Burt Hummel had finally adapted to the idea of his son being gay. He was by no means about to go out and buy a ‘Proud Parent of a Gay Teen' bumper sticker or gush with Kurt over an issue of Vogue, but he did his best. He had suffered through a couple musicals, let Kurt buy him a few new shirts (that he begrudgingly wore when Kurt insisted it was absolutely necessary to be in some form of attire classier than dirty jeans and an old John Mellencamp t-shirt), and he'd even gone out of his way to bond with Kurt over cooking. Yes, Burt Hummel was doing okay with this gay thing.

...It was other people that didn't seem to be doing okay with it. The phone call in his shop had not been the first time his son had been ostracized. There had been the attempt at soccer teams and boy scouts when Kurt was a little boy. To coax him into the activities, his mother had glued pink rhinestones on his cleats and let Kurt make his own badges that she would lovingly sew onto his little blue uniform for Troup 872 (and Kurt really did like the ascot he got to wear around his neck), but it hadn't mattered how enthusiastic the Hummels' little boy was; he was just... different. He didn't want to push and shove with the other boys during practice in soccer, and he had no interest in campfires and making a bug collection for boy scouts (he had adamantly begged to be in Mercedes Jones' Brownie troop so he could sell cookies and decorate pillows with glitter glue instead). His lack of enthusiasm in joining in was only encouraged by his male peers--little boys who insisted they didn't want to play with "girly boys". That had stung Burt Hummel, but his wife had insisted that as long as their sweet little boy was healthy and happy, they had nothing to fret over.

When his wife was gone, Burt felt like he was groping at air for something to hold onto; to make the world make sense: he was left with his peculiar child, unsure of what to do, but, seeing as how they only had each other, they clung to one another in the wake of their loss. As Kurt got older, things got harder, and Burt lost more and more sleep seeing the frown on his child's face. He had kept him healthy enough, but he didn't have his wife's power to make Kurt light up even when the other boys teased him.

Karofsky's threat had been the last straw; he may not have been able to save Kurt's feelings, but he would not let someone threaten his son's life--Dalton had been a last ditch effort for Burt to feel like he was not failing as a parent. He had not expected the results that school would bring.

From the very first day, Kurt had been different-- he sang more, offered to help out around the house, and, to Burt's greatest relief, he smiled more. Burt didn't ask for an explanation for the sunnier side Kurt was showing; he chalked it up to Kurt being somewhere with a little more class and a lot less bullying. Blaine Anderson was the last thing Burt had expected.

 If Kurt confused Burt, then Blaine completely befuddled him. Gay, Burt was starting to understand, but Blaine had been so much more. He seemed like a fairly even-keel, easy-to-read kid at surface level, but he somehow always managed to throw Burt into a situation he wasn't entirely sure how to handle. One minute he was showing up hung over in Kurt's bed, then the next he was lecturing Burt on talking about sex with his son. But since he had waltzed into their lives with his neat hair and endless chatter, Burt had never seen Kurt happier. Even in the midst of the ugliest hatred Burt had ever witnessed, his son smiled and lit up when that silly little blazer-donning kid walked through the doorway.

Burt rarely knew how to react to his son--there was no book or guaranteed advice to be given on what a mechanic living in Ohio should do to support his flamboyant son , and he often wondered what his late wife would have said, watching Kurt grow up. He usually didn't have the faintest idea what she would tell him to do (love him, sure, but sometimes that didn't even seem like enough), but with Blaine he knew exactly how she would have felt. She would have doted upon him and loved him almost as much as she loved her own family seeing how happy he made Kurt.  Burt had taken the notion to heart and used it as his guiding light: If Kurt was happy, he was happy.

But happy was the last thing he felt when he stalked back down the hallway--his conversation with the police officer providing him with nothing but a spike in his heart rate--and walked through the door to Kurt's hospital room.

His son was on the floor, his back against the armchair Burt had left him in, and his arms wrapped tightly around the room's other occupant. Burt didn't know which child alarmed him more: his broken son with one casted leg splayed out and his arm pulled loose from his sling, or Blaine with his damp hair stuck to his pale forehead and his haunted eyes that seemed to look through the far wall of the room. They both looked like they had been crying.

 "What the hell is going on here?" Burt wanted to flinch at the sound of his own voice, but, as habit would have it, he chose a tone of gruffness over concern to mask his confusion.

Kurt had been murmuring a song into Blaine's hair, but he fell silent at the sound of his father's voice. His eyes went up to meet Burt's, but he remained silent.

Burt studied the two for a moment longer before kneeling down and trying to get a hold of his tone to sound less harsh, he tried to meet Blaine's eyes with little success, "What about you, you wanna give me a little insight as to what you two are doing down here?'

 "Let him be," Kurt's voice was soft, a hand stroking across Blaine's head protectively.

 Burt directed his attention back to his son. He couldn't decipher the look behind those blue irises. But he knew enough to know something was wrong, "All right, fine. Let's at least get you two off the floor. Ya think that would be all right by you guys?"

 Kurt's eyes drifted down to the top of Blaine's head again for a moment, but he didn't move.

 It was Blaine who shakily pulled free of Kurt's grip, slowly sliding away from the other boy.

 "Blaine," Kurt's voice was gentle, it reminded Burt of his wife's tone to get Kurt to admit why he had come home crying from school.

 Blaine met his eyes briefly, before mumbling almost incoherently, "He's right, you shouldn't be sitting on the floor."

 Burt took that as his cue to act. He carefully helped his son to his bed, and despite Kurt's protests that he was fine; he pressed the button for the nurse to stop by.

 Blaine hadn't moved from where he sat on the floor, his eyes drifting around the room absently.

 Burt sighed and walked back over to the other boy, but when he stuck out a hand to pull him to his feet, Burt was thrown for yet another loop. Blaine flinched and scooted a few inches away so quickly that Burt almost thought he'd imagined it.

 "Blaine," Kurt's voice was tense with worry, his feet already coming back over the side of his bed.

"You stay put," Burt ordered, eyeing his son. He turned back to Blaine, and offered his hand again, "Come on, kid, let's get you up, too. It's only me."

Blaine studied his hand for a moment before taking it tentatively, and when Burt pulled him up right, he mumbled a quiet thank you.

"Hey, come over here," Kurt's voice was so gentle it made Burt cringe. But it seemed to have its desired effect; Blaine shuffled toward him and sat down on the edge of his bed.

Burt stood at the end of the bed and studied them, "Now that we're all a little more comfortable, why don't you two decide who is going to tell me what's going on?"

Blaine stared down at his lap and Kurt stared at Blaine, then at his father, "We-"

 "It's nothing, sir, just... me. It was me," Blaine swallowed and glanced furtively toward the older man.

"Care to tell me what exactly about you got my kid with eight broken ribs on the floor of his hospital room?" Burt pressed.

 Blaine's eyes flew to Kurt, and Kurt glared in horror at his father, "Dad!"

 "It's a valid question." Burt folded his arms across his chest.

"Blaine, stop looking at me like that; I'm fine," Kurt pressed a hand on top of Blaine's then turned his attention back to his father, "It's my fault we were on the floor; I told you, let him be."

 Burt closed his eyes for a moment, what would his wife have done right now? He opened his eyes again and looked between the two boys before finally speaking, "All right, fine. But you're going to answer a few questions for me before we just drop this."

Kurt nodded briefly, his hand moving to rub Blaine's arm.

 "Are either one of you in trouble?" Burt looked between them.

"No," Kurt said; Blaine shook his head.

 "Are either of you hurt?"

 Both boys again negated the question.

 "Is there something I should know about either one of you relating to this whole mess?"

 Blaine and Kurt's eyes met for a long moment, but that time it was Blaine who spoke, his voice a hoarse whisper, "No."

Kurt studied Blaine for another moment, "...not right now."

Burt tried to stare them down, but Blaine was rubbing at his forehead and staring down at his knees again and Kurt was watching Blaine again. When he was sure his stare down would get him nowhere, he let a long breath out his nose, "If you change your mind about any of this, you let me know. That goes for both of you."

 "Yes, sir." Blaine mumbled.

 Kurt reached up and carefully pulled Blaine's hand away from his face, "Thanks, Dad. We're fine though, just... we're fine."

 Just then, the called nurse walked in. She checked Kurt's collarbone and prodded his ribs, eliciting a short yip of pain. She frowned at him, "What were you doing with your arm out of the sling?"

 Kurt shrugged his good shoulder and avoided his father's eyes.

 The nurse eyed him awhile longer before turning her attention to Blaine. His gaze was focused on the linoleum and his mouth was set in a frown. She watched him for a minute and couldn't help feeling that that look seemed familiar somehow.

When she touched a soft hand to his arm, he recoiled as if burned, his eyes flying up to meet hers.

 Her frown intensified as she studied him, but she didn't attempt to touch him again. Yes, she'd seen that look before; when she'd worked for the women's crisis center, she'd seen that look almost daily; usually it was accompanied by a black eye, a scratched up back; rug burned knees... but there were those that she treated that just had a certain look, and she could see it in the eyes of the boy in front of her, "What about you, honey, are you okay?"

He stared up at her for a few seconds before dropping his gaze again, "'m fine."

Burt watched the nurse intently. She felt it, too; he was sure: that strange tension, a nearly electrical current in the air.

"Did somebody hurt you?" She said, her tone almost tender.

Blaine turned his gaze up to her again; he eyed her warily before shaking his head.

She fell silent and looked between both boys; she'd gotten that response before, too, but there was nothing for it--if he had nothing to say, there was nothing she could do... or maybe she was imagining it--she'd been working for too many hours, seen too many injured kids, and now she was making things up in her head... still she couldn't quite shake the feeling, "You two take care of each other, you hear?"

Kurt nodded, "We will. Thank you."

The nurse turned toward the door, pausing to murmur to Burt, "Would you mind stepping outside with me for a moment?"

Burt glanced at the boys, "I'll be right back."

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Blaine wilted back into the bed beside Kurt. He turned his forehead into Kurt's arm, his hot shaky breaths made goose bumps rise on Kurt's skin.

"Shh," Kurt pressed his mouth into Blaine's hair.

"Please don't tell," Blaine whispered, "Please don't ever tell."

Kurt hesitated, but then Blaine was gripping his hand so tightly he could not bring himself to sink Blaine's one request in the ocean of despair around them, "I won't, I won't. Just relax, okay? Everything's gonna be okay."

Blaine swallowed hard but his shoulders relaxed just a little; his breath came out a little more evenly.

Kurt took in a deep breath and tried to center himself, "When?"

Blaine knew what he was asking immediately but he didn't answer right away, even when he did speak, his tone was hesitant, "The first time?"

Kurt was grateful Blaine couldn't see his face in that moment; he had to close his eyes tight to try and keep from bursting into tears. It happened more than once; it was ongoing and nobody in the world had done anything to protect him. Kurt couldn't speak, so he opted to nod against Blaine's head.

"When I got the scar," Blaine finally murmured after what seemed like an eternity of silence, "I told you the truth about it... I just left some of it out."

Kurt's mouth was too dry--he couldn't swallow properly, "Was it... all of them?"

Kurt felt Blaine's shoulders shudder. He didn't respond right away, he was trying to get a handle on the sob building in his throat. Despite his best efforts, his voice shook, "Yes."

"Blaine," Kurt choked on a wave of hysteria and gripped his boyfriend's hand even tighter. Blaine alone in a dingy locker room. Blaine screaming for help with no one to hear him. Blaine knowing it was going to happen again and again and no one would ever even bat an eye... the images were too much, "Why didn't you tell somebody?"

Blaine fell quiet again, "I... I was ashamed, I guess; I don't know."

"You have nothing to be ashamed of; you did nothing wrong," Kurt pulled his hand free from Blaine's and used it to tip his chin up so their eyes could meet.

Blaine held his gaze for only a fleeting second before looking away.

Kurt sighed and let Blaine melt back into his arm, "I'm going to take care of you."

Blaine burrowed his face between Kurt's arm and the pillow, "Can we not talk about this anymore?"

"Sure," Kurt said quickly, but it wasn't enough. They could both feel it lacing the air like carbon monoxide; invisible but slowly choking them to death. The truth that couldn't be undone. Kurt leaned his cheek against Blaine's head, willing him to sleep. When Blaine finally slipped into a fitful nap, Kurt couldn't bring himself to do the same--even conscious, the images assaulted his mind and made the air in his lungs catch. He closed his eyes, turned his face more fully into Blaine's hair, and held his breath against the poison.

Burt stepped back into the room. Disturbed by the cryptic message from the nurse to watch both of the boys closely, he had plans to interrogate them one more time. His resolve melted the second he looked at them.

Both were asleep in the way Burt remembered Kurt passing out after having spent all day outside playing or after he'd cried too hard over some matter of childhood injustice--the deep, exhausted sleep of children who have given the day everything they have and are drained to the point past being able to even dream. Burt pulled a blanket down from the top shelf of the closet and spread it over them. He contemplated sitting down in the chair beside the bed and waiting for them to wake up, but thought better of it. He checked to make sure the call button for the nurses station was within easy reach of the bed and then slipped out the door, closing it as quietly as he could behind him. He couldn't bring himself to make them reveal the source of their previous tears or broken eyes; the way they looked asleep-- faces quiet and fingers tangled together between them-- had made Burt modify his mental rule book: for the time being, bliss might not look like laughter and smiles; maybe it was the look of the sweet, quiet oblivion provided by sleep... and, after all, if Kurt was happy, he was happy. He would not push for answers... at least not today.