"I thought I told you to get out of my house, Blaine?" Blaine's dad spat furiously, "And you can take your little …toy boy with you! I'll have to burn the kitchen now, who knows what you did in here!" Kurt could tell he was trying to rein in the insults in front of Kurt. He didn't want a witness. Kurt was terrified to think of Blaine being alone with this man. Kurt could tell that the man would love to punch his son at that second.

Blaine just sat there.

Kurt couldn't believe it. Blaine was the mediator every Warbler's rehearsal, even when they started throwing the gavel at each other, and he had even stood up to Karofsky! Kurt didn't know anyone who was better at dealing with conflict, yet Blaine's shell just sat there, staring at his father as if he had never seen him before.

"You need to take your disappointing ass and get out of my house now, Blaine! I put up with you testing boundaries since you were twelve and you went through that stupid phase! Everyone said you'd grow out of it! That gay school and this stupid faggot, "He indicated towards Kurt, "are the last straw!"

He lunged towards Blaine then, and Kurt threw himself in front of him.

"Don't you dare touch him, or I'll have the cops down here faster than you can say "disgusting homophobe" or "pathetic father", Kurt growled into the older man's face. Kurt felt Blaine breathe in sharply behind him, and felt his arms wrap around him.

Before he knew what had happened, Blaine had yanked Kurt out of the way as his father's fist came sailing through towards him. Kurt spun around just in time to see Blaine's father's eyes widen as they hit with a sickening thump against his son's cheekbone.

Blaine's head whipped to the side, and he overbalanced off the chair, falling to the ground. Kurt ran those three steps to him. Blaine's father looked shocked, then angry. He glared at the two then stormed past them to the living room and picked up the suitcase tossing it on the ground next to Blaine, whose breath was coming in sharp pants from the kitchen floor.

"Your mother packed that for you before she left," Blaine's dad said blankly.

"Get out, Blaine," he added and walked over him to walk towards the stairs.

He paused at the bottom, and then began to climb.

Kurt was cradling Blaine's face in his lap, tears falling onto the giant welt that was beginning to appear on his cheek. Blaine's beautiful, honey-brown eyes were filled with tears, but he made to move from Kurt's lap.

"Whoa, stay down, you shouldn't move yet," Kurt whispered insistently, tugging on Blaine's arms, but he was already up and pulling Kurt to his feet.

"Can I stay with you?" he asked desperately, grabbing his suitcase in one hand, and Kurt in the other, and pulling both towards the door.

Kurt suddenly noticed one photograph of Blaine. It was hung in pride of place next to the front door. Blaine and his dad were standing next to a beautiful old Chevy. The younger Blaine was wearing a pair of overalls and had filthy hands. He had never looked so uncomfortable in all the time Kurt had known him, but he had managed to force out a fake smile. Next to Blaine, his dad was beaming with sick pride.

Blaine, following Kurt's gaze, yanked open the front door, and pushed Kurt through first.

Kurt heard the loud crashing of breaking glass. Blaine came through the door cradling a freshly bleeding fist, and all his worldly belongings in one small suitcase.

Kurt wrested the suitcase from Blaine's tight grip and put an arm around him, walking him quickly to the car. As soon as he got there, he fumbled in the glove box for some tissues to wrap around Blaine's hand.

"Hand at the level of your eyes," Blaine whispered, holding his tissue-wrapped, bleeding hand above his head, trying to smile at the distant memory of them watching Phantom of the Opera curled up in Kurt's living room last weekend before they had finally kissed. Blaine had been acting kind of funny and Kurt hadn't really bought his excuse about wanting to cheer Kurt up about Pavarotti's death. Looking back on the memory, Kurt could see the hints that Blaine had realised how he felt. Blaine was obviously thinking about the same thing, because he pulled Kurt towards him and wrapped his arms around him, careful not to touch him with his hands, which were still bloody. Kurt had never loved Blaine more than he did right then.

He had just been kicked out of his house, had been punched in the face and called a faggot by his homophobic excuse for a father, and now he was trying to lighten the mood. Kurt knew Blaine was strong, but his ability to compartmentalise seemed superhuman now. Surely he would have to have a proper break down soon, Kurt thought sadly, looking at Blaine attempting to strap himself in with two injured hands. Kurt just hoped he was there for Blaine when he did.

Kurt shut the car door after helping Blaine with his seat belt and walked around to the driver's side. As he backed out of Blaine's drive, he couldn't help thinking that this would be the last time Blaine would see his own house. But Blaine didn't care. He was stroking Kurt's face with the back of his hand, and humming absentmindedly. Kurt thought he was handling it all very well until he pulled up in his own driveway and was finally able to look Blaine in the eyes.

His honey-brown eyes were full to the brim with tears, so close to spilling over, they must have rendered him blind. Kurt felt a monstrous pain in his chest as he grabbed Blaine and pulled his face towards his own. It probably wasn't what Blaine really needed right then. It probably wasn't even what Kurt needed. He probably should have just held Blaine and listened. But they wanted this like they wanted air to breathe. The boys moved their lips in tandem, clutching each other as closely as they could with a gear stick between them and both of them still restrained by seat belts. Kurt could feel Blaine's tears against his cheeks, but he was roughly yanking Kurt's collar even closer, so Kurt had no intentions of stopping the kiss. It was strange that they hadn't kissed like this before today and now it felt like coming home.

A rapping on the window startled the boys enough to break them apart, winded and dazed, they merely looked at each other, before realising that neither of them had made the sound and having the sense to look around for the source.

Burt was standing next to Blaine's window, arms folded, looking sternly (and mock threatening) at the pair. Kurt pressed the button on the dash to wind down the electric passenger window.

"Hi, Dad," Kurt called, unabashedly, "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Burt looked surprised, as Kurt kissed Blaine quickly again, then jumped out of the car and motioned for Burt to follow him to the trunk.

Blaine could hear Kurt muttering an explanation to his father and could hear Burt raise his voice at points in the story. Blaine felt so safe with Kurt's family. When Burt raised his voice, he might be angry, but he was fair, and he truly cared about anything he was passionately yelling about; football, hockey, and gay rights seemed to be the biggies. Before Blaine even knew what was happening, Burt had pulled open his door and pulled Blaine into a painful hug. Blaine winced a little as the big man threatened his bruises further, but as Burt pulled away to take in Blaine's bloody hands and purple cheek, Blaine could see the care in his eyes.

"You are always welcome here, kid," He whispered to Blaine, taking his face firmly but carefully in his hands, "You are never alone in this, okay? We love how good you are for Kurt, and we love you. You don't ever have to pretend to be anything different here. It's time someone looked after you for a change."

And Burt pulled Blaine gently out of the car, and put an arm around his shoulder to walk him inside.

Kurt struggled with the suitcase alone, smiling.