Burt climbed out of his car and glanced quickly around him. He was relieved to see no-one else on the street; this wasn't the neighbourhood to step away from your unlocked vehicle, even for just a minute.

He looked back to Blaine, whose head had dropped again, as if the effort of holding it up had been too great. Burt approached him slowly and reached out a hand as if to clasp his shoulder, but drew back at the last minute. He stood in silence, feeling so utterly, overwhelmingly out of his depth. Standing this close, under the harsh, orange glow of the street lamp, images kept leaping out at him in disturbing clarity; the loose threads where buttons had been ripped from Blaine’s shirt, four straight scratches across his chest, a bite mark at the base of his neck, heaped with clotted blood. He couldn't help but glance down, and felt bile rise in his throat as he took in the open trousers, the underwear bunched and rolled as if grabbed up at speed.

'Blaine.' Burt whispered, desperate for a response that would guide him, give him even the slightest indication of what he should do right now. Blaine slowly, painfully slowly, tilted his head to look up at Burt. He opened his mouth as if he were about to respond, but no sound came out. Whether he could not find the words, or could not physically muster the strength to make them, Burt was unsure, but the desperate, pleading look in Blaine's eyes cut through the night's silence like a scream, galvanising him into action.

He crouched down, steadfastly ignoring the creaking pain in his knees, and reached his arm ever so slowly around Blaine's shoulders. He could feel the teenager stiffen at the contact, but he didn't pull away, and after a few seconds Burt felt the tension melt away and Blaine leant, almost imperceptibly, into the touch.

'Ok, we need to get to the car, Blaine. Can you stand for me?' Burt watched Blaine anxiously, unsure if he had heard what he said, was even aware of where he was anymore. Burt was just about to speak again, when he saw a steely resolution cross Blaine's face as he took a deep breath in and began to push himself slowly off the bench, thighs and arms trembling with the effort.

Burt straightened with him until they were both standing, Blaine leaning ever so slightly into his side, taking long, deep breaths. Blaine lifted a foot to take a step forward, but his leg gave out beneath him and Burt had to clench his arm tightly around his shoulders to keep them both from falling. Blaine let out a strangled cry that tore at Burt's heart, and before he could convince himself otherwise he picked the boy up, cradling him close to his chest.

He felt his back spasm in protest at the sudden weight, and a shooting pain shot down his leg, but he pushed it aside, focused instead on the hands that were clutching at his shirt, the soft, shuddering breaths that he knew would be awful, gut-wrenching sobs if Blaine had the strength to make them. He took halting steps towards his car, very grateful he had left the door open, and as gently as possible lowered Blaine into the passenger seat.

---

Blaine felt himself be set down in the car, and it took him a few moments to realise he still had his hands clenched tightly in Burt's shirt. He let his head roll backwards and concentrated on uncurling each heavy, leaden finger, one-by-one. He felt the loss almost at once, as if now, with nothing to hold onto, he could no longer hold himself together. He could see himself, as if from above, fragmenting; torn shreds of Blaine floating away until nothing was left.

But then a strong arm reached over him, pulling across the seatbelt, locking it securely in place. Blaine's hands immediately gravitated towards it of their own accord. It held him back against the seat when his body fought to curl in on itself, it held the broken pieces together, and he clung to it like a lifeline.

They sat in silence before Burt finally spoke.

'I need to take you to the hospital.' Blaine's head snapped towards him, eyes wide.

'No…No, please. I'm…I'm fine.'

'You are not fine, Blaine. You could barely stand.' He could tell Burt was trying hard to keep his voice soft, to put him at ease, but the thought of going to hospital now, hours of waiting on hard chairs, endless questions, being examined, being touched, made him feel so desperately weary.

'I'm not hurt, I promise. I'm just tired.' He saw the sceptical look in Burt's eyes, could see the rebuff coming, and cut him off before he could start. 'I ran…that's why…I ran until I couldn't any more, that's why I fell. Please, I swear I'm not hurt, I'm just so tired.' He sobbed the last word and felt his body sag as his exhaustion engulfed him.

---

Burt sighed, pressing his palms firmly over his eyes. He knew he should take Blaine to the hospital, but as he heard the boy's last broken plea he felt his resolve crack.

'Ok, kid. I'll take you home. Where do you live?' On receiving no answer, he looked over, to find Blaine, eyes closed, hands finally relaxed in his lap, asleep.