The wind was absolutely fierce and the roads were slick as Blaine kept his foot pressed a little too firmly on the accelerator. He had to slow down on the icy patches, but his GPS was giving him directions, so he didn't have to slow down to find each corner. The directions ran out on the Scenic Byway and the wind whipping the water over the frozen road was making it tough to drive at all. He had gone quite some ways and turned around to check the other way when he saw it...a black Navigator pulled to the side of the road. He parked behind it, cringing in the icy wind as he made his way over to the car. It was unlocked.

Blaine opened the door, climbing in to get out of the wind. He looked around. It was clean but had a lot of things in it. He picked up a gym bag that said 'McKinley High Cheerios' on the side and opened it. There was a math book with some papers folded neatly and placed between the pages. 'Kurt Hummel' was written on the top of a returned test, along with an 'A' in red marker. On the bottom of the page, near a wrinkle and a rip was written 'Fucking Faggot' in blue highlighter. Oh, now it was becoming a bit more clear. In the bag he also found a white silk shirt with a red stain on it. Blood? No, it would have turned brown. He smelled it, and it smelled sweet and a bit like that fake strawberry flavoring. Unfortunately, Blaine recognized what this was: slushie. He'd been slushied at a show choir competition last year.

Well, that's really all Blaine needed to know. He turned to pull his coat closer and retie his warm scarf and saw a picture wedged above the visor in the driver's seat. He reached up and took the picture down. It was of a man dressed in a green plaid flannel shirt and an old baseball hat. His name tag said: BURT and under that: Hummel Tire and Lube. The man had weathered skin and laugh wrinkles, obviously made by the huge grin he had on his face as he looked at a boy standing next to him. He had an arm thrown around the boy's shoulder in an easy grace born of long habit.

This boy was about sixteen and dressed in cream colored skinny jeans and a purple button-down shirt. There was a black and white pin-striped vest and matching bow tie with a bird brooch pinned to the vest. The boy had rich chestnut hair, obviously combed and styled to perfection, pink pouting lips, rosy cheeks, and blue-green eyes with long eyelashes. His look of pure love as he gazed at the man was obvious -as was the man's reflected love.

Blaine was already pretty sure, but turned the picture over and saw on the back in neat handwriting: “Dad and Me 2010”. Blaine looked again at the boy in the picture. Kurt. He hoped he was in time as he exited the SUV and got back in his car. He had the picture in his pocket, not sure why, but just in case.

A little ways down the road there was the turnoff to the bridge, but it was icy and Blaine wasn't sure of the guardrails. What had been sleet an hour ago was now turning into big flakes of snow, quickly covering the ice with a layer of thick snow. He slowed his car down, looking as well as he could through the dark into the swirling snow. His eyes were tired after watching the road for so long in his tense state, so he stopped the car, parked it beside the road and got out to look across the bridge. He thought he saw something move a the center girder, but he couldn't be sure. Shouting would probably do no good as his voice was unlikely to carry in this wind.

Nothing left to do but just walk there and see if it was Kurt. He had on a very heavy coat with gloves and heavy boots. He wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck and adjusted his hat. He slid his thermos of hot coffee in his deep side pocket. Out of the trunk, he gathered the emergency pack his brother always kept there - a space blanket, food, extra gloves and dry socks. Cooper was always prepared in an Ohio winter.

Blaine began the slow way across the bridge. As he slid and tried to make his way as quickly as possibly down the bridge, he thought that if Kurt wasn't here, he had no idea where to look next. But he had an undeniable feeling Kurt was here, and that he was watching Blaine's progress. Blaine had no idea what he was going to say to this boy – that he could go home and everything would be all better? Blaine couldn't guarantee that, he had no idea what Kurt's home life was. It looked like his father loved him, but that was not a guarantee that life would be good. Before he realized it, he was nearing the center supporting post.

“Did you bring me warm socks?” a voice called from the shadow of the bridgeworks.

“Yeah, I did. Here...” Blaine said, searching in the bag for the long double layer wool socks Cooper had left in there. Kurt's hand came out of the shadow, and the trembling hand made Blaine's stomach curl at the thought of how long the boy had been here in the freezing weather to make it turn so blue. It was terribly cold in his snow gear, but this boy had on a light jacket and thin boots, a pair of trousers that looked as though they were made of sheer linen or cotton, and no scarf, hat, or gloves.

“I have more gear, here, come over here and we can get you some warmer things to put on for the walk back to the car,” Blaine said, trying not to let the cold turn into shivering in his own body.

“No. It won't matter in a few minutes anyway, I just wanted my feet to be warm for a minute. I hate it when my feet are cold,” Kurt said, sitting in the accumulating snow to pull off his soaking wet boots – he wasn't wearing socks - and pull on the thick, warm socks that Blaine had handed him.

“It will matter, Kurt.” Blaine said.

Kurt jerked his head up, surprised at the boy calling him by name. Oh, yeah, he had told him his first name. Oh, well, it didn't matter. It wasn't as if there was anyone to care anyway.

“Kurt?” Blaine tried, thinking of what to say.

“What? Do you want to do your good deed for your college application now? Well, you did it. My feet are warmer now, so you can go back to your little cubicle and save someone else's life. Okay?” Kurt's tone was back to sarcastic and Blaine began to wonder if he had waited to give him the socks maybe he could have lured him off the bridge. Unlikely, he thought.

“Won't someone miss you in their life, Kurt? Who are you leaving behind to live with the pain of losing you?” Blaine took a stab in the dark. Hadn't he seen this in a movie?

Kurt glared at him. “Nobody. Nobody cares.”

Blaine was cold, he was damn near freezing, and he wanted to get back in his warm car and go home. Preferably with Kurt in tow.

“What about your dad?” he asked, mentally seeing the photograph of Kurt and his dad.

“How would you know anything about my dad......Blaine, is it?” Kurt asked, a little shaken. If this kid was just guessing, he would have said 'your parents', not just 'your dad'.

Blaine moved closer to Kurt, but the boy jumped back. Blaine moved closer, but he was getting too close to the edge of the bridge and he could see the wild water below them and he didn't want to crowd Kurt or fall himself. He wanted to help Kurt, but he didn't want to loose his life in the process. He locked his eyes on Kurt's and held up a hand, showing he had nothing to hurt him with or capture him -or whatever fantasy Kurt's mind was thinking up. He slowly opened the top button of his coat and reached in to the inside pocket and produced the photograph he had taken from Kurt's SUV. He held it out to Kurt, who took it with a trembling hand.

“Where the hell did you get this?” he snarled, but Blaine could see the tears Kurt was trying to hold in check and the swipe of the back of his hand across his eyes when he thought Blaine wasn't looking.

“Out of your Navigator. You told me it was out of gas, so when I got near here, I looked for it so I could find you.”

“Oh. Seems like a lot of trouble just to bring me warm socks. Thank you, by the way. Well, my feet thank you,” Kurt said, but Blaine wasn't letting go of the idea of Kurt's dad missing him.

Kurt took the photograph and placed it very gently in his pocket. “And thanks for this. You can go now.”

“No. I want you to come with me,” Blaine said. He had no tricks or guarantees to give Kurt, just the truth. He wanted the boy to go with him. Kurt said nothing. So Blaine unzipped the bag again. He produced the rabbit-fur lined gloves and walked over to Kurt. The boy's hands were so cold and numb that he really couldn't put up much of a fight as Blaine removed his own rabbit-fur gloves (the matching pairs had been a gift to Blaine and Cooper a few Christmas's ago from their grandmother). He put the ones warmed by his body on Kurt's hands and then slipped Cooper's on his own hands. Kurt didn't say anything, but Blaine could see the thanks in his eyes as the warmth seeped into his frozen fingers.

Next, he took out the blanket and wrapped it around Kurt's shivering shoulders, then looked to see what was in the bag in terms of food. He found some chocolate bars and some granola bars, handing them to Kurt. Then he took his coffee thermos out of his deep side pocket and poured a steaming cup and gave that to Kurt, turning as though it didn't matter to him if Kurt drank it or not. He could hear Kurt gasp as the hot liquid hit his lips, but drank anyway. Blaine took the shooter of whisky out of the bag. Cooper was prepared for anything, apparently. He poured a dollop in the cup, filled it with coffee and handed it to Kurt, who downed it in a few gulps. Blaine hoped it might make him a bit warmer.

He went to the railing then and looked over the edge of the bridge. It was a long way down and looked cold as fuck. He shivered, but it was in fear of what Kurt had been contemplating rather than the cold. Kurt was rewrapping himself in the blanket when his eyes met Blaine's.

“I meant it when I said I have no one,” he almost whispered.

“What about your dad?” Blaine asked, hoping this question was now allowed.

“He had a heart attack. He's in the hospital, in a coma.”

“Oh.” Blaine didn't know how to reply to that. “What do the doctors think?”

“They don't know. If he dies, well....I don't know what would happen to me. And I want to do this while I have the strength to make myself do it. You understand?”

“No, Kurt. I'm sorry, but I don't. I guess I'm not supposed to say that to you, but I don't see this as a hopeless situation,” Blaine told him.

“No, of course you don't. You don't know what I'm up against. You're just volunteering for this help line to get a better chance to get into some Ivy League college. What? Did you pick helping the gays win some sort of Civil Rights just because “Gay” is the flavor of the week now? Hey, if this was 40 years ago, you'd be helping some random black kid, right? Do you even know a gay kid in your ivory tower of a private academy? Shit, Blaine, you did your good deed of the week for the local token faggot. Now go home and bask in your glory, okay? Leave me alone,” Kurt shouted.

Blaine flinched at Kurt's use of the word 'faggot'. How did Kurt know he went to a private school?

“I saw how much your dad loves you – in the picture? You can't mistake the way his eyes shine with pride and love for you, Kurt. What if he does make it? What if he lives, will you make him do that without you?”

“What the fuck? Are you Marley's ghost, showing me Christmas future? Or maybe Clarence the Angel from 'It's a Wonderful Life'? That shit isn't real, Blaine.”

“I'm not trying to reenact a movie here, Kurt, just trying to talk to you.”

“Oh, for pity's sake, Blaine. Will you stop nattering on and on about things you know nothing about. Let me lay it on the line for you since you think you have some right to know. He doesn't know I'm gay. If he dies, I'm alone. If he lives, I'll have to tell him. And the shock and disgust of that will probably do his heart in for good. So you see, I'm fucked either way,” Kurt finished in a quiet voice, almost devoid of emotion. Frankly, it scared Blaine more than the shouting.

“Than don't tell him,” Blaine said.

“He'll find out. The principal has to tell him because a guy at my school has been bullying me about being a fag and I got in a fight. The only reason Dad doesn't know about it is he had a heart attack last week. It's like a time bomb ready to go off. But what the fuck do you know about it? I bet you have your own problems...like whether to drive the Mercedes or the BMW on Monday. Really tough things like that.” Kurt crossed his hands over his chest in defense, but he wasn't sure of what. Blaine cringed a little, he was driving Cooper's old BMW.

“Maybe...”

“No. I can't talk Mr Figgins out of talking to Dad. It's in the hands of the school board because Coach Sylvester expelled the other kid. There has to be a hearing,” Kurt said.

“Kurt? It isn't true that I don't care, and it isn't true that I don't understand,” Blaine said, looking at Kurt's beautiful blue eyes, so full of pain.

“What? Did you take a class in gay sensitivity or something?” he snarked.

“You might say so....” and Blaine stepped close to Kurt and opened his coat. He pulled the heavy wool sweater out of his waistband and then pulled up his undershirt. There across his belly were scars...thick, twisted, ugly scars spelling out a word: FAGGOT.

Kurt gasped and just stared at Blaine. “Oh, my stars....” he mumbled. “Oh, Blaine, I'm sorry. So sorry,” and his knees hit the ice-covered cement and made a sick cracking sound. Blaine was there in a second, his arms around Kurt, trying to lift him to his feet.

“It's okay. It's okay. Just...come with me, Kurt. Come sit in my car and we can talk about this. I won't make you do anything you don't want to do, just come with me.”

Kurt was so broken he lost the will to do anything, so he just obeyed the instructions and walked with Blaine back over the bridge. As they got closer, Blaine shied away for a moment, and Kurt looked at him. “What?” he asked. Blaine just nodded at the car. Kurt got a small smile on his face, “Oh...you do drive a Beemer.” and he gave a tiny giggle. Blaine blushed, but so did Kurt.

“It is used, my brother gave it to me when he got a new car. It's not like....” Blaine had no idea what to say or why he felt some need to apologize to Kurt for the kind of car he drove, so just let the thought drop.

Blaine had to help Kurt into the car. He was so stiff from the cold, he couldn't bend his legs properly. Once inside, Blaine hurried over to his side and got in, starting the car and turning on the heater. They drove back to Lima in silence.

“Where do you live, Kurt?” Blaine asked, and Kurt gave him an address. Blaine plugged it into his GPS and drove silently. He pulled up to the address, but there was no house. Blaine looked around and saw gates in the middle of the block, Kurt nodded his head toward them. Blaine drove forward a bit and Kurt got out before Blaine had even stopped. He took off through the gates and Blaine looked up to the sign: St Anne Episcopal Church Cemetery.

“Kurt!” Blaine shouted into the night, but the wind was still blowing the snow all around them. He began to run...following the path Kurt's boots had made in the freshly fallen snow. He didn't think the boy could get very far and he was right, he found Kurt on his knees beside a pathway. He must have been hurt because he sat very still, his head down. It wasn't until he got close that Blaine saw what Kurt was doing: talking to a grave.

He was crying, sobbing really, his head almost down in his lap and shaking with the sobbing. He'd left Blaine's blanket and gloves in his car, went tearing through a cemetery in the middle of a snowstorm in the middle of the night – to cry at a grave?

“Kurt, Kurt...come back to the car with me. I'll take you home, Kurt. What are you doing?” Blaine babbled until he saw the gravestone. The ground was covered with snow, just the top of a rosebush climbed over the grave. The wind blew all the snow from the surface of the gravestone so Blaine could clearly read what was etched on the stone:

Elizabeth Claire Hummel

Beloved wife and mother of Burt and Kurt

Blaine stopped. He didn't want to interrupt what was obviously Kurt talking to his deceased mother, but it was freezing and Kurt was in no condition to be on his knees in the graveyard at night. He took off his own coat – he had a wool sweater on under it – and wrapped it around Kurt.

“I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't know what to do....don't let them take Dad, he's all I have left. I'll be good...Mommy, please help me. Please.”

Blaine took Kurt's hands and raised him from the snow, but Kurt wouldn't stop crying and he wouldn't move his feet or acknowledge Blaine in any way. Finally, Blaine just scooped him up and walked back to the car, settling Kurt in the passenger seat and driving to his own house. His parents were gone on a business trip and although Cooper was usually home when they weren't, he was gone this night also.