Chapter 17

~~~ FLASHBACK ~~~

Sirens.

Lots of Sirens.

Flashing red and white strobe lights.

Voices.

Terrified-sounding voices.

And then nothing…

The double doors leading into the Emergency Entrance of the Westerville Memorial Hospital automatically slid open allowing the Paramedic crew to enter, wheeling along a red stretcher.

One paramedic walked briskly alongside the stretcher rhythmically squeezing the large silicon bag of air, forcing into the lungs of the young man lying on the cot.

Several nurses rushed towards the crew, anxiously asking questions and barking out orders.

"Do we know who he is?"

"What's his GCS?"

"Get me five of morphine, now!"

"Did you get the bleeding controlled?"

"Call CT and tell them we're on our way up with a potential cerebral herniation!"

"Somebody, keep trying to get a hold of his family!"

"When is the second truck coming?"

"They were right behind us; they should be here soon…"

"Damn it! He's decorticate…"

As quickly as he'd arrived, the boy was stabilized and rushed upstairs to the radiography department while several nurses and technicians quickly prepared the operating rooms.

The second ambulance pulled into the bay moments later, and another boy was whisked through the doors nearly as quickly.

The oxygen mask affixed to Blaine's face made it exceedingly difficult to speak, and muffled his pained cries and groans.

His eyes fearfully darted from side to side, trying to take in as much information as he possibly could.

"Honey, you're at the hospital." A middle-aged, dark blonde nurse gingerly rubbed his arm as he was poked and prodded by other doctors, nurses and the paramedic crew that brought him in.

"You're going to be alright now sweetie…"

Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, causing several tears to stream down his face when a new wave of pain surged through his chest as the rigid plastic spineboard to which he was securely fastened tipped slightly to the side as he was moved from the EMS stretcher onto a hospital gurney.

He grunted in short, shallow breaths, each increasing the pain in his chest tenfold.

"Let's get some more morphine over here… Our little guy is hurting quite a bit…" The nurse said, looking up from Blaine's battered frame momentarily.

Seconds later Blaine could feel a slight stinging sensation in the crook of his arm, followed by a flow of warmth flooding his system, which made his head, began to swim slightly.

He blinked several times, trying to clear the cobwebs, unable to move his head as it too, was fixed firmly to the board. A pair of semi-rigid head blocks prevented him from turning his head to the side to take in his surroundings.

The same nurse leaned back over his face and he noted, in a drug-induced haze, that she had the most gentle looking eyes he'd ever seen.

"Honey, can you tell me your name?"

Blaine opened his mouth to speak, running his dry tongue over his chapped lips before hoarsely whispering into the oxygen mask.

The nurse leaned down closer to his face and gently lifted the mask away from his lips. "Sorry, honey, say that again?"

"J-Jake?"

She replaced the mask back onto Blaine's pale face. "Okay Jake, we're going to take good care of you now, okay?"

Blaine's eyebrows furrowed and he tried to shake his head but to no avail. He slowly lifted an unrestrained hand to his face and tried to pull off the mask himself, but the nurse gently cradled his hand in her own and spoke gently, "It's okay, we have to leave this on Jake, it's helping you to breathe right now."

Blaine closed his eyes in frustration. The drugs were making it harder and harder to focus and he just wanted to know about his friend's condition.

"B-Blaine." he sputtered into the mask.

"Is that your last name?"

He was able to shake his head enough for the nurse to understand. She pulled the mask away for a brief moment as Blaine felt himself slipping away into the darkness once again.

"Blaine." He gasped, pointing to himself. "W-where's Jake?"

It was getting increasingly harder to breathe and Blaine found himself panting just to coerce enough air in through his mouth to partially fill his lungs.

A doctor placed a stethoscope over his chest and listened thoughtfully for a few moments before he softly tapped two fingers over Blaine's ribs and continued to listen.

"He has decreased lung sounds. It sounds pretty dull – I'd say a hemothorax on the left side. We need to put in a chest tube."

Hemo-what?

"His BP is dangerously low. There has to be some internal bleeding somewhere."

Blaine's mind started to race and he could feel the anxiety and panic begin to rise. His breathing became progressively more labored until he had to clench his eyes closed just to focus enough to keep forcing air into his screaming lungs.

"Blaine, is it? You need to calm down, son. We're going to make it easier for you to breathe. Hold on buddy." A different voice echoed from somewhere above where he lay.

The pain in his chest from lack of oxygen was becoming intolerable. Blaine lifted his hands and tried to pry the oxygen mask off his face. He felt as though it was suffocating him.

Several sets of hands rushed in and pulled his arms down to his sides, as black spots filled his vision. He became extremely light-headed and for a moment he was certain that he was going to pass out.

He struggled in vain against the strong limbs, which held him in place.

"Someone, be ready to ventilate, we're going to have to intubate. Let's sedate him for now…"

"Blaine, keep breathing buddy… Come on…"

Another hot pinch into his arm moments later, followed by the warm flow of drugs invading his system.

Blaine welcomed the blackness.

The heavy fog circling his brain made it next to impossible for Blaine to open his eyes.

He struggled to pry them open and found that it felt as though they were taped closed. His eyelids felt so heavy that it was all he could do to force them open just a crack before helplessly allowing them to fall closed once again.

After several attempts, Blaine was able to open his eyes enough to see that he was no longer in the hectic ER with dozens of people hovering around him like a swarm of hornets, buzzing orders and asking him questions he was unable to answer.

He was alone in a room. A white room.

And it was dark.

The second thing he realized was that it didn't hurt to breathe anymore.

In fact, he felt pretty good. He couldn't feel any pain anywhere in his body.

He almost giggled at the fact that, what seemed like only moments ago, he thought he was surely going to die. He remembered the pain that had been surging through his core and it made him shudder.

But now… He felt amazing! He felt like he could jump right up from this bed and…

Whatsthatnoise?

Until that moment, he hadn't paid any attention to the buzzing of machines or the steady stream of beeps coming from the monitor that was located near the head of the bed. There were several graphs on the tiny screen showing a bunch of numbers and squiggly lines that Blaine wasn't sure what they represented.

Since the neck collar had been removed, Blaine was able to turn his head slightly to the side and he spent several minutes expressionlessly watching the squiggly lines move across the monitor before his sluggish eyes followed the cords and tubes that were attached to the machine.

Blaine was horrified to see how many of them were connected… to him.

A second IV line had been placed in his other arm and both had multiple pouches of fluid dripping down into his veins. One bag was filled with a thick red substance that Blaine could only assume was blood.

Several more tubes were coming out from under where he lay on the pristine white sheets of the hospital bed. One seemed to make its way down towards his pelvis. Blaine followed the line of the tubing and blinked when he discovered that the other end of the tube entered a bag filled with yellow fluid that looked strikingly similar to urine.

Another tube seemed to be attached to his chest somehow, buried deep, underneath multiple layers of blankets.

His tired eyes followed yet another tube that started from a large machine with what looked like a large white plunger that seemed to grow inside a clear plastic window and then fall steadily with a loud 'whoosh'.

The tube trailed across to the bed and up towards his…

Oh god. What the fuck is that?

Now almost fully alert, Blaine brought a shaky hand up to his mouth until it came to rest on a large, cold plastic tube that was taped to side of his mouth.

He moved his lips and tried to call out, but found that the tube was secured inside his throat.

The sudden realization hit him like a ton of bricks and his natural breathing rate quickened almost instantaneously. The air from the ventilator flushed into him at a steady rate, forcing him to consciously swallow the air as it was driven into his lungs.

The heart rate monitor began to beep frantically as the panic once again set in.

Blaine's trembling hands tugged at the tubing, but when he moved it even a fraction of a millimeter, the tube hit the back of his throat and he thought he might be sick.

A nurse rushed into the room after hearing the alarms on the monitor going off.

"Blaine? Sweetie! You shouldn't be awake! Hold on…"

She gently pulled Blaine's fingers away from the tube before placing a reassuring hand on his chest.

The nurse quickly adjusted the drip rate on one of the IV bags before returning her gaze to the pale boy on the bed.

"It's okay honey. You can go back to sleep now…"

She gently ran her fingers over his forehead and brushed the stray curls off to the side.

The nurse couldn't help but allow a single tear to trickle down her cheek.

This poor boy was here all alone. They hadn't been able to track down his parents yet.

She was reminded of her own son, who was probably not much older than the tiny boy lying in the bed beside her. If this were her son, in this bed, fighting for his life, she would surely be at his side.

What could possibly be more important than the life of your own child?

She continued to caress the boy's forehead until Blaine could feel the drugs take effect once again and he could feel himself beginning to lose the battle of consciousness.

A tiny whimper escaped his lips as he looked up into the loving, gentle eyes of his nurse.

"Ssshhhhh honey," she whispered. "You're okay now."

He nodded gently before his eyes closed and he drifted away.

Twisted visions of knives and punches tormented his dreams as Blaine struggled in the bed. His arms lashed out in front of his face subconsciously as he tried to protect himself from the blows.

"Blaine sweetie, it's alright. You're just having a nightmare."

A gentle hand on his shoulder was enough to pry him from the depths of his cruel subconscious.

As he awoke with a start, he instinctively opened his mouth to take a deep breath of air and found that he no longer had the tube in his throat. The cool air rushed into his lungs quickly, causing him to enter a fit of excruciatingly painful coughs. Each time he forced the air from his body it felt like his lungs and throat were being burned with acid.

'Blaine, you're alright. It's just from the tube. Your throat is a little raw right now. Try and relax."

The gentle hand was running up and down his shoulder, with her thumb caressing soft circles into his flesh.

"Sweetie, do you need a drink of water?"

Blaine nodded, still trying to catch his breath.

"Try not to speak just yet, okay?" the nurse instructed, bringing a cup filled with water and a straw up to his mouth.

"Here you go. Just a little sip, okay?"

Blaine nodded, hungrily allowing the straw to settle on his bottom lip. He sucked in a large mouthful and nearly choked when it burned as the water travelled down his damaged esophagus.

Another fit of coughs caused him to lean back into the pillow and clench his eyes shut. The burning of his throat and lungs was unbearable.

After several moments, he felt as though it was safe to try and swallow again and he was able to successfully swallow the saliva that had remained in his mouth. It burned, but not nearly as much as it had before.

"There you go. Is that better?"

Blaine nodded, looking up at the nurse.

He opened his mouth to speak, and was shocked when no words came out. He looked at the nurse nervously, who once again, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"It's normal for you to be a little hoarse right now. That tube did a good number on your throat. Just relax for a little bit and you'll be good as new in no time." She said with a genuine smile. "I suppose you have a bunch of questions?"

Blaine swallowed and nodded once again.

"You're in the hospital. Do you remember the attack?"

All at once, the memories from the attack in the alley flooded back into his mind like a tidal wave. He looked up and nodded, with a look of fear mixed with anxiety etched into his dark features.

The nurse offered a consoling smile. "We were finally able to locate your parents. They're on their way home from their business trip to see you."

Blaine's eyes widened. His parents would be none too happy that he forced them to end their trip early.

"They sounded pretty worried when I was finally able to speak with them."

Blaine relaxed slightly.

Maybe they do give a damn.

Blaine suddenly sucked in a breath and looked up at the nurse before squeezing her hand and harshly whispering, "J-Jake?"

The nurse's smile faltered slightly.

"He's upstairs honey." She explained softly.

Is he okay? Blaine's lips moved, but once again, no sound came out.

The nurse nodded slightly. "He's… asleep right now Blaine."

"Can I see him?" They were crackly and rough, and it sounded harsh, but the words were spoken aloud.

The nurse nodded. "When you are ready, we'll take you up there, but for now you need to rest, okay?"

Blaine nodded, feeling suddenly exhausted. His chest still ached and he felt incredibly weak.

"Okay sweetheart, you get some sleep, okay? When you wake up, your parents should be here."

Blaine nodded once more, and laid his head back against the pillow. He closed his eyes and found sleep within minutes.

Voices.

He could hear voices buzzing around him.

Many voices he was unfamiliar with, and several he knew that he should be able to place.

The voices were speaking about things he didn't understand.

"…blunt force trauma…"

"…blood in his pleural cavity..."

"…collapsed lung…"

"…flail chest…"

"…lacerated spleen…"

"…liver damage…"

"…internal bleeding…"

"…laparoscopic surgery…"

Blaine struggled to find consciousness as the voices continued.

"How could this happen?" A familiar voice.

"The police are still investigating. So far, they haven't been able to isolate any suspects. Since neither boy has been able to supply them with a statement, they don't have much to go on."

"How long will he be in the hospital?"

"Blaine is going to have an extensive recovery period. His body suffered a lot of damage from the attack. Most of it was internal - the rib fractures caused a lot of damage in there. We'd hoped to be able to repair everything laparoscopically, but once we got in there we reassessed the damaged and decided that further action was required. We did a partial splenectomy – that is, we removed the portion of his spleen that was so badly damaged that it was irreparable. There looks to be some damage to his liver, but the extent of it is not certain just yet. It's going to be a wait-and-see game with that. We're hoping it will repair itself if we let it heal properly."

"What about Jake? What do we tell him about Jake?" Another familiar voice. This one, Blaine recognized immediately to belong to his mother.

"We're going to have to be careful not to upset him. He's been through a lot and we don't want to cause unjust stress. His body needs all the R&R we can give it right now. He's young and he's tough so we shouldn't have any problems getting him healed up and out of here in a month or so."

"So we shouldn't tell him?"

Silence.

"He has a right to know."

"He's been asking about him the entire time."

"He needs to know…"

"I need to know what?"

A collective gasp filled the room, the adults obviously stressing about what the boy may or may not have potentially overheard.

"Blaine! Oh Blaine! You're awake!" His mother rushed to his bedside and picked up his pale hand, holding it tightly in her own ring-clad fingers.

Blaine looked up at his mom and blinked his eyes slowly, still trying to recover from the heavy dosage of medications coursing through his veins.

"Mom?" It was more of a question than a statement.

"Yes baby, I'm here. You're okay now. Mommy's here."

The stress and horror of the preceding events rushed into his mind once again as Blaine felt one of his mother's hands squeeze his own and he felt her running her other fingers through his dark curls on his forehead.

"Mom, I was so scared…" He sobbed, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. His voice was still hoarse and the sound coming from his lips was not much more than a pitiful whimper.

"It's okay baby. You're safe now."

Mr. Anderson took this moment to step over, next to the bed and lay a hand on his son's leg.

"Blaine. Are you in any pain right now, son?"

Blaine collected himself and tried to brush away the tears.

His father didn't like it when he cried.

He shook his head and sniffled, "I'm okay."

"Alright then" the man said confidently. "I am going to go speak to the police and find out what is happening with the investigation. The people who did this are not going to get away with it."

Blaine shuddered as he remembered the fierce looks on his attacker's faces.

"Blaine?" It was the same nurse from the other night. "Are you feeling sick to your stomach right now? The pain medicine we have you on can sometimes cause an upset tummy."

Blaine shook his head. "I'm fine, thank you."

His throat was still raw and sore from the intubation but he had so many more questions to ask that he chose to ignore the burning pain that flared with every word.

"Where's Jake? Can I see him now?"

Blaine's father stopped suddenly as he had been walking out the hospital room door.

Blaine didn't miss the glances that were exchanged throughout the room.

"What's going on? Where is he?"

He noticed his father nod once in this mother's direction before turning and walking out the door.

Blaine returned his worried gaze towards his mother's face, who now had tears streaming down her face.

"Mom?"

"Oh sweetheart," his mother cried, sitting next to him on the bed and pulling his hand in between her own.

"Jake didn't make it."

What?

Blaine blinked, unsure if he'd heard the words correctly.

"What do you mean he didn't m-make it?" Blaine's breathing quickened.

"Sweetie, he was hurt really bad. He got hit in the head."

Blaine couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"B-but I felt him." He croaked. "He was still breathing."

Mrs. Anderson closed her eyes, causing several more tears to escape down her cheeks.

"Baby, he was here in the hospital for a few days b-before he…" She stuttered, not sure how to continue.

The nurse stepped in then and took over the explanation.

"Blaine, Jake was in a coma. His brain was damaged from the attack and it wasn't getting better. He wasn't able to breathe on his own so his parents decided to take him off the ventilator. He passed away a couple of days ago."

Blaine's mouth was open and he was breathing in short, shallow gasps. Tears welled at the sides of his eyes and he blinked, as if he were trying to shake himself from a nightmare.

"But…" He sobbed, "You said I could go see him."

The nurse's face fell.

"Blaine, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have promised you that. When I told you he was sleeping, it was when he was in the coma. We were still hoping for him to come out of it."

Blaine turned his head away from both his mother and the nurse and cried softly to himself.

"Blaine honey, you know it's not your fault, right?" The nurse said, walking around to the opposite side of the bed and sitting down next to him.

Blaine looked up at her and swallowed. "He didn't even want to go. I made him go." The words were pained and wedged between sobs.

"Blaine?" Mrs. Anderson questioned.

"The stupid dance. If we hadn't gone he wouldn't be…"

He couldn't say the word out loud.

Dead. Jake wouldn't be dead.

"Oh honey. It's not because of the dance. It was just the wrong place and the wrong time."

Blaine shook his head in disbelief.

They didn't know.

They didn't have a clue what really happened that night.

It wasn't just a random attack. It was a gay bashing.

Those three men in the alley had gay bashed Jake to death.

Jake's parents knew that he was gay; they'd probably already put the pieces together without witness statements.

Blaine shuddered when he realized that the truth would most likely come out and he would be exposed to his parents.

His dad would disown him once he knew the truth.

The nurse, sensing Blaine's inner conflicts decided that it would be an appropriate time for Blaine to get some rest.

"He's been through a lot. He has a lot to think about, and I think he could use some alone time. I'll be here to check on him throughout the night and you and your husband can come back first thing in the morning."

She allowed Mrs. Anderson to give Blaine a hesitant kiss on his cheek before escorting her back out to the hospital waiting room.

After the Andersons had left for the evening she strolled back in to the room to find Blaine still sobbing silently.

"Can I get you anything sweetie? Do you need a drink of water?"

Blaine shook his head. He didn't feel like talking to anyone. He just wanted to be alone. To think about what had happened. What he had caused.

"It's not your fault Blaine," she said eerily, as though she had read his mind. "There is nothing you could have done."

Blaine blinked away several tears before looking over to where the nurse sat next to him.

"He told me to run, and I didn't."

She nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"Then when that guy was gonna…" he hesitated, a shiver running up his spine as he recalled the events. He could still feel the other teenager's hands on his body. "…gonna hurt me, Jake stopped him. He saved me."

The nurse tightened her grip on his hand and sighed.

This poor boy…

"Blaine. I know there are some things that you might not want to talk about with the police, or with your parents, but you need to know how important it is that you talk to someone about what happened. The police need all the help they can get to catch the guys that did this and you are the only one that can help them."

Blaine shook his head. "I-I can't tell them."

She squeezed his hand once again. "They only want to help you Blaine."

"My parents won't understand," he said sadly, "You can't tell them, okay? Promise me you won't tell them!"

She nodded. "I will leave it up to you to tell them Blaine. But just know, you can talk to me, okay? About anything."

Blaine sniffled and nodded, finally feeling some comfort for the first time since he'd awakened. This nurse seemed to understand what was going on inside his head and for that, he would be forever grateful.

"Thank you …" He hesitated, looking to her chest to read her nametag.

"Carole," she said softly, squeezing his hand once again and wiping a stray tear from his face.

"You can call me Carole."

~~~ END OF FLASHBACK ~~~

"Carole?"

"Carole honey? Are you okay?"

Burt Hummel quietly reached his arm around and turned Carole so she was facing him. His heart sunk when he noticed the steady stream of tears that were trailing down her cheeks. Her face was pale and she appeared more distraught than he had ever seen before.

Usually, Carole Hudson was a happy woman; so full of life, it was strange for Burt to see her with a frown and sad, puffy eyes.

Burt pulled the woman into his strong arms and held her close. The smell of cinnamon mixed with motor oil emanated through Kurt's bedroom upon their embrace.

"It's going to be alright. We'll figure this out together, okay?" Burt murmured.

Carole sniffled, and brought a hand up to her face to wipe away some of the tears before she nodded silently.

Burt looked over her shoulder to where the two boys lay in his son's bed, sound asleep.

A wave of guilt flooded through him as he replayed the scene in his mind. The agonizing shriek from Blaine as the injured boy was hauled off the bed and landed so unsympathetically on the floor.

Burt certainly hadn't meant to injure the boy. Had he known that he was so beaten and bruised, he certainly would never have treated him so roughly.

So many questions were running through his mind.

What had happened to the boy? Had he been mugged?

Why, after the strict warning that he'd given Blaine after the football game, would he even choose to come to Burt's home, of all places? Burt couldn't remember Blaine ever being in his home before; how had he known where they'd lived?

How had Blaine even gotten here? There were no extra vehicles parked out front of the house when he'd arrived home earlier.

Burt was so thankful that Carole had been there during Blaine's panic attack. He'd had no idea what was going on or how to deal with the hysterical boy. He'd just watched in utter amazement as Carole had held the boy in her arms and consoled him.

After several moments of silence, Carole lifted her head from Burt's shoulder and swallowed.

"We should leave them. Blaine needs to rest."

Burt nodded and turned to walk beside Carole up the stairs but she paused before gathering up the bloodstained football uniform and jeans from the floor, and carrying them with her up the steps.

When they reached the laundry room, Carole immediately soaked the clothes in stain remover and began to scrub furiously at the bloodstains with a soft bristled brush.

"Carole, you don't have to…" Burt started but was interrupted.

"Who could do this to him?" Carole was visibly upset again, her voice several octaves higher than her normal register.

Burt moved in behind her and rested his arms around hers and pulled her back into his chest. Carole stopped scrubbing and leaned into the embrace.

They stood silently unmoving for several minutes before Carole sighed.

"He shouldn't have to go through this again."

Burt raised his left eyebrow questioningly. "Hmmm?"

Carole knew that she shouldn't divulge any personal information about patients to anyone outside the hospital, but she needed Burt to understand what the young boy downstairs had already endured. She'd instantly recognized the boy that day after the football game but didn't know whether or not Blaine realized who she was. She'd been shocked at the way in which Burt had spoken to him that evening, but didn't have the heart to interrupt or try to explain anything. She wasn't sure if Blaine was 'out' at McKinley, and she certainly wasn't going to risk exposing him.

"It was almost two years ago." She started hesitantly.

Burt, obviously confused, gently turned Carole so she was facing him once again. "What was two years ago?"

"When I first met Blaine."

Burt's eyes widened.

What?

Carole looked down to the floor. "It was when I was working nights at the Westerville hospital."

Burt nodded, encouraging her to continue.

"He was brought in by ambulance. He and a friend of his had been attacked after a school dance."

Burt's breath caught.

Attacked?

"He was pretty messed up Burt." Carole said, looking back into the deep blue eyes of the older man. "His injuries were extensive. The men that attacked them beat him to within an inch of his life. He had to have several surgeries to repair the damage. While he was in the hospital recovering, his liver wasn't healing properly and the doctors had to do emergency surgery on him one night. He coded on the operating table. They barely got him back. He spent months in the hospital after that. At one point, the doctors weren't even sure if he would survive."

Tears were flowing down Burt's cheeks but he made no effort to try and hide them.

Blaine had almost died.

"He was a tough kid. He fought so hard to come back. He never gave up." Carole said with a sniffle.

Burt's mind was racing with all of this new information. The guilt that he had been feeling previously was triplicated and his chest burned with pity and sorrow.

Carole took a breath before continuing.

"His parents were at the hospital with him for the first while. Until they found out the cause of the attack."

Oh?

"Blaine had gone to the dance with another boy, Burt." Carole said, looking up at the man with a tear-streaked face. "They were attacked because they were gay."

Burt stared at Carole as though he was waiting for the punchline.

"W-what?"

Carole's forehead wrinkled and her eyebrows furrowed as she considered her words.

"Blaine is gay."

Burt was speechless.

"His parents didn't know. They found out that the other boy was gay and they blamed him for the attack. It got pretty ugly." Carole informed.

"What happened?"

"Jake, that was Blaine's friend…" Carole started, before Burt interrupted her.

"Was?"

"He died in the hospital. The men that attacked them hit him in the head with a pipe or something. He had severe brain damage and his parents were forced to take him off life support several days after the attack."

Burt felt his knees grow weak.

"Blaine's father was angry and blamed Jake's sexuality for the attack. Blaine was torn and couldn't tell his parents the truth. It was over a month before they finally figured it out and Mr. Anderson flipped out. He denied it initially of course, but Blaine insisted that it was true and that Jake had actually saved him from…" Carole hesitated. "…further harm."

Burt felt like his chest was going to explode.

How could someone feel that way about his own child?

Of course, it hadn't been an easy task for Burt while raising Kurt, especially having been a single father, but there was never a single second of a single day that Burt had ever considered his son less worthy of his love and attention just because he liked boys instead of girls.

"Blaine was heartbroken." Carole continued. "His father stopped coming to see him in the hospital and forbade his mother from visiting too. She snuck in a couple times at the beginning, but after the first month or two, I never saw either of them. The last time she came in to visit him, I overheard her trying to convince Blaine to tell his father that it wasn't true. She was trying to get him to lie about being straight."

Burt's sadness dissolved into anger and he suddenly found himself clenching his fists and felt his face growing warm with emotion.

"I worked with Blaine for months in his rehabilitation until August or September when he was well enough to leave the hospital and his father sent him away to boarding school. Dalton Academy, I believe it's called." Carole recalled.

"I'd always wondered what had happened to him. He was such a polite and sweet boy and deserved so much better than how his parents treated him. I couldn't believe that was him that day out on the football field. I would never have imagined him being well enough to play such a rough sport."

"You knew he was gay this whole time, and you didn't tell me?" The words weren't spoken in an accusatory tone, but each one burned holes into Carole's chest nevertheless.

She lowered her head once again. "It wasn't my story to tell, Burt. Please don't be upset. I just didn't think it would be wise to get involved."

Burt took Carole's head in his callused hands and raised her chin so she was looking into his own eyes.

"I could never be upset with you, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

He kissed her forehead gently and wiped away her tears with both of his thumbs.

"If I have anything to say about this situation," He said boldly, "I'd say we are most definitely already involved."