"Blaine, what's the matter with you?" His father frowned at him over the top of his newspaper.

"Is your migraine back?" His mother added, already pulling the ibuprofen down from the cupboard.

"No, it's fine." Blaine mumbled, shoving his untouched plate away. The smell of eggs was making him nauseous; besides, he was too tired to chew.

"You look terrible," his father was still watching him, "you all right to go into work?"

"Yeah; I'll live." Blaine took the business section when his father offered it. He read listlessly about European debt crisis. His father dropped another section down on top of it.

Blaine glanced up at him questioningly, his father chuckled, "You loved the science section when you were a kid; do you remember?"

Blaine nodded, turning his attention to a story on NASA. His father had been nothing short of pleased with him since the benefit; a small ray of sunshine in an otherwise black week, and Blaine didn't feel like adding that to the list of things he'd screwed up. "Looks like being an astronaut is checked off my future careers list."

His father smiled briefly, "Not planning on going into business like your old man?"

Blaine shrugged, still scanning the article. He didn't know how he was making it through tonight, let alone how he was going to try and navigate his college path.

"Aren't you hungry, Blaine?" His mother glanced at his untouched plate.

Blaine shook his head, trying to look engrossed in the paper, but she continued to pry.

"You barely touched your dinner last night." Shannon glanced to her husband. "And you really do look dreadful, sweetie. What's going on?"

Blaine looked between them for a moment; he was momentarily reminded of the day he'd come out to them. Sitting at this same table with them staring at him with the same anxious expectancy as they gazed at him with now. He picked at the edge of the paper, "Kurt and I broke up."

"Oh, Honey, I'm sorry." His mother reached a hand out to touch his arm.

His father looked at him a moment longer before draining his coffee cup and getting up from the table. He put the mug in the dishwasher and washed his hands.

Blaine hadn't expected much of a reaction on his father's part other than perhaps a scowl. Over the past few years his father had, as far as Blaine could tell, moved from almost tangibly disliking him to quietly ignoring anything having to do with his sexuality. His father paused and touched a gentle hand to his shoulder on the way out the door. "There will be others, Blaine. Keep working hard; life will reward you eventually."

He turned to watch his father go—he wanted desperately to say something, though he wasn't entirely sure what, and John didn't look back. The garage door slammed shut and Blaine was left alone with his mother.

"What happened?" His mother was watching the doorway too, equally mesmerized by the near-show of affection, but then her attention was fully back to her son, "You two seemed so happy."

"We were." Blaine sat back in his chair. "It just wasn't enough, I guess."

"Blaine, you are as terrible as your father. You take yourself far too seriously;" Shannon shook her head, "you're seventeen years-old; your only job in the world right now is to be happy."

"And to give tours to Dalton freshman," Blaine glanced at the clock and got out of his chair, buttoning his blazer as he made his way to the door.

"Could you stop by the Club after work and pick up my punchbowl?" His mother called after him.

"Sure." Blaine called back, stepping out into the muggy summer air. He glanced up at the clouds- they were low and heavy; another storm was brewing.

Blaine dropped his phone down into its usual residence in his cup holder. He would have abandoned it in his room so he didn't have to think about the calls he was rejecting from Kurt, but there were other contacts he could not afford to ignore. Kurt's calls the first couple nights had all ended with long-winded voicemails—begging him to reconsider their split, to talk to him, tell him how he could make it right. The third and fourth day he had been left only two voicemails. That morning, Kurt's number was not on his missed calls list.

Despite the messy voicemails and the sporadic schedule of calls, Blaine fell asleep and awoke to the same text lighting up his phone's screen each day. It's not over. I love you.

He'd already received the message that day, and he awaited the bittersweet moment he would see it later that night after he'd returned from the park and tried to find some quiet spot in his mind to sleep. He never responded—even if he wanted to, he wouldn't know what to say. I'm sorry? I didn't mean it? I love you, too? I don't deserve you?

His phone vibrated noisily. He snatched it up quickly but took a steadying breath before hitting the accept button. "What?"

"Hello to you, too. Did you sleep nicely last night, baby?"

"When?" Blaine slumped in his seat when he pulled into the Dalton lot.

"When what, Blaine?" Eric queried innocently.

Blaine remained mute and waited.

"Meet me at the front entrance to the park; nine o clock; we're going to have a bit of fun tonight, so wear something pretty." Eric supplied after a short pause.

"The front entrance?" Blaine glanced at the clock. He was going to be late if he didn't get inside now.

"You heard correct. Don't be late. Have a nice day at work, dear." Eric hung up.

Blaine watched the call time blink at him and finally go black. He could wonder over what Eric had planned later; he was now officially three minutes late for work. He dropped the phone in his seat and jogged inside. He smiled at the group of preteens and their parents waiting in the entrance. Hi, I'm Blaine Anderson, I'm queer as a three dollar bill and currently moonlighting as a play-thing-slash-punching-bag for a sociopath five nights a week in hopes of keeping him away from my ex-boyfriend, and I have issues with people touching me so keep your fucking hands off the blazer, thanks. "Hi, I'm Blaine Anderson and I'll be your tour guide today. Welcome to Dalton!"

"Kurt; I already gave you two extra days."

"So give me two more." Kurt glanced toward the family room where Finn was watching TV.

"No way, kiddo. This was not the deal." Burt kept his voice quiet, as mindful as Kurt that Finn was in the next room.

"It wasn't in the deal that he would break up with me over this either, Dad." It didn't matter how many times he said it or how many times Blaine had ignored his calls; tears still stung his eyes and his voice went tight with suppressed sobs. "If you do this, he will never take me back."

"If he is so messed up with this—which I'm not saying he doesn't deserve to be—that he's willing to break up with you in the first place, then we definitely have to do something, Kurt. If I were his parent, and I found out another parent knew what had happened and hadn't told me—"

"Then maybe I shouldn't have told you!" Kurt shouted, not caring if Finn heard him. He was at the end of his rope. He'd left enough voicemails he was sure to merit as obsessive, and he'd even considered calling Nadia to try and stage an intervention on Blaine, but then thought better of it. The last thing he needed was to spill Blaine's secrets to another person.

"You did the right thing, and you know it, Kurt." Burt squeezed his son's arm lightly.

"Everything's an even bigger mess than it was before." Kurt sniffled, wrapping his arms around his middle. "He hates me."

"He loves you." Burt said softly.

"You did not see the way he looked at me when I told him I was going to tell his parents. If I had slapped him across the face, he couldn't have looked more betrayed." Kurt sank down into one of the kitchen chairs, biting a thumbnail. He pulled it out of his mouth quickly. He was picking up on Blaine's bad habits.

"It's going to be hard at first, buddy, but in the long run he'll love you even more for this." Burt knelt down so he could be eye level with his son.

Kurt looked away from his father, blinking away the remainder of his tears.

Burt studied him in silence for a moment, "Why don't you come with me? We can all sit down together and figure this out."

"Blaine doesn't want to see me. He's made that pretty clear." Kurt snapped. He wasn't so sure he wanted to see Blaine either for the moment he showed up on his doorstep with his father in tow.

"He's going to need you, Kurt." Burt rested a hand on Kurt's knee. "More than ever. I know it's not easy, but hard times are what define a strong relationship. He was your friend before he was your boyfriend and he stood by you in some pretty tough times. If you decide you two can't be together, that's your decision, but he needs a friend right now whether he realizes it or not."

Kurt remained mute, then finally looked at his father, "…okay."

"Okay?" Burt straightened up, offering a hand.

Kurt took it and pulled himself up. "Okay, let's go."

When Blaine got in his car after his double shift of mothers who insisted on sneaking up on him and tapping him on the back, fathers who clapped him too hard on the shoulder, and bored adolescent boys who bumped into him at every corner, he had to sit quietly for a moment and gather himself. He was starting to lose his touch. He'd scared a red headed mother by nearly jumping out of his skin when she pressed her hand against his back to get his attention, and he'd given up singing despite the pleas of his tour groups. Maybe Kurt was right…maybe he needed- no, I'm fine. I've got this. Eric has to go to college or something at the end of August, right? Then—then what? He could magically get over his intimacy issues? Get back with Kurt and act like nothing ever happened? Tuck his bad dreams in the donation box with his old summer clothes to be shipped away? He glanced at his phone and sighed. He had a missed call from Kurt. He was about to set his phone back down when it started vibrating in his palm. Kurt's name appeared on the screen in bold, black letters. Maybe it was his paranoid reverie or maybe he just really couldn't resist not hearing that voice for another day; whatever the reasoning, he answered. "Hello?"

"Blaine! You—you actually picked up." Kurt sounded alarmed.

Blaine didn't say anything.

"Blaine, I- the other day, I don't think—" Kurt let out a long, shuddery sigh, "I miss you, Blaine."

Blaine heard his own voice, quiet, "I miss you, too."

"I didn't mean to make you feel like I was giving you an ultimatum, Blaine, but you know I love you and I just want to make things better." Kurt was stumbling over his words; rushing to get his thoughts out before Blaine could change his mind about speaking with him and hang up. He wanted him to have fair warning about what was about to happen.

Blaine still remained mute, staring at the bottom of his steering wheel.

"None of this should have happened, Blaine." Kurt said softly.

Blaine wasn't sure if Kurt was referring to their recent experiences or his past with Eric, but he felt tears sting his eyes all the same.

"You deserve to be happy, Blaine, and I feel like you're the only person who doesn't see that." Kurt's voice wavered, "you believe everybody else can and should have everything they want out of life, and you never even give yourself the chance. You fight for everyone but you."

"I—" Blaine didn't know what to say. He what? He was okay with being tortured by Eric? He liked being stepped on? He tried to chew at his thumbnail, but it was too short.

"That—" Blaine heard Kurt inhale and exhale deeply into the receiver before starting over. "That's why I'm going to do it for you, Blaine. If you can't love you enough to do this, then I can love you enough for both of us."

"What are you going to do?" Blaine straightened up in his seat, adrenaline making him edgy. Shit, this was not good.

"I'm going to talk to your parents, Blaine. Tonight."

"Kurt, please," Blaine pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, "please, don't do this. You can't do this to me."

Kurt's voice shook, "I know you might hate me for this, Blaine, but I love you enough that I don't care. I just thought you deserved to… to know this was—"

A beep in Blaine's ear signaling a call on the other line clipped Kurt's voice short. Blaine pulled his phone away from his face to check the screen; he closed his eyes for a moment to center himself before pressing the phone back to his ear. "Kurt, could you please reconsider? Please."

"No, Blaine." Kurt sounded sad.

The phone beeped again.

Kurt seemed to interpret Blaine's silence as hesitance because he was suddenly babbling, "We can do it together, Blaine, I won't make you go through this alone, but—"

Another beep.

"I have to go, Kurt." Blaine knew better than to let the phone go to voicemail.

"But I—"

"Goodbye, Kurt." Blaine ended the call and took the other one quickly. "Hi, what?"

"Back lot. Now." Eric sounded... angry.

"I thought we were meeting at the front entrance at nine. It's barely seven." Blaine turned the keys over in the ignition despite his protests. Eric angry made him nervous.

"Well I'm fucking changing the plan, aren't I?" Eric snapped.

"Fine, I'll change and be over." Blaine wondered absently if he'd have to worry about Kurt intercepting him. He was suddenly much too hot; he pulled off his blazer and dropped it in the backseat.

Eric seemed to find himself for a moment; his voice took on its normal silky quality, "Unnecessary, Blaine. Leave it on. Maybe I'll fulfill a few schoolboy fantasies tonight."

Blaine flinched but didn't respond to the comment, "I'll be there in fifteen."

"I suggest you speed and make it ten. We have a few things to discuss." Eric hung up without further explanation.

Blaine felt a sickness forming in his stomach he was becoming used to. Eric had been playing cat and mouse all week. Sometimes he remained seated across the lot from Blaine for hours at a time without a single touch, other times he would press close to him, unbutton his shirt; run a fingertip along the hem of his jeans. Occasionally he would strike him without warning, but he otherwise had left him untouched. Blaine knew this tactic; he was trying to drive him crazy wondering when he was finally going to just go in for the kill. It was working.

And now this business with Kurt. He wasn't sure if it was an empty threat he could talk his way out of, or if Kurt was actually intending on acting, but either way, the idea needed to be stopped. Later. He would deal with that later, first he had Eric to tend to. He pulled into the lot and let out an audible groan. Max was with him.

His phone vibrated again. 'I wish I could send you a one-word text to make this all better, but I can't. You deserve better than nightmares, Blaine, I just wish you could see that. I love you.'

Blaine dropped the phone into the passenger seat and climbed out of his car. He'd hardly slammed his car door shut when Eric backhanded him hard across the face.

Blaine stumbled back, a hand instinctively going to his stinging cheek.

"You stupid fucking faggot." Eric seethed, already coming at Blaine again, this time hitting him across the other cheek. "What the fuck did you do?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Blaine sidestepped away from his car. He knew better than to trap himself between the vehicle and Eric's fists.

"Guess who came to visit my house today. You have one try." Eric's voice calmed some as he turned his back on Blaine and moved toward his own car. He retrieved the bottle of scotch from the first night; it's contents considerably lower than the last time Blaine had seen it.

Blaine searched his head; he looked in horror at Eric. "Kurt didn't—"

Eric rolled his eyes as he took a long pull from the bottle. "And why would he be coming to my house, Blaine?"

Blaine was too relieved to be afraid of Eric in that moment. Rain was starting to fall.

"The police, asshole. That's who was at the door this morning." Eric took another drink. "Wanting to ask some more questions about the incident involving your darling faggot boyfriend and some other 'potentially related incidences'."

"You know anything about that, Blaine?" Max finally chimed in. He was leaned against Eric's car; his arms folded across his chest.

Blaine shook his head; his hair sending little droplets of water down his forehead with the action. "I don't know why they were there. I swear."

Max stared at him cynically, but Blaine turned his attention to Eric.

"You know I wouldn't tell."

Eric studied him and smiled, "No, I suppose you wouldn't. But that doesn't change the fact that someone did, and I'm a tad bit upset about it, Blaine. It made a real mess for me to clean up with my father."

"What about your faggot boyfriend, did he rat on us?" Max glowered at Blaine suspiciously.

Blaine lied seamlessly, "He wouldn't have anything to say except that you almost killed him. He doesn't know anything else."

Max rolled his eyes, "Stop being a fucking drama queen, Blaine, we just put him in his place."

"You put him in a near coma and almost cost him his life." Blaine seethed, taking a step toward Max.

"That's a fucking lie, Anderson." Max bit back, but he turned to Eric.

"Children, play nice." Eric moved between them.

Blaine studied Eric for a moment, "what did you tell them happened to Kurt, Eric?"

"Now, Blaine, let's not be turning tables, I do believe I said earlier that you had one guess as to who came to visit me today," Eric tipped his bottle to his lips; when he lowered it, it was empty, "Max, was Blaine's guess correct?"

Max looked unsettled, but he shook his head.

"No? Too bad." Eric sighed and moved closer to Blaine, smiling. When he was less than a foot away, his face turned down into a sneer. Blaine saw the flash of his arm lifting, but only felt the blow across the back of his head. He registered the sound of glass breaking, but then his ears were ringing and his vision blurred. Hadn't this happened before? A crack, a flash, that sound, those stars? No, it couldn't happen again. Blaine wouldn't allow it.

"—Let's just go, Eric. Come on, it's raining and I'm sick of this shit." Max was whining, but Eric's focus was on Blaine on his hands and knees, blinking over and over again as though he couldn't quite see. Blood was staining the back of the white collar of his uniform shirt.

"Get on your feet, Blaine. Now." Eric tossed what was left of the bottle into the woods.

Blaine remained where he was, still blinking, and apparently disoriented.

Eric kicked him hard in the stomach. "Blaine, I am not going to fucking ask again!"

His vision had cleared and he could feel the bits of glass biting into his palms. He shoved himself to his feet a bit unsteadily, but with every passing second his brain was reorienting itself. He held Eric's gaze as best he could.

Eric smiled after a moment; "I gave you fair warning, Blaine, don't look at me like that."

Water was running down off his hair and into his eyes. He passed a hand through his curls to move the hair plastered to his forehead. His fingers briefly touched the hot gash at the back of his head. It was big and deep, but he could worry about that later.

Eric glanced at his forehead and smiled, "I don't think I ever did ask you, did you like my present? Kurt's new accessory?"

"Eric, let's just go to the party and—" Max glanced toward the sky as the rain continued to poor down.

"Shut your fucking mouth, Max; we are not finished here." Eric's voice was smooth. "Don't you think Blaine looks nice in his uniform?"

"Sure, whatever. Let's go." Max shoved his back off the car, agitated and restless suddenly.

Eric turned his attention back to Blaine. "I bet Kurt has a matching uniform. How fucking cute must you two have been at Dalton together—singing and holding hands and living the fuckin' dream."

"I never said Kurt went to Dalton." The less Eric knew of Kurt, the better.

"I know plenty of things you don't tell me, B. I make it my business to know." Eric smiled and tapped a finger against his temple, "and it's not like I don't know how to get entirely into your head anyway."

Blaine glanced at Max again, "why did you bring him tonight?"

"I know how much you enjoy our one-on-one time, but I require his services this evening." Eric reached out and traced his thumb across a diagonal line of navy on Blaine's tie.

"Have you been coming out here without us, Eric?" Max looked bewildered.

"I'm terrible at sharing," Eric said ruefully, but his eyes remained on Blaine, "I'm loving this schoolboy routine, B, but where in the world is your blazer?"

"Back of the car." Blaine muttered.

Eric smiled again, tugging him closer by the tie still in his grip. "How naughty to not keep your full uniform on, Blaine. I think you need to be punished."

Blaine jerked away, but it had little effect with Eric's hold on his uniform.

"Blaine, settle down, rules are rules." Eric tried to catch a hold of one of his arms, "Max, a little help would be nice."

"Come on Eric, let the kid be. I thought we were going to a party." Max shook the water from his hair.

"We were, and Blaine was going to get to come, but there's been a change in plans." Eric jerked Blaine back towards him, finally catching a hold on his forearm. He twisted it behind his back. "Now, if you wouldn't mind—"

"No way, Eric, this is fucking sick. We can't keep doing this. What if we did almost kill that kid, huh? I'm not gonna fucking be responsible for that shit." Max backed away.

"Then wait in the fucking car you fucking chicken shit." Eric shouted over the rain.

"Max, please—" Blaine looked over at him desperately as Eric twisted his arm behind him tighter.

Max had one hand on the car door but his eyes remained on Blaine.

"Blaine, we had a deal." Eric kicked his feet out from under him and pinned him to the wet pavement with a knee in his back. "Do we need to have a talk?"

Blaine tried to clamber free, but Eric grabbed a hold of his hair, pressing the base of his palm into the gash on Blaine's scalp and his cheek back down against the asphalt.

"I'll kill you if you don't fucking settle down, do you hear me?" Eric yelled in his ear and dug his knee in harder.

"Go ahead and do it then." Blaine snarled back. "Fucking kill me. I'd rather be dead than do this again."

"Eric—" Max was practically whimpering.

"I told you to wait in the damn car." Eric snapped at him before turning his attention back to Blaine. "As for you, baby; maybe I was a little harsh with the death threats. Let me rephrase; settle down or I will make you settle down."

Blaine ignored his threats. He kicked his feet and tried to twist out from beneath Eric's weight; all the while screaming to Max, "Please, Max, please don't let him—"

"So help me God, Blaine, I will break both your knees if I have to so I can get what I want, then I'll go to Lima, and I will kill your fucking boyfriend." Eric slammed Blaine's face against the ground once before leaning in close to his ear. His voice shook with fury, "Do not forget for one second that I own you."

Blaine quieted for a moment, stunned from the impact of his head on the pavement, but his mind raced.

Eric took his quiet for compliance and eased up his knee. When Blaine remained still, he chuckled, "that's a good boy."

Blaine remained still while Eric rubbed soft circles on the small of Blaine's back where he had previously dug his knee in.

"You see, Blaine? We can play nice." Eric straightened up and pulled Blaine up with him by the crook of his elbow. "Come on over here; that's a sweet boy. Such a good little listener, aren't you?"

Blaine walked quietly in front of Eric toward his car, but his head was still busy; thoughts moving so fast he couldn't catch a hold of one to take a good look at what it was about.

"This should work out all right." Eric looked over the trunk of the car; he patted it almost affectionately before stepping behind Blaine. He rested his chin on his shoulder. "Now it really will be just like old times, Blaine."

Blaine stood silently with his hands in his pockets, but when he felt Eric's hands slip down his sides to snake around his waist he finally grabbed a hold of just one coherent thought. Enough. I have had enough. His fingers closed around the only thing in his pocket and he twisted around in Eric's hold and threw himself against the other boy, dropping them both to the ground. His body worked on its own accord, kicking and hitting and screaming, until someone was screaming over his own voice and the sound of thunder and dragging him backwards off the body beneath him.

"Blaine, stop it; you'll fucking kill him!" Max pinned Blaine against his own body, both of his wrists in vice-like grips, "I'm not going to hurt you, settle the fuck down."

Blaine stopped fighting, but his breath was coming out in short ragged bursts. Eric wasn't moving.

"Listen to me, Blaine, you need to get out of here." Max's voice trembled beside his ear. "I- listen, I'm fucking sorry about—about Kurt and you and—I just— I'll deal with Eric, but you need to get the fuck out of this place."

"I—I—" Blaine wasn't sure what had happened. Eric moaned, one hand lifting limply before dropping back down, "I wasn't—"

"We are all going to be in deep shit if you don't make yourself scarce right now. You can get yourself put back together again without letting anyone catch on. You're good at that shit still, r-right?" Max still had a hold of his wrists; his chest shook against Blaine's back.

Blaine nodded numbly.

Max let go of him and stepped away quickly as though frightened Blaine might suddenly turn on him. "Good. Now go."

But Blaine couldn't move; he stared transfixed at Eric. Blood. There was so much blood.

"Jesus Christ, Blaine." Max's voice cracked with hysteria, "Please just go so I can deal with this shit."

Blaine felt his feet taking him toward his car. He didn't look back as he pulled out of the lot. He didn't know where he was going until he was parked in the driveway.

"How do you know all of this?" John Anderson broke the long silence that had held the kitchen captive. His eyes bore into the man across from him. A man he didn't even know.

Burt nodded his head toward his son. Kurt's eyes were closed and his hands trembled where they sat folded on the table. "Kurt?"

"Blaine—" Kurt's eyes fluttered open, but he couldn't look at the Andersons. "H-he told me; in the hospital about…about what they did to him."

Shannon Anderson shook her head, glowering at Kurt, "You're a liar."

"Mrs. Anderson, I—" Kurt looked pleadingly at her.

"That did not happen to my son. To my child." She stood up and pointed an accusatory finger at him. "You're making this all up!"

"I wish I was, Mrs. Anderson, I really do." Kurt's voice trembled. "Blaine, he worked really hard to keep you safe from this; h-he was sure it would…it would break your heart."

"No, the only heart broken in this house is his because of you; you're just trying to hurt him more!" Shannon's voice broke with distress.

Kurt stared at her in mute horror.

"Mrs. Anderson," Burt rested a soothing hand on his son's shoulder, but his gaze remained on the woman standing at the opposite side of the table, "I think there's been some confusion with all of this, and that's understandable. Blaine ended things with Kurt because—"

"No he did not! He was devastated just this morning," Shannon looked to her husband, "John, tell them."

John lifted a hand and coaxed his wife back down into the seat beside him before speaking; his voice calm, "Blaine is a well-adjusted boy; he would have told us if—"

"Like he told you about his broken ribs? Like how he told you about every single nightmare? Like how he told you about where that gash on his forehead came from? Or why he walks into a room like he thinks someone might attack him?" Kurt snapped. "He would do anything, anything to keep from disappointing you. Even if it meant hiding this. Do not tell me you would have known if something like that were going on either; you chose not go see what was happening to him."

John stood up abruptly. Being told by a stranger in an oily baseball cap that someone had raped his son was bad enough, but the insolence of this child, of his words, was too much. His throat felt tight, his palms sweaty. This wasn't possible. Blaine—he was at times egocentric, arrogant, petulant, moody— but he was not the victim of something that macabre. It would have shown. John would have had to have seen something that dark.

Burt glanced between his son and the well-dressed man in front of them. He opened his mouth to offer some sort of calmer middle ground, but the sound of the front door slamming silenced all of them. No footsteps followed.

Blaine. Kurt pushed himself out of his chair, hoping to give him some warning about what he was about to walk into, but the two other men followed him toward the doorway.

Shannon remained frozen in her seat. Something did not feel right to her. She could remember the moment the doctor had first given her her newborn son. The soft warmth of him in her arms; the smell of his hair. She was forever in tune after that moment of when her child was near; a feeling that's sudden absence at random moments in the night could startle her awake. She did not recognize the feeling she had now. It locked her in her chair and made the world spin slower.

Kurt stopped short when he saw the boy in the entry, the others halting behind him just as abruptly.

Blaine's shirt was torn and stained red and his hair clung to his bloody forehead, but it was not the blood that had frozen Kurt in his place. It was his eyes. Wide and terrified, they moved around the room as though searching for something desperately; hopelessly.

When Blaine registered the presence of others, his gaze moved past Kurt and straight through Burt Hummel. His eyes locked on his father's face. Something fell from his hand and hit the wood floor with a resounding clatter. John Anderson stared down at the red plastic; the exposed blade; then he turned his gaze back up to his son.

Blaine stared back; horrified, "I s-screwed up bad this time, Dad. I screwed up so bad."