Chapter 6

Blaine sleeps in considering it's a Friday, blinking awake and grabbing his phone just before eight in the morning, rather than being awoken by his usual alarm two hours earlier. He considers lying back down and attempting more sleep, but the early morning light filtering through his blinds has him sitting up, blankets falling to his waist. Grabbing clothes from his dresser and closet he then continues to the bathroom to prepare for his day.

Twenty minutes later Blaine's buttering toast and sipping coffee in the kitchen, hoping the caffeine will alleviate the wall-like tiredness behind his eyes.

Text message from Blaine:

How did we get by before we drank coffee?

Text message from Kurt:

We had naps.

Text message from Kurt:

…everything okay? I thought you'd sleep in on your day off.

Text message from Blaine:

Usually I'm up at 6 on Fridays – this is sleeping in ;)

Text message from Blaine:

I just woke up…couldn't sleep any more :(

Blaine sets his phone down, staring at his toast as he takes another sip of coffee. He will tell Kurt about his nightmares, but through a text at eight in the morning isn't the way to go about it. He pushes down the slight guilt and startles when his phone buzzes loudly on the counter.

Text message from Kurt:

Don't let Dad work you too hard

Text message from Kurt:

Tell him I said to let you have a nap break this afternoon ;)

Blaine huffs a quiet laugh, standing and placing his dishes in the dishwasher, the butter back in the fridge. Filling his travel mug with more coffee, he then takes his phone from the counter.

Text message from Blaine:

Sadly, since naps stopped being mandatory after first grade I don't think that will happen. I'll take a break when I get tired, though! :)

Text message from Blaine:

But first I have to get there – have fun in class. Love you!

Text message from Kurt:

Blaine, fun isn't the adjective for class. But I love you, too. Say hello to Dad for me! <3

Smiling, Blaine assures Kurt he'll do as asked, and grabs his keys, putting his phone in his pocket on his way out the door. Moments later, Blaine starts his car and pulls out of his driveway as Blackbird drifts from the speakers. The short drive is relaxing, the streets still mostly quiet, and Blaine pulls into the parking lot of Hummel Tires & Lube ready to start the day.

After ensuring that his keys and phone are safe in his pockets, Blaine walks into Burt's shop, offering a small smile and nod to the mechanics who wave hello. Spotting Burt on the phone in his office, Blaine simply gives a quick wave before asking the nearest worker what he should do.

-*-*-*-

Kurt enters the vocal practice room and sets his bag by the door before walking to stand in front of the slightly aged piano. Having the room to himself meant setting his alarm hours before his one-on-one with his professor, but if nothing else it made him fully awake by the time of the meeting, a feat since he wouldn't drink coffee until after.

Water might be better for vocal cords, but Kurt still dreams of the coffee he'll have later.

Sometimes, Kurt really hates his drive to do his best, even in practice; he misses his morning mocha.

Letting out a sigh, Kurt sits on the piano bench, playing a few scales to help him focus.  At first, his mind wanders, thinking of ways he can help Blaine relax and reduce stress; how he will act in the loft where Rachel and Santana are coolly distant to one another; how many hours until he can get his coffee. Shaking his head, Kurt continues to play, and eventually the repetitive motions clear his mind.

Minutes later, he stands, straightening his posture and taking a deep breath before beginning his warm-up. He loses himself in the scales, voice rising higher as his right hand lightly presses the dulled ivory keys. Finishing, Kurt pulls photocopied sheet music from his bag and places it on the stand. He plays through the vocal portion once, smiling as he mentally puts in breath marks.

Feeling confident in his music, Kurt sings.

Kurt sings through his required pieces and spends time focusing on two measures of runs, stopping only for the occasional drink of water. He continues to sing, practicing and lost in breath control and projection until a blast of sound from his phone startles him.

Spinning, Kurt crosses the room and digs through his bag to unearth the device. He gives a ha! of triumph when he pulls it from his bag, sliding off the alarm. Standing, Kurt goes back the piano, taking his sheet music and water bottle before walking back to his bag and placing the items inside.

Text message from Kurt:

Off to my Voice one-on-one. Wish me luck!

Text message from Blaine:

Your voice is amazing – you don't need luck. ;)

Text message from Blaine

Still, have all the luck in the world if you want it <3

-*-*-*-

After a group lunch at Subway, Blaine's settled into his routine for the afternoon, moving around the garage with ease. While most of the mechanics have their own toolbox Burt makes sure to have spares around just in case they're needed; unfortunately, since the tools are communal, they're frequently left lying around haphazardly, dirtied. Currently, Blaine's slowly making his way around the shop, putting the grease-covered tools into a small box as he finds them, wondering how long it will take him to clean them later. He'll probably end up texting Kurt for tips – Kurt knows every secret for getting grease off just about anything.

Blaine steps around an outdated Chevy and glances for anything he might have missed. To his left Burt is talking to a customer, pointing to the white Taurus a few feet away and nodding. Burt steps to the side to point to something in the car and Blaine catches sight of the customer.

The sound of the box of tools crashing to the concrete floor echoes in the garage, and Blaine feels every eye on him.

Blaine quickly follows, ignoring the jarring in his knees from the harsh floor. He places the box right side up, and begins reaching for the scattered tools –

The concrete is cold beneath him, dull and unforgiving. The blackness stretches like an abyss, broken only by the blurry outline of scattered petals of his boutonniere and the circle of shoes that surrounds him. “I think they're down, Steve. Damn homos couldn't even put up some fight to make it fun.” Blaine sees a shoe move, feels a pop as his arm is forced away from his body. “Yeah, they're down alright, Mitch. Whaddaya say, Blake, think they've had enough?” There's laughter and the shoes leave. The blackness is growing, briefly broken by brightness and streaks of green and white, but then all encompassing, taking Blaine, too.

Blaine shakes his head and methodically refills the box, keeping his eyes down. “Blaine.” Blaine jumps at the sound of his name, dropping the pliers back to the floor with a clang! and probably scuffing his shoes in the process.

“Blaine,” This time Blaine meets Mr. Hummel's – Burt's – gaze, “Why don't you leave it, kid. Go have a seat in my office. Looks like you could use a break.”

Blaine opens his mouth to protest, but something in Mr. Hummel's gaze stops him, so he simply nods his agreement before stepping away.

Burt keeps an eye on Blaine, ensuring he reaches the office, while quickly tossing the tools back in the box.

Finished minutes later, he stands, waving away the attempted questions from his employees. He makes sure they know to tell anyone waiting he'll be back momentarily, and heads for his office.

-*-*-*-

“You gonna tell what that was about, kid?” Burt's leaning against the desk in his office, taking in Blaine's pale face and clenched hands.

Blaine flinches at Burt's voice, almost tripping over the chair when he steps backwards in his haste. “Oh! Um, sorry, Mr. Hummel. I thought –” Blaine's voice trails off before he seemingly pulls his polished upbringing around him like a shield. “He reminded me of someone from a few years ago. But it's nothing, Mr. Hummel, I'm sorry for the disruption.” Blaine even ends his words with a small smile, like that would make Burt forget the crash as Blaine had dropped a pile of tools earlier, forget the shocked-pale face of someone who had seen their worst nightmare, before Blaine had fallen to his knees to pick up the scattered pieces, dropping – momentarily – out of Burt's sight.

“Blaine,” Burt keeps his voice calm, open. Trying to channel the kindness of Kurt's mother; the honesty of Carole. “I don't care about any ‘disruption' and you should know that. We're gonna be family and I wanna know what caused you to react like that, because I know you, Blaine, and you're not prone to theatrics over something small.”

Blaine's shoulders fall, as if he's failed in some way before he meets Burt's gaze. As he takes the two steps back to sit in the chair he'd almost tripped over earlier, Burt notices he's trembling.

“I –” Blaine pauses and twists his hands, seemingly searching for words, “The customer earlier. The one you were talking to when I – when I messed up, what was his name?” The words are even, flat, spoken with a calmness Burt hadn't known Blaine was capable of. The earnest young man he'd come to know as his future son-in-law was carefully hidden.

Burt reaches up and briefly palms the back of his neck, wondering where this is going, “First of all Blaine, you didn't mess up, you got that?” Burt waits until he's received a weary nod, “Okay. The customer? John Fields. Car broke down, broken alternator, on their way back to-“

“Marysville.” The word is a whisper and a scream all once, sounding as if it's been punched out of Blaine.

Burt steps around the desk stooping to crouch before Blaine, silently taking in the short, panicked breaths and tightly crossed arms.

“Yeah Blaine,” Burt slowly reaches his hand forward, showing intent, but Blaine still flinches when it touches his shoulder, “You mind telling me how you know that? What's going on, kid?”

Burt suppresses his frustration when Blaine closes his eyes, refusing to meet Burt's gaze even as he begins to speak, “Do you remember Kurt's Junior Prom? How – how you were worried about Kurt's amazing kilt and how it might bring the wrong sort of attention?” Blaine lets out a quiet breath, “I know he told you about what happened to me. Before Dalton.” Burt feels his stomach sink with a coil of dread, “I um, I went to Marysville High, sir, and Mitch Fields was one of the guys who – who took offense to my going to Sadie Hawkins.” Burt wants to pull Blaine to him, to shush him as he would a small child, but it seems like the floodgates have opened, and the kid's still talking, voicing nightmares Burt aches to forget. “And I'm sorry for dropping the tools earlier, and I probably wouldn't have but I saw the truck at the mall last week and Steve – I mean, I thought did. But then I thought I was going crazy, because Marysville isn't even near here and they would have graduated by now, anyway. But Mr. Fields is in your shop, and then yesterday at Meijer I thought – but what if he's here? I should – I should go.”

Burt's grip on Blaine's shoulder tightens, “Stay right there, Blaine. If you think I'm going to let you out of this office, much less into your car right now, then you need to rethink your plans. You're going to sit here while I go finish up – call Kurt, if you want – but you're going to be here when I get back and then we're going to have a talk over coffee and some cookies.”

Rising to his feet, Burt squeezes Blaine's shoulder to show his support. He pauses on his way out the door, watching as Blaine impersonates a statue rather than reaching for his phone. With an inaudible sigh, Burt exits his office with clenched fists and determined steps.

John Fields gives a small wave as Burt approaches, “Everything okay there? Sounded like something fell.”

Burt would never understand why people felt the need to point out the obvious and yet still pose it as a question.

He gives a tight smile, “Yeah, he's – everything's fine. Now, like I was saying, only problem is the alternator, and I can have one of my guys install one today.”

John gives a loose smile, oblivious to the change in Burt's demeanor, “That'd be great, thanks. My son's gotta get back to OSU, you know? He's a Sophomore down there, lovin' the college life. Keeps talking about classes and some frat or another. Makes me feel old. But he got a scholarship – boy's got a good head on his shoulders.”

Burt resolutely pushes down the urge to ask what kind of father could be proud of a son who beats up someone three years their junior. He's a professional, and as a Congressman he couldn't get arrested for assault – it would end more than just his career – especially when, technically, he couldn't be certain this was the same Fields family. “Well, it shouldn't take too long. You can wait in the lobby and we'll get you when it's done.”

“Sounds great, Mitch'll be happy he can still head back tonight.”

Burt's blunt nails dig into his palms.

“I'm sure.”

“You know how young men are. Need their freedom. You said you got a son, right?” He just keeps talking, and Burt wonders how someone could be so immune to body language.

“He's in New York,” Burt says tersely, “doesn't have much need of a car there.”

“Ran off to the big city, huh?  Good luck with that. I worry enough about what Mitch could be learnin' at OSU, don't know what I'd do if he'd gone that far.”

Burt gives an absent grunt of acknowledgment, “Right. Well I'll have one of the guys get started on this for you, and he can answer any questions you might have. I've got to head home myself, have some family issues to address.”

“Your boy's not causing trouble, is he?” Burt pays no heed to the humor in John's voice.

“No.” Burt says, turning away with eyes already seeking the stone form seated in his office.

-*-*-*-

Seated at the table in the Hummel-Hudson kitchen, Blaine listens to the coffee dripping in the pot on the counter, watches as Burt happily unearths cookies from the back of a cabinet.

“Chocolate chip.” Burt smiles as he slides the cookies on the table, “They were on sale and I figured we could use some comfort food in this house. Besides,” Burt catches Blaine's gaze, “Carole seems to enjoy them, even if she'd never buy them herself. And don't worry; I never eat more than two, so you don't have to go calling Kurt.”

Blaine manages a weak smile and Burt turns to pour the freshly brewed coffee. “Now,” he says, setting a steaming mug before Blaine and taking the seat next to him, “I'm not gonna force you to talk about it, kid, but you're smart enough to know keeping all this inside isn't healthy, and I've been told I'm a pretty good listener.”

For several moments, Blaine remains silent, entranced by the curling steam of his coffee and the pile of cookies before him. “How much did Kurt tell you?”

Burt chews a bite of cookie before answering, “Just the basics. I know three guys put you in the hospital after a Sadie Hawkins Dance. That you had months of recovery and PT. That afterwards you were transferred to Dalton, for your own protection.”

“I ran away, you mean.”

“No.” Burt pushes a few of the cookies closer to Blaine, “You didn't ‘run away', Blaine. You stayed safe. And I am so glad you did.” At Blaine's incredulous look he continues, “What do you think Kurt would have been like if you hadn't been at Dalton? If you weren't there for him at that Prom? You got away from the situation and were there for Kurt, and I'll always be grateful for that, Blaine.”

Blaine slowly sips his coffee, replaying Burt's words in his mind. “They made me go to therapy, you know. But the whole time, when I had sessions with her, during recovery, even when they transferred me – they never once – my parents never once admitted that it happened because I was gay. They told their friends how horrible it was, that I was such a good patient when it came to doing my exercises. But the cause…it wasn't discussed.  It's the thing we don't talk about. Like if it's not mentioned it's not real.

“At least Steve – at least Steve and Mitch and Blake told me what was wrong. How dare the gay kid go to a dance, right? I mean, they got their point across with kicks and punches, but they talked too.” Blaine glances up to see Burt clutching the coffee mug, tendons standing out against the bend of his fingers. “I don't remember everything, apparently that's common with head injuries. But I – I know that Steve was angry, that Mitch and Blake added to it. I remember laying there as they joked about how I hadn't even made the fight interesting – they pulled my shoulder out of socket then, I think.”

Burt stares at Blaine, wondering how someone who had gone through that much trauma had found the courage to stand up and ask the male Prom Queen to dance, how he managed to make it to the dance in the first place. These damned kids, Blaine and Kurt both, had more strength and bravery than men twice their age. And they didn't even recognize it.

“Blaine,” Burt puts a comforting hand on Blaine's shoulder, ignoring the slight flinch at his touch, “You ever talk about this before?”

Blaine gives a slight shrug, “The therapist, um, she was more focused on the recovery rather than ‘dwelling on the past' or something. She taught me some exercises in case I ever felt panicked or had a flashback –

Breathe in. Think of one thing.

Breathe out. Rationalize.

Breathe in. Repeat

– But we didn't talk about the dance, much. She never mentioned that I was gay, either.”

Burt's hand tightens a bit, “What about your police statement?”

Now Blaine's eyes closed, “Oh. By the time I was awake enough to give one it had been a few days. There wasn't any evidence. I mean, everyone who had gone to the dance had washed their clothes by then, and without it my words were just hearsay – and I had a concussion too, so I wasn't the most reliable witness.”

Burt waits while Blaine blows out a breath and opens his eyes, “Are you tellin' me that those guys weren't punished?”

Blaine nods, “It was one of the reasons Detective Snyder suggested to my parents that I switch schools. Without evidence, it could have been any of a hundred kids that did it.” Blaine takes a sip of lukewarm coffee, “I started at Dalton the following fall.”

Burt sits in silence, piecing together the story Blaine's shared, filling in the gaps where Blaine had trailed off.

“You are so brave. You know that, right?”

Blaine's cheeks flush, but he doesn't reply.

“Blaine.” Slowly, Blaine raises his eyes, meeting Burt's gaze. “You are. Don't let anyone ever tell you different.”

Blaine sits silently, taking in controlled breaths and blinking to hide shining eyes. “I – um, thank you.” A pause and then he continues, speaking in the same voice Burt had heard earlier in his office. “But I am sorry for dropping the box, earlier.”

“Nothing to apologize for, kid. But I have a question for you now. You don't have to answer, but I'd like it if you did.” Blaine meets Burt's gaze and nods so Burt continues. “Earlier in my office you mentioned something about Meijer and the mall. Something happen?”

Blaine slowly sips more coffee eyes focused on the table, and Burt forces himself to stay patient. To not force the conversation even as the seconds tick by in silence. “I don't –” Blaine sighs before starting again. “I thought I saw his – um Steve's – truck at the mall a couple of weeks ago. But I'm sure I didn't. Green trucks are pretty common, and I didn't see him directly.” Blaine pauses again, breaks a cookie in half and sets it back down, uneaten. “Yesterday, before – before I came to the shop I stopped by Meijer to get some soda. After I got out the car I thought I saw Mitch with his Ford, but when I got closer there wasn't even a white car around, just some guy I don't know. So really, I'm just seeing things that aren't there.”

“Blaine.” Burt leans forward in his chair, resting his arms on the table and waiting until Blaine looked up to continue. “Now I don't know about what happened at the mall, but today in the shop, Mr. Fields mentioned his son,” Burt forces his hands to relax when Blaine hunches his shoulders at the mention. “Said he was helping a friend move, but he's usually down in Columbus, going to OSU.” Burt watches as Blaine stays tense, hands curved around his coffee cup. “He could have been at Meijer yesterday, kid, but he was just passing through.”

Blaine visibly relaxes in the chair, even if only by a fraction and picks up half of the discarded cookie. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Burt reaches up and briefly removes his cap before putting it back on, hoping to ease some of the tension thrumming in his body. “Blaine,” Burt's voice carries across the table, sure and strong, “If this – if you ever want to talk about this, you know you're always welcome here. Any time.”

Blaine swallows half of the broken cookie, eyes bright as he nods. “I haven't told Kurt yet. I know I should; that I need to. I just –” Blaine lowers his head, his voice a quiet murmur, “I don't want him to worry.”

“We have that in common, then.” Blaine raises his head, and Burt sees the surprise and confusion there. “I get it, Blaine. You don't want your loved ones to worry about you. But you know what? Not sharing something isn't going to make them not worry; it just makes them hurt and confused, too. And Kurt,” Burt sighs, “Kurt worries with the best of them, especially about the people he loves. And you know how much he loves you.”

Blaine finishes his coffee and stares inside the empty mug before looking to Burt. “I know he does. And I want to talk to him, I just…I don't know how. Every time I think about it the words get messed up and he deserves to be happy in New York, not worrying about me because I'm suddenly upset about something that happened years ago.” Blaine averts his eyes and his words come out burdened, “I don't know what to say.”

Burt stands and grabs the coffee pot, refilling his cup before turning to Blaine, filling his as he stands to Blaine's left. “You know, I respect your relationship with Kurt. I trust you two and it's not my business to interfere, but Blaine, I can tell him. If you're not sure how to, I can give him the basics and then you can explain. But he needs to know, Blaine.

“That being said,” Burt pauses and waits for Blaine look up, “You should tell him, Blaine. You two are getting married, and no marriage works without communication. I know you two love each other; anyone with eyes can see that. But you two loved each other when Kurt first left for New York too. And you boys didn't talk and look what happened. I don't want a repeat of that – you two deserve to be happy, and you're happiest with each other.” Burt takes a sip of coffee. “He deserves to know, Blaine, and it's your right to tell him.”

Blaine closes his eyes, feels like he's running away again when he considers Burt's offer. “I know he needs to know. And I'll tell him everything, but…I can't start it. I don't – I'm sorry.”

Burt pulls Blaine into a light hug before stepping back. “No need to apologize Blaine. I can't say I think it's the best option, but you need to feel comfortable and I know this is difficult. Now, you eat some more cookies and I'll bring you the phone once I'm done.”

“You're calling him now?”

“No time like the present.” Burt gives Blaine's shoulder one last squeeze on his way out of the kitchen, coffee cup in hand. Entering the living room, he sets the steaming mug on the end table before settling in his chair and burying his head in his hands.

Why is it always the kids?

Sighing, Burt lowers his hands and reaches for the phone, hating a phone call that hasn't yet happened.

Only to be interrupted when Blaine steps into the living room.

“You need something?”

Blaine further enters the room and sits on the sofa. “No. I just…You're right. I should tell him. I didn't think I could – I still don't know how I'll say it – but I should. But maybe,” Blaine briefly meets Burt's gaze before looking at his hands, “You could stay here while I call?”

Burt smiles and hands Blaine the phone. “I'm not goin' anywhere, Blaine.”

-*-*-*-

Kurt sits at his desk, eyes switching between EBSCO and his Word document. His paper has a skeleton now, but he needs an electronic source, and finding a relevant journal article is proving to be difficult. He's alone in the apartment, Rachel and Santana still avoiding one another as much as possible, so the only sound outside of his keyboard comes from his docking station in the corner. As the pdf downloads, Kurt leans back in his chair, stretching his arms in front of him.

And nearly falls out of his chair when his phone buzzes and plays Home while slightly moving across his desk.

Quickly dropping his arms, Kurt reaches for the phone and answers the call.

“Hey Dad.”

“Not quite.”

“Blaine! Calling from the house; did you end up taking a nap?”

“No. Your dad invited me to the house for a snack. I'm not interrupting anything important, am I?”

Kurt glances at his computer and lets out a small laugh. “No, definitely not.”

“Good. That's – that's good.”

Kurt freezes. Blaine is hesitant, searching for words. Kurt's grip tightened on his phone.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong, exactly. I just –”

“Don't try to change the subject, Blaine.”

“I wasn't. I –” Blaine sighs down the phone line. “You know me too well.”

“Hm.” Kurt minimizes the windows on his computer and stands, moving to sit on his bed. “I do. Now talk to me.”

“I want to. I'm trying.” Another sigh followed by a humorless chuckle. “This is hard, but your dad –”

“My dad?!” Kurt sits up from his reclined position on his bed, heart racing in his chest. “Blaine what –”

“Kurt!” Blaine interrupts. “Kurt I'm trying to tell you. I will but you have to promise me you'll calm down. I need you to listen.”

Blaine's brittle voice breaks through Kurt's spiraling thoughts, and he takes a breath to steady himself. Blaine needs him to be calm.

“Of course. I'm sorry – I'll listen, Blaine. It's what I'm here for.”

“I know…Just, let me talk, please. I'll tell you everything, I promise, but for now I just need you to listen.”

And Kurt does.

He bites his lips and clenches his phone but he stays silent. He doesn't speak as Blaine's tight, flat voice describes past events; he keeps his promise until Blaine's voice catches and breaks, the next words a rush Kurt can't understand.

“Blaine!” Kurt hears murmurings on the other end of the phone, and then his father's voice comes through the line.

“Kurt. Kurt he's fine…just needs a breather. So I'll tell you what I know and then you two can talk all you want.”

Kurt listens as his father describes what happened earlier in the day and how Blaine came to be at the house. Kurt can feel his heart racing again, feels his short nails biting into the skin of his left hand, feels his right aching from its grip on his phone. As his father finishes Kurt briefly closes his eyes and takes a few calming breaths.

“Dad.” Kurt's voice trembles and he swallows, starts again. “Dad. He's gone, right? The customer from earlier?” Kurt can't bring himself to say the name. “Blaine shouldn't have to ever see them again. He's gone, right? Tell me he's gone.”

“Jim got him squared away about twenty minutes ago; he's gone, Kurt. And like I told Blaine, seems like they were just passin' through – he had no intention of staying in Lima.”

Kurt sags on his bed, hands relaxing as he lets out a breath. “That's good.”

“It is. Now Blaine just walked back in, so I'll talk to you later, okay?”

“Of course. Thanks, Dad…for everything. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

“Hey, Kurt.”

Kurt blinks back tears, feels the last of the tension he hadn't realized he was carrying drain away at Blaine's voice. “Hey, Blaine.”

“Sorry about earlier; I didn't – I didn't mean to leave.”

“Don't even worry about it.” Kurt scoots back on his bed, settling against his pillows and mentally preparing for the rest of the conversation. “But Blaine…why didn't you tell me? We talk every day. I thought – I thought we were beyond keeping secrets from each other.”

“We are!” Blaine's voice is a cry and a promise. “I swear we are, Kurt. I just – I didn't have any proof. Until today in your dad's shop I never knew for certain that anything had happened. I thought my nightmares just had me seeing things, making connections between what I saw in my sleep and what I see when I'm awake.” Blaine takes a breath, and his next words are earnest, heartfelt. “Things have been so perfect, Kurt. Amazing. And I didn't want to ruin it.” Blaine pauses and his next words are quiet. “I didn't want you to worry.”

“Blaine,” Kurt sighs, “I can't imagine what you went through – what you're going through, but I'm here for you. You supported me within minutes of our first meeting: it's my turn. But I can't if you don't let me. And Blaine?” Kurt bites his lip as he waits for Blaine's ‘hm' in reply. “It hurts me, thinking about you going through this alone. We're a team, Blaine.”

“I am so sorry. So sorry, Kurt.” Blaine's wet voice cracks through the phone line. “I wanted to tell you. I really did. I just – telling you would have made it real for me. And Kurt…I'm seeing things because of nightmares. I didn't want to make you worry because of a few bad dreams.”

“I already worried; I just didn't know why. I could tell you were tired and stressed but I couldn't figure out what had changed. I love you, Blaine. I'm going to worry about you anyway.”

“I know, and I'm sorry, Kurt. I'm really, really sorry.”

Despite the fear and uneasiness hovering in his mind, Kurt huffs a laugh. “I'm really starting to get sick of you saying ‘sorry' Blaine.”

Blaine gives a weak laugh as well. “Sor– it's hard habit to break!”

“How about instead you promise to talk to me. You have a nightmare, or see something, or you think you see something, call me. Or text. I'll reply as soon as I can.”

“I promise, Kurt.” Blaine's voice echoes with the beginnings of humor. “You're going to get sick of me.”

Kurt smiles. “Never. And Blaine?” Kurt's voice rings with concern, “If you're worried, or things get worse, find someone to talk to… Miss Pillsberry, or a doctor, or therapist. If you think it will help, do it. I won't think any less of you; I never could.”

“I hope it doesn't get that bad.”

“Me too, but if it does,” Kurt pauses, the possibility hanging in the air, “Don't hesitate, Blaine.”

“I won't.” Blaine's conviction is strong, even if tinged with tiredness.

“I'll hold you to that. Now,” Kurt lightens his voice, “Why don't you try and take that nap? I'll make sure Dad wakes you in time for you to get home before dark.”

“Hm. I'm actually,” Blaine's voice breaks on a yawn, “Your dad said I could stay here tonight; Mom and Dad are in Cinci.”

Kurt winces at the reminder of Blaine's parents even as he smiles at the mention of his own. “Well then you've got it all covered. Get some sleep, Blaine. And Dad'll tell me if you don't.”

“Tattle-tale.”

Kurt laughs. “I'm marrying a five year old.”

“Mm. You love me, though.”

“Until my dying day.”

“Too tired to sing.”

“Go to sleep, Blaine.”

After instructing his father and giving him a more detailed description of his day, Kurt says goodbye and ends the call. He leans back, getting comfortable and thinking over all the information he's received in the last hour and a half. He closes his eyes, letting the music from his iPod drift over him.

And I could write a song

A hundred miles long

Well, thats where I belong

And you belong with me

And I could write it down

Or spread it all around

Get lost and then get found

Or swallowed in the sea

Text message from Kurt:

Courage