too scared.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Blaine trying to rid himself of the awful images inside his head, and Kurt just comforting him in whatever ways he could. Blaine tensed slightly when the older boy reached up to card a hand gently through his curls, but relaxed seconds later. He had to keep telling himself that Kurt wouldn't hurt him. He trusted him more than anyone. Yet it felt so wrong having Kurt take care of him when the older boy should be angry with him; furious for leaving and hurt for the awful things Blaine had just implied. And the situation felt so strange: six years ago, it had always been Blaine looking out for Kurt, trying to be the strong one. Yet now, he couldn't seem to find that strength.

"Kurt." he whispered into the silence, opening his eyes to peer up at the beautiful boy beside him.

"Yeah?" Kurt gazed back at him with such tenderness that Blaine wanted to cry again. He couldn't remember anyone being this gentle with him in a long time.

"Th-Thank you… for… being here." He said in a small voice, but with as much sincerity as he could.

Kurt produced a genuine smile, "There's nowhere else I'd rather be right now."

Regardless of all other doubts, Blaine could not help but believe the other boy this time, and he thought he felt just a little bit of the pain in his heart ebb away. To be cared for and wanted by this beautiful person was a little overwhelming.

"I'm s-sorry." He sniffed, unable to help himself. There were so many things he needed to apologise for, even if Kurt and Burt had tried to comfort him by disregarding his faults.

"Stop it." Kurt answered sternly, and Blaine did his best not to cower under the intensity of the older teenager's gaze. "No apologies. You have nothing to apologise for, do you understand?"

Blaine did not understand. He did not think he understood anything anymore. He had spent the last twenty-four hours or so in a sleepy, feverish stupor and he was so scared and confused, but he did not want to upset Kurt again so he forced himself to nod, even though it made his head ache.

More silence reigned and Kurt continued to soothe Blaine with his reassuring ministrations. The younger boy was almost tempted to drift off again, but each time he felt the grasps of sleep clutching at him, he moved into the most uncomfortable position possible. He couldn't go back to sleep. Here he could at least try and pretend to himself that everything was okay, especially with Kurt by his side, but in sleep, he had to face so many painful memories, with no way out, and he had to evade it.

"Why don't you try to sleep again, honey?" Kurt said softly, apparently noticing Blaine's drooping eyelids.

The younger boy shifted again, wincing in the process, but he shook his head determinedly, despite the endearment that left the older boy's lips.

"Why not?" Kurt asked gently.

Blaine thought of his father dominating the place of the rapist and whimpered. "I… I can't." he whispered fearfully.

"Because of the… memories?" Kurt asked, clearly trying his best to understand, and for that, Blaine was extremely grateful. He nodded in response.

"I'll wake you up again if they get bad."

Blaine shook his head again, eyes pleading with Kurt to understand, "I can't… please, I just… can't."

"Okay." Kurt relented, squeezing his hand gently. "Okay, let's just sit here."

Blaine nodded gratefully and realised for the first time that there was a space next to where Kurt sat; the place where Burt had been before. Kurt followed his eyes and seemed to have sensed what was going on in his mind because he nodded to Blaine's other side, smiling tiredly.

"He fell asleep."

Sure enough, as Blaine turned, trying to ignore the discomfort, he saw that Burt had dozed off in the white plastic chair, his head resting on his chest, snoring quietly. Instantly, guilt rose up within Blaine. He had dragged both Hummel's' – the two people he cared about most in the world – to the hospital, and because he was acting up so much, they had had to stay there with him, exhausting themselves. Blaine glanced back up at Kurt and saw the dark circles under his gorgeous blue eyes, and now that he looked closely, his skin was paler than ever, almost chalk white. He hated himself for doing this to Kurt. He opened his mouth to apologise again but the older boy cut him short:

"If you're about to say you're sorry again, you can stop right there." Kurt chastised him quietly.

"But I am." Blaine said, trying to keep his voice as level as possible.

"Well don't be." Kurt replied seriously.

"I woke you up." Blaine guessed, upset but surprised he was still able to read Kurt so well. "You were sleeping too weren't you, and my… nightmare woke you?"

Kurt's mouth opened once or twice, as if he was considering lying to the question, but he took one look at Blaine's face and sighed, "I… yes… you woke me-"

Blaine couldn't hold back a whimper as he inwardly berated himself.

"-But it's okay, do you hear me?" Kurt insisted. "It's okay. I can go without a bit of beauty sleep. I'm just glad to be here with you."

"But Kurt, you look so tired." Blaine said regretfully, eyes sweeping over his wonderful best friend again.

"I'm fine." Kurt said emphatically, squeezing the younger boy's hand again to highlight his statement. "I promise you."

Blaine sniffed, but eventually nodded.

"Okay?" Kurt prompted.

"O-Okay." Blaine acquiesced softly, though he still couldn't rid himself of the guilt and worry for the other boy.

Kurt smiled tenderly, "Good."

After a few more moments of quiet, during which he now became attuned to Burt's more augmented snores, Blaine whispered, "Kurt?"

"Hhm?" The older boy hummed in reply, his hand moving up to stroke back through Blaine's sweaty dark curls.

"Where's… um… C… Ca... um…" he stumbled, trying to recall the name of Burt's fiancé.

"Carole?" Kurt supplied gently, to which Blaine nodded. "She's talking to Doctor Carlton. Because she's a nurse, she's used to staying awake for a long time."

"She's… she's really nice." Blaine whispered softly.

"Yeah, she is." Kurt agreed, a small smile playing on his lips. "I've not seen my dad so happy in… years."

Blaine tried his best to smile, but he worried that it came out as more of a grimace. "Are… have… have you been happy?" he asked timidly, because he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer. If Kurt had been completely happy without Blaine there, the younger boy knew that he wouldn't be welcome with the Hummels'; the thought that Kurt didn't want or need him anymore would hurt, and if Kurt said that he had been unhappy… well, Blaine would never forgive himself.

"I… I'd have been happier with you here." Kurt finally settled on.

"I'm s-"

"Stop it." Came Kurt's firm response. "You're here; that's all that matters. And you're going to get better, I promise."

"I don't mean to… hurt you… or… be… rude to the doctors." Blaine desperately tried to explain. He needed Kurt to understand, even if no one else did. He hated himself even more when he felt tears begin to pool in his eyes again, the familiar lump forming in his throat. "I swear I d-don't m-mean to."

"I know you don't." Kurt hushed him, gently and perfect as always, but for some reason it only made the tears flow faster. "Oh Blaine, please don't cry." The older boy leant down and wiped away the stubborn tears with his soft, pale hands. "I think even after all these years, I know you better than anyone, so I know you don't mean to hurt people. And you don't. You're the sweetest guy I've ever known. You're just… so scared and… hurt… and you have every right to be."

"I can't get them out of my h-head, Kurt." Blaine whispered fearfully, images of both his attacker and his father on the night he ran away jutting into his mind once again. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to will them away.

"Who?"

Blaine sniffed as he tried to form the words. He couldn't. He felt like he was regressing back to his four-year-old self, terrified of what his father would do to him if he dared to even open his mouth to speak. Except he was still petrified of his father, and now he was constantly assaulted with the painful recollections of his attacker; the knowledge that he had lost his precious first time to a rapist who, at any time, may return. And especially, the knowledge that it was all his fault was enough to break him entirely. It did break him. He cried and cried, with Kurt constantly trying to calm him until he felt his eyelids grow heavy.

"T-Try to sleep, Blaine. Sleep and you'll… you'll start to get better." Kurt murmured anxiously, and although by this time Blaine's eyes were so puffy and he was so exhausted that he couldn't actually see the other boy's face, Blaine could hear the break in the beautiful soprano voice.

"I-I'm s-sorry." He pleaded deliriously. Although the world was slowly fading to black, he tried with all his might to fight back. However, this time, it wasn't working, no matter how uncomfortable he made himself, he could feel the real world slipping away, lulling him back into unconsciousness. The last words he heard before he went under were:

"Oh, Blaine."

Light filtered through the gaps in the rather drab hospital blinds, and the sound of birdsong at close proximity shook Burt out of sleep. He cleared his throat a couple of times before daring to blink. It was strange; they rarely had birds land on the windowsill at home, so why had they started now? He shifted slightly and gave an audible groan. His back ached like the blazes and his neck was in such an awkward position, he began to suspect he had fallen back into the bad habits he had maintained before Carole moved in, and he had drifted off to sleep on the couch. Slowly, he popped his eyes open and was confronted with the white cotton sheets of a hospital bed. The person occupying the bed, with tear-streaked cheeks and a fearful facial expression, even in sleep, brought everything crashing back into place. Blaine. They had found Blaine at long last. But in the worst possible way.

"Oh, Jeez." He croaked, clearing his throat, and running his hands tiredly over his eyes. He was still sitting in that awful white plastic chair; he must have dozed off very early this morning. He prayed that Blaine hadn't needed him whilst he had been out. Why hadn't Carole or Kurt woken him? Suddenly, he sat up. Carole and Kurt…

He looked over quickly at the far side of the room to find Kurt sitting slumped and defeated in his chair, also with dirty tear stains coating his face, his eyes red-rimmed with dark circles surrounding them. He looked like he had been awake all night. And there he was, still staring dutifully down at his best friend.

"Kurt?" he sighed, his heart breaking at the sight of his baby boy looking so devastated, and the other person he classed as a son, lying brokenly in a hospital bed.

Kurt's chin trembled slightly at the concern in his tone, but his gaze remained unwaveringly on Blaine. "There's coffee on the table over there," he said so monotonously he sounded like one of the living dead, lifting a hand and pointing vaguely to the movable table at the foot of Blaine's bed. "A nurse brought some in for us."

Burt eyed the half-full coffee pot and dreaded to think how much of the substance Kurt had taken in order to stay awake. The mechanic made no move towards the caffeine drink, instead staring in concern at his son.

"Kurt, have you been awake all night?"

Kurt's chin trembled again, as he visibly fought to keep himself together. "N-No. I… I fell asleep for a bit after y-you did… b-but… h-he was screaming in his sleep and it w-woke me, and h-he was so upset." As Kurt's dad, Burt had pinpointed the exact tells when he knew his boy was going to cry, and he carefully eased himself out of the chair, ignoring his back cracking, reaching Kurt just as he broke down crying. He wrapped his arms around his son, and the boy nestled his head into his neck, sobbing, "He c-c-cried himself to s-s-sleep and I c-couldn't leave him. What if he had another nightmare and I didn't w-wake him?"

"So you stayed up with him all night." Burt finished for him, feeling Kurt nod against him. No wonder the boy was a mess. He'd had an emotional rollercoaster of a day, and then during the night too, without any sleep and half a large pot of coffee. "Why didn't you wake me?" he demanded softly.

"You w-were so t-tired-"

"So were you, and you still are." Burt said emphatically, nodding towards the teenager's blurry eyes. "Bud, you're going to be no use to him if you're in this state. It's just going to make him feel even worse, and you know it."

Kurt let out another spasmodic sob, "All he could d-do was a-a-apologise, dad. He just kept saying s-s-sorry over and over again. He has n-nothing to be sorry for."

"I know. I know." Burt whispered, wishing he could be more helpful with his responses, especially since his son was having a breakdown of his own. "Carlton said that he'd try and contact a hospital psychiatrist to come and talk to Blaine, and then we'll make a plan of action."

"He's not going to the psych ward!" Kurt reiterated fiercely, pulling away from him and speaking with such moral passion that he really reminded Burt of Elizabeth; the same vivacious blue eyes and defiant expression.

"No he's not." He agreed readily. "We established that already. He's coming home with us." He glanced down at poor Blaine and sighed sadly, thinking of the long road of recovery that was ahead for the boy. "But there are so many things that need to be sorted out. He's going to be emotionally out of it for a while. The physical side: dietary plans and all that 'cause he's so underweight and unused to rich foods, physio for that broken arm of his-"

"How do you know all that?" Kurt asked, his tears subsiding as he stared at him in wonder.

"I asked Carole yesterday." He shrugged, glancing around the room as if expecting his fiancé to just miraculously materialise. "Speaking of Carole, where is she?"

Kurt sniffed and wiped his now runny nose with the back of his hand, bringing home to Burt just how horrific the situation was; his son never engaged in such a messy action. He would rather carry around a pocket handkerchief. "Finn drove back earlier. She went home to check on him and to get a couple of hours sleep."

Burt attempted a chuckle for Kurt's benefit, even though he didn't feel remotely cheerful either, "Knowing Finn he'd have invited half of McKinley round if there was no adult supervision at all last night."

He felt his heart pull when Kurt just shrugged, not even raising a smile. His eyes were just trained on Blaine, his expression utterly miserable.

"He's going to be okay, bud." Burt stated, though he wished he could go so far as to promise it, especially for Blaine's sake. The amount of pain he had seen in the kid's eyes the previous day had been absolutely unbearable. He was only fifteen and already dealing with so much hurt.

"How can you know that?" Kurt asked despairingly, briefly turning those bright blue eyes that were so much like Elizabeth's on him.

"I… don't." Burt hated to admit it. "But we'll get him every ounce of help he needs, I can promise that." He added with as much ferocity as he could muster.

"He'll never forget." Kurt sniffed, his hand travelling under his nose again, and Burt thought he almost definitely preferred the in-control boy who constantly berated him for not carrying around a handkerchief.

"No," Burt wished he could say something else, but he knew he couldn't lie. He couldn't see the boy ever quite getting over all of this. His best option would be to carry on and fight it out, even though the first fifteen years of his life had already been one long battle. "But he can move on. He can create new, better memories." He studied in son's tear-stained face and ruffled his hair in a way which the boy claimed to hate, but really, he knew he appreciated the act of affection. "But for him to do that," he said, smiling slightly as Kurt's hand automatically shot up to carefully reposition his hairdo. "we need to be bright and bushy-tailed and absolutely there for him."

"I'm not going to sleep." Kurt told him obstinately, as if he had read Burt's thoughts. "If he wakes up I want to be there for him."

"You have been there for him." Burt stated calmly, though he desperately wanted to knock some sense into his boy, or better still, some sleep. "You were up with him all night. He'd understand if you went and-"

"No, dad." Kurt replied mulishly, turning his gaze back on Blaine in a way which told Burt the suggestion was out of the question and that particular corner of the conversation was unequivocally over.

Burt sighed in frustration and tiredly ran a hand over his eyes again, though he now realised the need for a conversation change. There was no way he was getting through to Kurt when he was in this mood. "I'm actually quite surprised we were allowed to stay the night with him." he said gruffly, stretching his aching back and shuffling over to the movable table to pour some much-needed coffee, though he purposely did not serve Kurt another cup. He had had enough caffeine.

Kurt's eyes remained on Blaine as he produced a half smile, "One of the perks of having your fiancé work at the hospital, I suppose."

Burt thought of how wonderful Carole had been yesterday, both in understanding and in her gentle nature towards a terrified Blaine, and he also smiled. He knew he was marrying the right woman. He had been nervous at the prospect re-marrying, because he had been so convinced that he wouldn't after Elizabeth died, but Carole was just… wonderful. He knew he would forever miss Elizabeth, just as Carole would always miss her late husband, but he knew he loved the woman. "Yeah, I guess."

Then Kurt said something he wasn't expecting.

"Blaine likes her." He said softly, and Burt almost dropped the coffee server in surprise. He turned around and faced his son, surprise etched on his face. "When he woke up, he said that Carole was nice." He chanced a smile at Burt, and the mechanic cleared his throat gruffly, even though his heart soared a little. "He only met her for a few minutes, dad, and he already liked her. And so do I and… and I'm really glad you two found each other."

"You're forgetting there, buddy," Burt said, keeping his tone teasing but gentle all the same, carrying his now full mug of coffee, and his chair over to where Kurt sat. "that you introduced us because we… what was it? Oh yes… we both had dead spouses so obviously we should obviously get together, or something along those lines."

Kurt groaned and covered his face with one hand, clearly remembering the incident with shame, whilst Burt chuckled lightly, clapping the kid on the shoulder. He had suspected at the time that the move had had something to do with Kurt having a slight crush on Finn, but he knew that was long gone, so he believed that there was no need to ever mention it. That would just create unnecessary tension between the two boys, and for him as well.

"You're never going to let me forget that are you?" Kurt said quietly, though Burt was glad that his son looked slightly more cheerful for the playful jibe.

"Not on your life, bud." He replied, ruffling Kurt's hair again, earning a small 'stop it', though nothing more major than that. "I bet that one would get Blaine laughing." He smiled, though it converted into a frown when he saw the small boy in the bed squirm and whimper, as if in the throes of another painful nightmare. His heart broke yet again upon seeing the kid he once viewed as so cheeky and so confident, looking so broken.

"Please, not again." Kurt murmured fearfully from beside him.

"It's a long road to recovery." Burt reminded him, clapping him on the shoulder in reassurance.

"And all we can do is be there." Kurt finished, his voice laced with determination.

"Right." Burt took a studious sip of his coffee, pulling a face when he realised it was now largely cold, and tasted of ditch-water, before he consulted the clock over on the far side of the wall, reading 7:18am. Without glancing at his son, he trained his eyes back on Blaine, who released another small moan. "Almost twenty past seven. You should be getting up and driving to school at this time."

The answer he received was the one he had been expecting, "I'm not going to school, dad." Came his son's firm, but flat reply.

Burt suppressed a smirk, because he knew his son would react that way. He didn't expect anything less of him. He took a few more gulps of lukewarm coffee. "Fair enough."

Like I said, it was a bit of a filler chapter. Next, we shall meet the hospital psychiatrist who shall consult with Blaine throughout the story so it's an important moment, and if there's room, we shall finally move on and Blaine will go home with the Hummels. I'm aware that maybe the pace needs to be picked up so if people agree I'll try and fulfill that. Please review, follow and favourite and let me know your thoughts :) Next chapter will be up asap.