Blaine closed the door behind him as quietly as he could and pulled his shoes off before climbing the stairs. He had reopened the wounds on his knees in the run and the blood had quickly worked its way through the thin bandages and ruined another pair of socks, so he pulled those off too as he made his way up toward his room. He avoiding the spot in the seventh step the he knew creaked. He made it up the stairs, but felt a rush of adrenaline at the sight of the open door of his parent's room. He paused for a moment before creeping back toward his own room. All of his stealth had been for nothing. His mother was sitting on the edge of his bed, a hand on Tucker's back where he lay beside her, and her eyes on him.

He stood suspended in the doorway; he was caught and there was nothing to say about it. He put on a quick smile, "Morning."

"It's barely five-thirty, Blaine." His mother's voice wavered, her eyes moved from the mess of his legs to his face.

"Early morning." Blaine agreed. Maybe he could just slip into the bathroom and avoid whatever conversation she was planning. "Supposed to be a hot one today. Seventy by seven or something like that."

"I suppose you want me to believe that's why you've been gone since before four." She stared hard at him.

He shrugged, "I don't like the heat."

"You told me just yesterday you were going to calm down with this." His mother's voice trembled again.

"Plenty of people go for early runs, Mom." Blaine tried to sound flippant.

"Look at your knees, Blaine!" Her voice came out in a half-hysterical shout.

He glanced down at them and felt ashamed. He'd done it again. Disappointed his mother.

"Your father's coming home early." Her voice was quieter.

"Why?" Blaine asked, suddenly wary.

"I asked him to. I called last night while you were outside in the front lawn." She looked up at Blaine again for a moment before looking away.

"Mom," Blaine moaned.

"I'm at the end of my rope, Blaine. I don't know what to do when you get like this." Tears stood in his mother's eyes. "I thought we were done with all of this after we sent you to Dalton."

Blaine pinched the bridge of his nose in a last ditch effort to calm himself. "Done with all what, Mom? Me being gay? That didn't just go away."

"You know that's not what I meant, Blaine." She snapped, but then quickly tried to calm her voice. "I am referring to the way you're acting. This has nothing to do with…that."

"This has everything to do with that." Blaine sighed. "I'm going to take a shower."

She nodded slowly, but didn't move from the edge of his bed. Her hand still rested on Tucker's head.

Blaine didn't question whether or not she planned on leaving, he went to the bathroom, locked the door, and turned on the shower before sinking down to the cold tile, he rested his hands atop his head and focused on not screaming out in frustration. When his initial irritation had passed, he worked on unwrapping his knees. He grimaced; they really were an awful mess. He took his time in the shower, trying to come up with something to appease his mother and avoid his father. By the time he'd dried off and dressed, he had still come up with nothing. He jogged down the stairs, ignoring the way it made his legs ache and contemplated going straight out to his car.

"Blaine." A familiar male voice called from the kitchen. Apparently sneaking out was not going to be an option after all.

Blaine shuffled toward the kitchen. Both of his parents were standing by the counter. Blaine offered the best smile he could muster. "When Mom said you were coming home early, I didn't realize it would be this early."

"I flew out last night. She sounded upset enough I thought it would be best." John Anderson stared hard at his son. "Why aren't you in your uniform?"

"I'm going to the hospital." Blaine tried to sound upbeat, but knew he was failing miserably.

"You have work at eight." His father's stern look turned into a deeper frown. "The dean from Dalton called me yesterday. He was wondering if you were ill, since, it would seem, you hadn't bothered to shown up. Apparently you were late a few days prior to that as well."

"I've been going to see my friend Kurt in the hospital. I'll clear things up with Dean Williams. He knows Kurt. He'll understand." Blaine took a step backwards toward the door.

"Don't you even think about weaseling your way out of this, Blaine." His father raised his voice just enough to stop Blaine in his tracks.

Blaine waited in silence; there was no arguing with his father.

"Give me your keys and your phone, and then go upstairs and change." His father held out his hand.

Blaine studied his father's extended arm warily, "Why?"

"Because as of right now, you're grounded. I will drop you off at Dalton on my way to the office, and your mother will pick you up."

"Grounded?" Blaine hadn't been grounded since he was maybe fourteen. "What for?"

"For your attitude." His father still had his arm reached out toward Blaine.

"My attitude?" Blaine looked between his parents at first incredulous, then pleading, hoping for some sort of show of support from his mother.

"Blaine. Now." His father snapped.

Blaine, seeing no other option, pulled his phone and his keys from his pocket and handed them over. "Can I still go to the hospital after work?"

"No, Blaine."

Blaine hadn't expected that. He'd expected a begrudging yes and some set time limit. "Dad, please, Kurt's really hurt and I need to be able to see him."

"You will have plenty of time for relationships when you're older, Blaine. Right now you are focusing on what's important."

"He is important, Dad." Blaine could barely keep his voice from below a shout.

"John, I think-" Shannon looked guiltily toward Blaine then back at her husband.

"I've made my decision and it's final. You can keep running—no more than an hour at a time and never before six. This conversation is done. Go change." His father moved toward the coffee pot.

Blaine stood for a moment in the doorway before moving back toward the stairs. Deviating from his father's decisions had never been an option.

When he climbed into the passenger side of the car, his father said nothing to him, only started the drive toward Dalton.

"Can I at least call to let him know I'm not coming?" Blaine finally broke the silence.

His father didn't say anything, but after a moment, reached into his pocket and handed Blaine's phone over. "Five minutes."

Blaine picked at a loose thread on the cuff of his jacket while he listened to the phone ring.

"Hullo?" The voice on the other line sounded tired.

"Hey! It's me. Sorry if I woke you up." Blaine tried to sound cheery for the sake of the boy on the other line.

"That's all right. I've wanted to talk to you since you left yesterday. I don't like how we left things, and there's some stuff I wanted to talk to you about…when are you coming in?" Kurt sounded more awake as he chattered.

Blaine felt an ache in his chest. "That's actually why I'm calling…I can't come today."

"…Oh, okay." Kurt sounded hurt.

"It's not that I don't want to," Blaine rushed, "I'm just…sort of grounded."

"Grounded like when we were twelve and forgot to call our parents to say we were going to a friend's house after school?" Kurt sounded a little amused.

"I guess. No car and no phone." Blaine glanced at his father, but John Anderson's eyes were fixed firmly on the road.

"Ouch… for how long?"

"How long am I grounded for?" Blaine kept his eyes on his father.

"Until I decide you're not." His father didn't look at him.

"Dad-" Blaine frowned.

"Two minutes left." His father cut him off flatly.

"I… I don't know how long, but I'll be in as soon as I can," Blaine gave up on the loose thread. He wanted to run a hand through his hair, but he'd already gelled it neatly into place, "I'm really sorry."

"If that sorry is meant to have some double meaning for not being able to come visit and for me being here in the first place, I won't accept it." Kurt replied.

"I'm sorry I can't come in." Blaine revised for the sake of avoiding an argument.

"It's fine. Mercedes and Rachel are coming today. I'll have some sort of distraction… just not to the same extent."

Blaine laughed quietly, "At least it's something."

"Try to take care of yourself, and Blaine?" Kurt's voice sounded strained, "Try not to trip over anything, and get some sleep during your little hiatus from my bedside."

"I'll do my best. I expect you on your feet next time I see you." He teased.

"I really hope you don't plan on being grounded that long." Kurt laughed, and then gasped in pain.

"Are you all right?" Blaine sat up straighter, straining to listen for any indication his boyfriend might be in distress.

"Calm down; I'm fine- laughing just isn't easy on my chest right now," Kurt's voice was even, "I mean it Blaine, take care of yourself and don't fuss over me. I have people here to take care of me. Be a good boy and maybe you'll get ungrounded early. I love you."

"I'll do my best. I love you, too. Bye." Blaine ended the call and dropped his phone down in the cup holder between he and his father.

There was another long silence in the car.

"I still don't get why I'm grounded." Blaine finally grumbled, leaning his head against the window.

John abruptly stopped the car on the side of the road and turned to glare at Blaine, "You and I had a deal, Blaine. I sent you to Dalton so you would stop acting like this, and here we are right back in the same place. Do you have any idea what you're doing to your mother?"

Blaine flinched as though he'd been slapped, "I'm not trying to hurt her."

"Well you're doing a shitty job of it. I don't know what happened to cause this behavior, but it ends now Blaine. If it doesn't, I will find a way to ensure that it does."

"I don't know what behavior you're talking about." Blaine snapped.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about." His father said, exasperated. "I try and try with you Blaine and we always wind up right back here. Your mother upset, me at a loss, and you staring at both of us like a kicked puppy. You're out at all hours, you refuse to eat, you aren't showing up for work, and you shut yourself in your room for the few hours you do decide to grace the house with your presence."

"You're never home to even know if I'm there," Blaine said through gritted teeth.

"So what, you want me home more? Will that fix this?" His father tilted his head to try to get a better look at Blaine's face.

"… No," Blaine looked out the window for a moment, "I'll be fine."

"Last time you said that and I believed you, you ended up passed out on the garage floor," His father sighed, "What am I supposed to do here, Blaine? Send you out of the state to a boarding school?"

"No!" Blaine turned to look at his father in alarm, "This isn't a school problem, dad, I'm just… this Kurt thing has been hard, but he's doing better and I'm doing better… I'll keep doing better. I swear… please, just… don't send me away."

His father studied him for a long time.

"Please," Blaine whispered. His eyes locked on his father's, "I'll quit the Warblers and do baseball or something, I'll stay home for dinner more; I'll even do that stupid debutante escort thing. I'll do anything."

"I'm not asking you to quit your show choir, Blaine," His father shook his head, "I'm asking you to pull yourself together."

Blaine nodded his head up and down hurriedly, "I can do that."

"Then I advise you do it quickly," His father pulled back onto the road and took the exit toward Dalton. He changed topics smoothly, "You'll have to start looking at colleges soon."

Blaine nodded, "I started my resume already."

"That's good," his father nodded approvingly, "My coming home early wasn't an entire waste. A colleague from the New York office was flying out at the same time I was. His brother is on the admissions committee for Princeton."

"Princeton." Blaine echoed, nodding his head.

"Your mother and I are having dinner with him and a few other people from the office tonight; it would be nice if you joined us." His father pulled into the lot.

Blaine went on autopilot, "I'd love to. Should I wear a suit?"

"Dress shirt and a tie. You don't need your jacket," His father parked the car outside the front entrance; he pulled out his wallet and continued speaking, "Your mother will pick you up at three. Tell her I said it's all right if you need to take the car to get a new shirt and tie. But that is your only stop."

Blaine took the offered credit card and slipped it into his wallet. "Thanks."

He climbed from the car, but turned to stare at his father through the open door for a moment. "If it were a girl… If it were my girlfriend in the hospital, would these rules be any different?"

"Get inside before you're late again, Blaine," His father responded.

Blaine nodded slowly; he shut the door before his father could hear his murmured response, "That's what I thought."

He smoothed things over easily with the Dean, promising to take on a few extra shifts and send his regards to Kurt in the hospital. He did the tour guide routine seven times that day with musical performances for all that he felt robotic performing. He smiled, patted nervous freshmen on the shoulder, and answered questions with his hands folded neatly behind his back. The old Blaine Anderson wasn't so hard to conjure back up. Charming and dapper. What more could anyone want from a Dalton soon-to-be senior?

His mother was waiting in the parking lot when his shift was over and insisted on taking him to Joseph Banks herself for a new tie and suit shirt. He let her chatter amicably about the people that would be at dinner, though she trailed off when she started talking about Mister and Missus someone's pretty daughter who was just about his age. He ignored the slip up and let her continue on in filling him in on all the trivia that might come in handy for dinner table small talk.

At dinner, he turned up the charm as high as he could. He let the women fuss over how handsome he'd gotten since they'd last seen him. He discussed the Buckeyes with Mr. Devanhue, chatted about Princeton admissions with the New York colleague (and was promptly given a phone number to reach the aforementioned brother), he even flirted with Madeline, the Bennett's daughter (a move he regretted a little when she wrote her number on a napkin and tucked it into his pocket at the end of the night). When the night finally ended and the Anderson's pulled back into the garage, his father held him back for a moment before letting him return inside, "You did good tonight, Blaine. I'm impressed."

Blaine smiled despite himself; his father's praise was a rare thing, "I had a nice time."

His father clapped him on the arm as they entered the house, "Good man; you see, you can snap back to yourself without a hitch."

Blaine nodded along, "I'm going to go change and head to bed. Early morning tomorrow."

His father nodded, "Be ready by seven fifteen."

"Yes, sir. Goodnight." Blaine took his time going up the stairs, but as soon as the door closed firmly behind him, he dropped onto his bed, a hand going up to his neck almost automatically to loosen his tie.

Tucker jumped up beside him and splayed out.

"How did I do this everyday for two years?" Blaine mumbled, reaching out a hand to rub the dog's stomach. "I'm exhausted from one day."

He got back to his feet and wandered toward the bathroom. He paused in front of the mirror and studied himself for a minute. He tightened his tie back up and flashed himself a smile. He remembered the trick to the whole thing then. Remembered buttoning his uniform blazer, gelling his hair, and flashing himself that same smile on his first day of school at Dalton. Blaine Anderson the perfect impressionist—not hard to hide yourself when there's nothing underneath the mask.