As Burt pulled into the drive way and turned off the engine he was plagued with a wave of uncertainty. 'I should have taken him to the hospital, of course I should have taken him to the hospital,' he thought to himself. 'What was I thinking? If he's hurt and I…'

'Shit shit shit,' he whispered, dragging his hands roughly over his head. 'I'll take him now, just turn around and…' But as he looked over at Blaine he knew immediately why he had decided against it in the first place, and why he couldn't do it now. Since falling asleep Blaine's breathing had become slow and even, the tension had drained from his face, so that his lips hang every so slightly parted and his hands no longer clenched desperately at the nearest thing they could find. 'He needs this,' Burt told himself. 'If I take him to the hospital now, if he has to go through all of that right now he'll fall completely apart and God knows if he'll ever be alright again.'

'Ok,' he resolved. 'Carole will be home in a few hours, I'll call and ask her to bring home some first aid supplies, and in the morning we'll take him to the hospital and call his parents.'

Blaine stirred as he was lifted from the car, and for a second that pained look began to creep back onto his face, but his head dropped back on Burt's shoulder, who sighed in relief, wishing he could stay at peace for as long as possible.

Once inside the house, he looked hesitantly at the stairs, as his back gave another twinge in protest.

'Sorry kid, but there is no way I'm making it upstairs with you,' he muttered, more to himself than Blaine, and instead lay him down on the sofa. He went to Kurt's room to collect a pillow and blankets and immediately wished he hadn't. At the sight of his son's belongings, his photos stuck to the wall, all he could picture was Kurt. Kurt sitting at that bus stop, his Kurt with bruises, scratches and bite marks, 'bite marks for fuck's sake,' his precious Kurt clutching at his torn clothes and looking at him with anguished eyes.

'Stop it. Just stop it,' he half shouted, surprising himself with the force of his words. But shit, what was Kurt going to say when he found out? How was he even going to tell him. Should he tell him?

Burt shook his head, trying to stop his mind form running away with itself again. 'God, I'm too tired to even think straight right now. So much for a quiet evening in'. He gave a rueful smile at that thought, although nothing could be further from funny .

He made his way back downstairs, stopping to pick up some painkillers on the way, and was reassured to see that Blaine appeared to be sleeping quite comfortably on the narrow sofa. Gently, he slid the pillow under his head and covered him with a blanket, then sank backwards into his armchair, ready to watch over him.

---

Burt heard the key turn in the door and was out of his chair and across the room before he even knew what he was doing. Carole stepped into the hallway and gave him a questioning look, about to ask why he was standing waiting for her at the door, why he had phoned to ask for first aid supplies with nothing but a promise of explanations later, but was cut off as she suddenly found herself grabbed into a fierce embrace.

Burt's hands clutched at Carole's back, holding her tightly to him, and he buried his face in her neck. He needed her, needed to touch her, to smell her. He just needed her so damn much. And then he was crying, sobbing into her shoulder, laying himself open to her. He struggled hard to keep some semblance of control, all too aware of the boy sleeping across the room, and clenched his lips tightly together, his body shaking with the effort.

He hadn't cried in years, and never like this, never with such raw, all-encompassing grief. He didn't know why now, why at 4am, head groggy from painkillers that had done nothing to ease the heavy ache in his back, but he cried. And he didn't just cry for Blaine, he cried for everything he had never cried for before. For the love of his life who had been ripped from his grasp, for his son, whose tiny, delicate hand would slip into his, always when he needed it the most, and heal his heart without saying a word, his son who was tormented and beaten for having the strength to be different, and yes, for Blaine. For the broken boy who had no idea what he would face when he awoke.

---

Carole was taken aback when her husband all but launched himself into her arms, and could not have been more shocked when she felt his body begin to shake and his tears soak through her clothes. She had been concerned when he rang her at the hospital asking for first aid supplies, but he had reassured her that he was fine and would explain everything when she got home. Now she felt that fear again, growing exponentially as her strong, stoic husband cried in her arms. She wanted to push him away and ask, no beg him to tell her what was wrong, what had happened, but she didn't. She may not know the facts, but she knew what he needed and she dropped her bag to the floor and held him.