Ever since Blaine was a small child he had found solace in the rain. After his mother had passed away he had sat and watched the rain through his bedroom window. As he grew older, he started to venture out into the stormy weather, letting it soak his skin, letting it wash his troubles away.

So, with the argument with The Warblers playing on his mind, and the reunion with his father, which would almost certainly end badly, looming ahead, he decided that the rain was the best hope he had to feeling sane again. He unlocked the doors and stepped out into the storm.

“Dad, are you in? Hello?” Blaine’s voice echoed through the empty hallway. No one was home.

Or so it seemed.

“Well, well, well. Has the fag finally left his fairy boy to come home?” A voice- his voice- came from behind him. It was vicious and malevolent. It was enough to make Blaine’s blood run cold.

“You know how I feel about you spending time with him. You know you will be punished.”

And before he knew it Blaine was running up stairs, his father hot on his trail. If only he could make it to his bedroom, he could lock the door and climb out of the window. He could still escape this nightmare.

Except he couldn’t.

He tried to run but his father’s hands were clamped around his wrists, pulling him backwards, swinging him around and throwing him back down the stairs. With every stair he hit white hot pain burned through his body, but it was nothing compared to when he landed at the bottom with a sickening crack of his leg.

“Dad, please, no,”

Blaine thought he caught a glimmer of regret in his father’s eyes. He thought maybe he was sorry. That maybe, just maybe, his own father loved him.

That last shred of hope was ripped out of his hands and thrown into a fire when his father showed no sign of relent.

“Do it. I will not have a gay son, and I will not have his blood on my hands!”

“I can’t.” He couldn't. Kurt would never forgive him.

The words came out as a barely audible whimper, but to his father they were like a roaring crowd, egging him on.

He didn’t even wince when the knife went in. He barely even blinked when his own son screamed out in pain. He didn't look back when he left his son's mangled body on the kitchen floor.

Kurt knew he should at least try to comfort his boyfriend, but it was as if Blaine’s recount had transformed all of his limbs into lead; He couldn’t move, and quite frankly, he had no idea how he could even begin to comfort someone who had been through that, even if it was the person he loved, and knew best. He stared blankly at the door, a slight tremor running through his body.

Blaine was also shaking, for similar reasons, yet completely different reasons. His whole body was convulsing with sobs and he was struggling to catch his breath. Reminiscing about his father had torn his heart in two, but the fact Kurt just sat there, ignoring him, ripped those two pieces into two thousand.

“Blaine, are you… what happened in here?” A nurse’s voice interrupted the boys’ trains of thoughts.

“I’m sorry. It was my fault. I’ll get going,” Kurt said, standing up.

“No,” Blaine cried, “No, it wasn’t you Kurt! Please stay. Please.”

“Bye Blaine.”

"Kurt!"

Another person who didn't even look back.