Kurt stared blankly at Blaine as he jumped and hollered at the small TV. ESPN was showing reruns of the some old football game, and though he's seen it twelve or more times, he wanted to watch it while Kurt finished up at the shop.

"Did you see that! Unbelievable!" Blaine continued, mocking one of the plays.

It shocked Kurt to see him act this way, even though he knew it would happen. Then again, his father and Finn act the same way. He couldn't really complain. He would cry every time at the end of Moulin Rouge, even though he knew the outcome.

"Kurt? Hello? Earth to Kurt!"

"Huh? What?"

Blaine smiled softly, walking towards the car Kurt was shining. He leaned across the hood, leaning on his elbows.

"You're not really a football guy, are you?" He asked softly.

"No," Kurt admitted. "To be brutally honest, I'm not any kind of sports guy. That's more Finn's area."

"What's your area?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you don't like sports, what are you into? Cars, maybe? You seem to work on them a lot. You must spend at least twelve hours a day here."

"I like cars, this is true, but it's not my favorite thing to do."

"Then what is your favorite?"

Kurt thought about it for a moment. Music, movies, fashion, those used to be the answers. Now. . . He didn't really have a hobby or anything he was really interested in. Being busy. That's what he liked. Anything that kept his head above water. Kept him from thinking.

Before he could give any type of answer, the bell above the door hang loudly, and two figures walked in. After a second or two, Kurt realized it was Nick and Jeff.

"Hey guys." Blaine walked around the car, standing beside Kurt. "What brings you here?"

"Hey, Blaine. Hey, Kurt. We didn't mean to bother you."

"It's a free country. Besides, my dad has been anticipating to see who Blaine brings around here." Kurt smirked.

"We found something, at the park." Jeff explained slowly.

"Well, we didn't really find it." Nick stated.

"We did, but we think it was placed there. You know, by our performing trailer?"

"What did find?" Blaine asked curiously.

Cautiously, Nick handed Blaine the object he was holding in his hand. It was hard and wrapped in brown paper. Pulling the paper back, Blaine revealed it to be his license plate. It was bent and bashed, and had the word "FAGGOT" written across it in bold, black paint.

Kurt's face fell when he read the word. Blaine sighed, staring down at the piece of metal.

"You found it just like this?" He asked to two.

Both nodded. "It was wrapped and everything."

"It had a note on it, saying "Blaine and the Pips". We were sort of confused, so we opened it, and there it was."

"We knew we had to bring it straight to you."

Blaine breathed again, wrapping the paper back around it. "Fucken Pirates." He muttered.

"P-Pirates?" Kurt questioned, swallowing hard.

"Yeah. I've told you about them."

"T-they attacked you." Kurt remembered seeing Blaine with the fat lip and bruise eyes.

"Every since we got hired, they've been out to get us." Jeff put in.

"It's not our fault we have talent! And, the costumes work too. Girls dig Milk Men."

"I knew they were assholes, but I never thought they'd go this far. Can't say I'm not surprised, thought." Tossing the scrap mental the recycle bin Burt had set up for all spare metals, Blaine smiled brightly. "Ah, well. My new plate is gonna be much cooler. I personalized it and everything. Just wait until those swashbucklers see it!"

While the other three laughed, Kurt ran into the back, his mouth clamped tightly over his mouth. He heard Blaine call after him, but he didn't listen. He darted straight for the bathroom just in time to throw up the contains of his stomach.

He mind trailed back and whether his eyes were open or closed, all he saw was that night. The parking lot was full of cars, but only a few people stood around the truck. Their voices rang in his hears, the names stabbing him harshly.

"Cocksuck! Dicklick! Ladyboy! Faggot!"

Faggot. Faggot, faggot, faggot. It was their favorite word. They called him it. They called Dave it. They shouted it as they beat them and laughed as they watched him bleed. The look of Brett's eyes when he was hovering over him, the bat in hand.

"Nothing but a useless faggot, and that's all you'll ever be."

Kurt screamed as the vision of Brett taking the final blow came across his eyes, and he realized he wasn't lying on the floor in the parking lot at school. He was on the floor in the bathroom, covered in sweat, tears, and puke residue.

Someone was knocking on the door. Calling out to him. Blaine! He remembered Blaine and the others were still there.

"Kurt? Hey, are you alright? Kurt, open the door."

"Go away." He whispered. "Leave me alone! Just go away and leave!" He shouted, crying harder now.

A moment passed as everything was silent. Then he heard another voice. Burt's. "Kurt? Open the door, son. Kurt, open the door or I'm gonna break in."

Several bangs against the door came next. Kurt, who was sitting in the corner beside the toilet, pulled his knees in, and continued to cry.

"Just go away," he murmured, hiding his face in his knees.

Moments later, the door flew open, and Burt was by his side, hovering protectively over his son. He didn't need to ask what was wrong; he could see it in Kurt's eyes. Like a little boy with a boo-boo, Burt lifted his son into his arms and carried him to his truck.

"You're gonna be alright, son." He promised, but Kurt knew better.