Kurt woke up in a haze, eyes completely bloodshot and body shaking from withdrawal. He could feel that his nose was broken and there was definitely blood coming from somewhere, but he couldn't pinpoint the location; everything was numb. His memories were no existent and it was probably better that way, to be honest. He doubted that this was a story he was going to be proud of.

"I see you're finally awake."

Kurt looked up, vision blurry and very dizzy from the lights, dim as they were. "Who the fuck are you and where am I?"

"Pleasant one I see. I'm Julia. I'm a flight attendant and you're on a plane to Chicago at your fathers request. We should be there soon." Completely irritated, he rolled his eyes at the flight attendant before rolling away from her and letting the darkness take over him once more.

The darkness is what Kurt called the peaceful times in his life. Sure, he was generally passed out from being intoxicated or too high to function, but it was still peaceful. It was a time when he could not worry about the real world and be at peace for once. Sometimes it was caused by sleep, but that was becoming rare. Kurt wasn't friends with sleep which is probably why he was so irate all the time. He just couldn't find it within himself to give two shits.

Unfortunately, he woke up to see his dads face hovering over him.

"Dad, back up you creeper." Kurt gave a weak attempt at shoving Burt away, only to make slight contact with his fathers shoulder. Burt just laughed and leaned in closer, as if to examine his son.

"I don't know who you think you are, but this is not the boy I've raised. Look at you, you're a mess."

"I can take care of myself."

"I beg to differ. You've made it more than clear that you can't, Kurt. You look like you've been beaten, trampled and backed over, yet you don't seem to care." Burt sighed before continuing. He pushed a pamphlet in Kurt's direction. "You're going to rehab. I don't know what you're on or what you do, but this has to stop. And you won't listen to me, but you have to listen to somebody. I'm driving you there bright and early in the morning. And don't even think about running away because the alarm will sound if any doors or windows are opened."

In much to pain to fight back, Kurt simply gave Burt a half hearted thumbs up before laying back on his childhood bed, letting the darkness overcome him once more.

Waking up was never an easy thing to do. His entire body ached from his hair down to his toes. His body wouldn't stop trembling, needed the alcohol and cocaine to make it through the day. Of course, he knew his dad wasn't about to let that happen. Ever so slowly and gingerly he got out of bed and made his trek to the bathroom. The smell hit him like a ton of bricks, causing him to run and empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet. God love Carole, but now is not the time for smells.

Kurt got up and forced himself to look in the mirror. His nose was definitely broken and he wasn't sure how he got that black eye or hole in his cheek, He guesses he bit his cheek too hard while taking a punch. Oh well. He just couldn't meet his own eyes. Not yet, anyways. Not when he knew all he would see is shame and disappointment and rage. His stupid fucking eyes.

Kurt made quick work of popping his nose back into place, hardly feeling the pain from being numb, as well as brushing his teeth before grabbing his robe and heading out the door. He noticed the time was six in the morning before he opened the front door, ignoring the obnoxious alarm, and sat on his old front porch. Kurt made quick work of lighting up a cigarette and taking a long drag. His body instantly relaxed at the nicotine entering his bloodstream and oh what a glorious feeling it was.

Burt was threatening to spit fire when he came out to the site in front of him.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing? You know smoking isn't allowed at my house." Burt made quick work of snatching the cigarettes Kurt had on the table, probably to smoke in a chain, and broke them in half. He nodded proudly as they scattered about his yard.

"I'd like to see you go and smoke those now, kid."

Kurt bit his tongue and simply flipped off Burt, going past him and into the house. Making quick work of gathering the few things he brought in last night, he took the extra time to mutter cruel things under his breath. Sometimes he just really hated his father.

"Let's fucking go. Now." He walked past Burt and got into the car, chucking his shit into the back seat. To make his point even further, he started the car and then, quite literally, laid on the horn. Nothing quite like waking up the neighbors at six in the morning. Pissing off his dad was a definite perk as well.

The car ride to the rehabilitation center was a somber one. Kurt kept purposely playing with his lighter to piss off Burt and if he happened to catch himself on fire, well, he can't say he would be too disappointed. The building came into sight. It was an old run down looking building on the outside, much like the ones you would picture for an old horror movie.

"Seriously? Are you fucking kidding me? Just because the sign says Elmhurst Rehabilitation Center doesn't mean this isn't a crack house. Please, god, tell me you're taking me to a fucking crack house."

"That's enough Kurt. Shut up and get out."

Kurt glared at his dad, grabbing his backpack he had tossed earlier, before heading into the center. However, the inside was much different than the outside. It wasn't new or remodeled by any means, but it was clean and well put together. It had the stereotypical happy nurses and disgusting smell of hand sanitizer and vomit. Great. Just great.

Kurt walked up to the first woman he saw. "I'm Kurt Hummel. Apparently I'm checking in here?"

The nurse smiled much too happily and clicked away on her computer, verifying information that Kurt didn't remember half of but agreed to anyways. He could feel Burt breathing down the back of his neck the whole time. A fact that pissed him off to no end.

"Dad. Leave. Now." Kurt gritted his teeth together, snarling ever so slightly. "I'm twenty three not twelve. I have all my shit you need to go. And don't call."

Burt left, heartbroken and defeated. He knew better than to fight back when Kurt had been using or going through a withdrawal. But sometimes he really just missed his little boy. He missed him a lot. Letting a tear fall down his cheek, Burt got into his car and rove straight home.

"So what do I have to do in this dump? Lay in bed and pretend to care? Go to meetings and act like I'm listening? AA? Chain me to a bed?" Maybe he was being a bit sarcastic. Oh well.

"No, uh, Mr. Hummel I need to go grab someone real quick. Please....have a seat." The receptionist seemed a bit concerned. Or maybe it was scared. Either way she didn't have any impact on Kurt, who was sitting in a much too hard chair watching eight year old re-runs on a fuzzy television.

"Mr. Hummel?"

Kurt turned when he heard a man's voice. Not too low and night too high. It was the perfect blend of melodious and masculine and oh, so sexy.

"Yeah, What?"

And then he saw him. And wow did he like what he saw. A classically handsome man with way too much hair gel. His eyes the shade of warm honey with some green and amber accents shooting around from the irises. His build was short, though probably not much under average, and muscular but not over so. His lips were the perfect shade of pink and his eyelashes went on for miles. In short, this man was probably a victim of many of Kurt's teenage wet dreams.

"My name is Blaine Anderson and I'll be your counselor slash mentor during your time here." Blaine offered Kurt a bright smile and outstretched his hand.

Suddenly having a dry throat and no voice, Kurt stood up and slowly eyed this man's – Blaine's - hand. He decided to take it, shaking it firmly and trying not to get too distracted by how warm he suddenly felt. Stupid withdrawals.

"My name's Kurt."