*** WARNING ***

This chapter contains heavy swearing, coarse language and multiple homophobic slurs. For this reason, viewer discretion is strongly advised.

Chapter 20

It was snowing.

The temperature had dropped to below freezing overnight and even though it was almost midday now, the November sky remained grey and overcast.

Winter was well on its way.

A thin layer of white covered the streets as Kurt maneuvered the black navigator around the block one more time.

He rubbed his eyes with the bottom of his left palm, keeping his right hand clenched so tightly to the steering wheel his knuckles had turned white.

He'd barely slept.

He had closed his eyes for maybe an hour of restless tossing and turning before finally giving up just after seven o' clock and sneaking back upstairs to grab his coat and his keys.

As he had been tiptoeing soundlessly across the linoleum floor towards the front entrance, Kurt startled slightly when he came across his father in the kitchen. The elder Hummel was sitting at the table with a mug of warm milk and a look of exhaustion.

Kurt couldn't help but notice that his father looked… old.

They hadn't exchanged any words. Burt had known exactly where his son was going. He'd merely given Kurt a knowing nod before standing up from his place at the table, taking his son in a tight embrace and handing him his coat and a travel mug filled with warm milk before escorting him to the front door.

Kurt knew for a fact that his father would be blaming himself for Blaine taking off so unexpectedly.

Burt was truly the kindest, gentlest and most loving man Kurt had ever met, even if his opinion may have been a little biased.

Truth was, Kurt felt guilty too. They should have known that Blaine was a flight risk. He had been so jumpy.

So… untrusting.

As much as it pained Kurt to think about the root cause of the boy's incessant nervousness, he could understand why Blaine would be hesitant to stay the night.

They shouldn't have pushed him to stay. With his apparent backstory, it would appear as though Blaine had been forced into a lot of things.

Kurt glanced at the green numbers on the digital clock in the dash of his car and sighed. It was almost noon. He'd been driving for hours without seeing any sign of Blaine anywhere. He'd checked the school, circled the blocks surrounding his home numerous times, returned to drive past the grey house on the other side of town twice and even made a pass by the hospital.

Blaine was nowhere to be found.

Kurt had driven to McKinley first thing when he'd started his search, before any students or teachers would have arrived. He'd run into the Janitor, Mr. Freely, who'd looked alarmed to see anyone in the building at such an early hour. Kurt asked the elderly man if he'd seen any other students lingering around, but the man had denied seeing anyone.

He searched through the entire school; including the gym, locker rooms and the library. He'd secretly hoped to find Blaine asleep in the corner of the library or in the weight room taking out his frustrations on the punching bag again, but subconsciously he knew that Blaine was in no shape to partake in any type of physical activity.

Let alone survive the night outside in the cold.

Kurt was at a loss. He'd had plenty of time to think during his search. His mind kept replaying the events of the past few weeks. Blaine's winces and groans as he moved, the terrified (or was it disgusted?) look on his face at the mention of his family.

A feeling of guilt was building in the pit of Kurt's stomach.

How did I miss it? How did I not realize what was going on with him?

He sighed a very heavy sigh and reached over to turn up the thermostat in the car. He immediately felt another pang of guilt as he remembered that Blaine had likely spent a good part, if not all of, the night outside, alone in the cold.

Kurt turned the heater back down.

Why would he lie about where he lived? Was he worried that I'd find out that his father is an abusive asshole who beats the living shit out of him all the time?

Kurt's fists clenched even tighter around the steering wheel as his anger bubbled once again.

What kind of man could do that to his son?

Not a man. A monster.

A tear found its way down Kurt's cheek as he recalled how terrified Blaine had been when Burt had approached him after that football game, which seemed like ages ago.

Or when he'd pulled the boy out of Kurt's bed after wrongly assuming… things.

If only we'd known.

He sighed, lifting a hand to brush away the stray tear and continued his desperate search.

I need to find him. And help him. He can never go back home to that monster.

He can stay at my house.

I will sleep on the floor. He can have my bed and wear my clothes and eat my food. I'll even let him use my moisturizers… but he can't go back home.

He deserves better.

One last trip around the block proved uneventful and Kurt turned the vehicle back in the direction of home when a thought suddenly hit him.

The bakery.

Blaine said he worked at a bakery. Or a café. Which was it?

Where was it?

Kurt desperately tried to recall the details of the conversation he'd had with the boy that day in the Lima Bean.

Andy's?

No, it was a girl's name…

His face scrunched up in concentration as he racked his brain.

Annie's? Amy's?

"Abby's!" He shouted aloud. "Definitely Abby's!"

Kurt's heart rate quickened as he pulled the Navigator over to the curb and yanked his iPhone out of his pocket. He quickly opened a browser and typed 'Abby's Bakery Limo, OH' into the Google search bar.

Abby's Bakery

8912-16 Street

Lima, OH 45807

316 555-1228

Kurt smiled widely for the first time that day as he punched the address into his GPS unit and took off down the street.

'Abby's on 12th' He could now remember Blaine saying that day. 'I make the biscotti.'

The tantalizing aroma of freshly baked goodies assaulted Kurt's soul the moment he stepped out of his car in front of the quaint-looking bakery. The building appeared relatively run-down, which matched the surrounding neighborhood perfectly.

I wonder why he has a job way over here. This neighborhood is… scary.

A chill ran up his spine as he vaguely remembered Santana saying something about this neighborhood.

Lima Heights Adjacent.

Apparently it was a little rough around the edges. Not unlike Santana herself.

Kurt locked the Navigator and set the alarm on it before walking up to the front entrance of the bakery. A red plastic sign in the cracked front window informed him that the bakery was indeed open, so he reached up and pushed on the heavy, cold metal door. A tiny set of bells, which were fixed above the door jingled, and as Kurt pushed the door open, he was hit with an even stronger smell of fresh baked bread.

Kurt's stomach rumbled. He hadn't eaten anything since the toast and peanut butter he'd shared with Blaine the night before.

That seemed like so long ago now.

His chest ached again as his heart filled with guilt and sorrow.

Had Blaine found anything to eat?

An image of the injured boy digging through a filthy green dumpster behind McDonald's entered his mind and made Kurt's skin crawl.

He quickly pushed away the thought and made his way further into the tiny shop, noticing that the floors were clean but incredibly uneven. It looked as though the owner had just slapped a fresh coat of ugly antique yellow paint over the damaged cement rather than smoothing out the rough edges and cracks. The walls of the building were also concrete, but were framed with what looked like old grey barn wood. There were several round tables scattered around the shop with unmatched chairs sitting underneath each of them. Each table held a square silver napkin dispenser and an unmatched set of salt and peppershakers.

Kurt walked past the empty tables to the front counter, which doubled as a glass display case. After peering inside the case, Kurt found himself salivating over a number of incredible looking pastries, cookies, cakes and of course… hazelnut biscotti.

He stood staring into the case for several minutes before a heavyset Latina woman stepped out from the back room wearing a hairnet and black apron, which was covered in white flour.

"I'm sorry I didn't even hear you come in! I hope you haven't been waiting long." The woman said with a thick accent. She brushed her flour-coated hands onto her apron, successfully leaving even more trails of white on the black fabric.

"No ma'am." Kurt replied, turning to face her with a smile. "I've only just arrived."

"What can I get for you sweetcheeks?"

Kurt's eyebrows shot up in surprise as he hesitated. He hadn't exactly planned his speech.

What am I suppose to say?

"Is Blaine in today?" He figured it was a decent question to start with.

A look of recognition mixed with what appeared to be confusion crossed the woman's face. "Are you a friend of his?"

Oh my god! She knows Blaine! Finally, something he has told me that isn't a lie!

Kurt tried desperately to cling to his composure. "Yes, we go to school together."

The woman looked at Kurt intensely, as though scanning him from top to bottom.

"He hasn't been in for a while."

Kurt couldn't hide his disappointment as his heart sunk.

Damn it.

He took a deep breath.

I'm not giving up just yet.

"Do you know where he lives?"

The woman's eyes narrowed as she looked at Kurt skeptically. "Why do you want to know?"

Kurt sighed.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

He knew that Blaine wouldn't appreciate him asking personal questions, but this could potentially be life or death.

Screw the consequences.

"I think he's in trouble."

All of the apprehension instantly slipped off the woman's face and was replaced by genuine concern.

"Honey, what do you mean? Where is he?"

Kurt looked solemnly to the ground. "That's the thing… I don't know." It was barely more than a whisper.

He looked back up to the woman and sighed. "He… took off last night and I haven't been able to find him. I've looked everywhere. You're kind of my last hope."

A sparkle registered in the woman's eyes as she realized that this delicate looking boy was obviously concerned about Blaine. His worried features and seemingly genuine concern tugged at her heart.

It's about time he has found someone who actually gives a damn.

"What did you say your name was?"

"I'm Kurt." He said, reaching out and offering the woman his hand.

She gently shook his hand, transferring some of the white flour onto his fingers before she smiled.

"Nice to meet you Kurt. I'm Abby. Why don't you sit down?" She said, nodding towards one of the tables.

"You look like you're about ready to fall over. I'll get us each a cup of coffee and you can tell me what happened, okay?"

Kurt nodded, speechless.

Maybe, just maybe, he'd finally be able to shed some light on the curious history of one Blaine Anderson.

Kurt had only been seated for a few minutes before Abby returned carrying a silver tray holding two steaming cups of coffee and a plate of biscotti.

"Help yourself honey. You look like you're starving."

Kurt offered the woman a tiny smile before reaching over and taking a cookie from the plate.

The pair sat in silence for a few moments; both outwardly enjoying their cups of coffee before Abby finally spoke up.

"Okay Kurt, why don't you start from the beginning?"

Kurt took another gulp of the hot coffee before setting the cup back on the table and sighing.

How much should I tell her? Just enough to gain her trust? Or should I tell her everything?

"Blaine…" He paused, looking for the right words. "Has been having some… trouble at school."

"Okay…" Abby nodded, encouraging Kurt to continue.

"There are some guys that were… um… bullingme and Blaine kind of stood up for me. But then they got all pissed at him and… kind of… beat him up." He blathered.

He risked another look at Abby, whose thinly shaped eyebrows were now knitted together in concern.

"How bad was it?" She asked.

Kurt winced. "Pretty bad. He's kind of messed up."

Silence.

"That's why I'm so worried." Kurt spilled. "He shouldn't be alone right now. I tried to go to his house and check on him but he didn't really live there, some army guy did, and I don't think he has a cell phone, at least, I have never seen him with one. But he told me he worked here and I really hoped that he'd…"

Abby placed her warm hands onto Kurt's still chilled ones which were trembling on the table top, effectively putting a stop to his rambling.

"Shhh, honey. It's going to be alright. We'll find him."

Kurt's breathing rate had picked up once again and he found himself having to consciously remind himself to slow it back down to its regular rhythm.

Abby squeezed his fingers, "There you go baby… you're okay."

"I'm sorry." He whispered, shamefully. "I-I just… he's… he just really needs a friend right now."

Abby smiled. "It looks to me as though he's already found one."

The kind words warmed Kurt's insides more than his coffee had. "He's a good guy."

"That he is." She concurred softly.

"When did you see him last?" Kurt enquired moments later, now fully composed.

"He hasn't been in here for weeks Kurt." She said sadly. "I've been wondering where he disappeared to."

Kurt's heart sunk even further.

Abby apparently noticed the change in his demeanor, because she squeezed his fingers once again.

"He used to come in here almost every day and ask if I ever needed help with anything." She explained. "I didn't really have a spot for a full time employee, but he got pretty good at baking the biscotti so I let him do that whenever he showed up. I could tell he needed the money, and he seemed to enjoy himself, but I couldn't afford to pay him very much. Such a sweet boy though, he was always so grateful for anything I could give him. He loved taking home the unsold baking."

Kurt smiled sadly.

"Do you know where he lives?"

Abby shook her head. "I paid him under the table, so I don't have any record of his address or contact information. I'm sorry sweetheart."

Kurt nodded slowly. "I understand."

"I don't think his home life is that… wonderful." Abby stated quietly.

Kurt looked up at her, "What do you mean?"

"Well, he never outright said it, but I always got the impression that he and his dad never got along very well. Whenever I asked him about his family, he always got really distant and would change the subject."

Kurt sighed.

Sounds familiar.

"Ummm, Kurt?" Abby asked hesitantly, after several minutes of silence.

"Yeah?"

"Did Blaine ever tell you that he… well, that he's…?" She stumbled on the words.

"Gay?" Kurt offered.

Relief flooded Abby's face. She smiled slightly and nodded.

"Yeah." He explained. "That was the basis for the bullying at school."

"Ohhh…" Abby sounded slightly taken aback. "So, you're…gay… as well then?"

Kurt chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Guilty."

"Well, I'm just happy that Blaine finally found someone to relate to. I think he had a hard time with that kind of stuff at home. Just from how he spoke, I mean."

Kurt nodded in agreement. "I think you may be right."

"Too bad." Abby sighed. "He's such a sweet boy."

Kurt nodded. "I just wish I knew more about him. We've only just recently become friends."

"Have you talked to any of his teachers? Maybe they know what's going on with him."

Kurt scoffed. "The teachers at McKinley couldn't give a… crap… about any of us. They've allowed the jocks to throw slushies at me and toss me in dumpsters every day for the past two years without batting an eye."

Abby didn't miss the acid-laced tone in Kurt's voice.

"There must be someone at the school that Blaine trusted?"

Kurt shrugged. "He hasn't even been here that long. All I've ever seen him do is hang out with the rest of those neanderthals and play football."

"What about his coach?"

Kurt considered that for a moment. Coach Beiste had looked pretty concerned about him the other day after he'd been all but attacked out on the field. Maybe she would be willing to help find him.

"Or his teammates?" Abby added upon Kurt's silence.

A disgusted snort, combined with an irritated headshake gave her all the answer she needed.

"They turned rogue after he came out last week trying to protect me." Kurt explained with a frown. "Then they look the liberty of kicking his ass at practice."

Kurt didn't miss the unmistakable look of pity that flashed across the woman's face.

They sat in silence for several more minutes before Kurt looked at his watch. It was after 2pm.

He couldn't believe how much time had passed while they were sitting at that little table.

"I should go." He announced, and he stood up from the table and placed his empty cup back onto the silver tray.

"I hope you find him, Kurt."

"Yes, me too. Thank you for your help, and for the coffee. I really needed that."

Abby smiled and rubbed a hand down the boy's arm. "Let me package up some goodies to take home with you."

Kurt tried to politely refuse, but Abby insisted and in the end, Kurt was left holding a large white box filled with cookies, pastries and several slices of pie.

"My dad is going to love you." Kurt smiled.

Abby grinned, "Stress cannot exist in the presence of a pie."

Kurt laughed. "Yes, I think he'd agree with you."

He turned to leave, but stopped and turned back around to face his new friend.

"Thank you… for everything. If you see Blaine, can you please just tell him I'm sorry and that I hope he's okay?" He set the box down on a nearby table and pulled one of his dad's business cards out of his pocket. Here's my dad's work number, I've also written my cell number on the back. If he comes in, please have him call me and just let me know that he's safe."

Abby accepted the card and pulled the boy into an unexpected hug.

"Of course, Kurt."

As her arms wrapped around the thin boy, Kurt was overwhelmed once again by the delicious smell of homemade bread, cakes and cookies.

Even her hair smelled good. Somehow, it reminded him of his mother.

When she pulled away, Kurt was left with a fine dusting of white down the front of his favorite coat.

He didn't mind a bit.

It was nearly 3pm when Kurt pulled into the parking lot at McKinley High. It was Friday and today was an early release day so he'd decided to take a chance and go back to the school and find Coach Beiste.

The empty hallways echoed as he stepped cautiously towards the coaching office. He was about thirty feet away from the door when a voice halted him in his tracks.

"What are you doing here Nancy boy?"

Kurt sighed.

Great. The one person I wanted to avoid… go figure.

He resumed walking towards the office until he felt something ping off the back of his head. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Ignore him. Maybe he'll just curl up in a corner and die.

"Where is your butt boy fag boyfriend Blaine? Haven't seen him around lately."

Instead of his usual fear and panic in response to Karofsky's harsh words, Kurt felt a new emotion towards the jock as a combination of anger and annoyance boiled inside of him.

You. Hurt. Blaine.

He spun around quickly wearing the most intense bitch-face he could muster.

But Karofsky was gone.

A brief flash of red and white disappeared into the boy's locker room and Kurt, still filled with rage, chased after the unsuspecting jock.

"Hey!" He yelled, running down the hallway.

Kurt pushed his way into the locker room, more upset than he had ever been before.

"I am talking to you!"

"The girl's locker room is next door." Karofsky muttered, pulling several items out of his red gym locker.

"What is your problem?" He screamed.

Karofsky looked surprised at Kurt's sudden outburst. "Excuse me?"

"What are you so scared of?"

"Besides you sneaking in here to peek at my junk?"

Kurt could hardly believe what he was hearing.

"Oh yeah, every straight guy's nightmare, that all us gays are secretly out to molest and convert you. Well, guess what ham hock? You're not my type. And judging by the way you've treated Blaine, I very seriously doubt he'll ever want anything to do with you either."

Karofsky's face fell slightly. "That right?"

Kurt swallowed and decided to push the jock even further. "Yeah, I don't dig on chubby boys that sweat too much and are going to be bald by the time they're thirty."

Karofsky raised a clenched fist towards Kurt's face. "Do not push me, Hummel."

Kurt looked down nervously at the fist momentarily, but decided that he'd come this far, no use turning back now.

"You gonna hit me?" Kurt said, nodding towards the other teen's outstretched fist. "Do it."

"Don't push me!" The mammoth of a teenager slammed his arm into the locker next to Kurt's head. The vibrations sent chills up Kurt's spine, but he maintained his pseudo-confident stance.

Don't back down.

"Hit me. 'Cuz it's not going to change who I am. You can't punch the gay out of me or Blaine anymore than he could punch the ignoramus out of you!"

Karofsky's face turned beet red. Obviously Kurt's words were having an effect on him. "Get out of my face!" There was so much anger and pent up frustration in the jock's voice that it sent a new wave of fear through Kurt.

"You wanna know where Blaine has been?" Kurt asked with an irritated snarl, stepping inches closer to the much larger teenager and glaring at him.

The jock scoffed but didn't answer. His eyes narrowed as he looked down at where Kurt stood, challenging him.

"He's been unconscious for almost a week!" Kurt shouted angrily. "He could have died!"

Karofsky stood silently unmoving, and Kurt noticed his eyes widen at his own hate-filled words.

"And now he took off and I can't find him anywhere. For all I know he's lying in an alley somewhere frozen to death. I hope you're happy now, David. I hope you feel like a real man."

Kurt decided not to push his luck any further. After sending another chilling glare towards the other teen, he turned to walk back out of the locker room. Once at the door, he spun back around to face the still-fuming Karofsky and pointed an angry finger at him.

"You are nothing but a scared little boy who can't handle how extraordinarily ordinary you are."

Karofsky said nothing.

It appeared as though, for the first time ever, Kurt Hummel had made a dent in his armor.

Kurt was vibrating when he stepped outside the locker room.

He'd confronted Karofsky.

And he still had all his limbs.

Even though Kurt had missed several days of school while he'd stayed home with the recovering boy in his bedroom, he hadn't failed to notice that the taunting and bullying had tapered off since Blaine had been 'outed' to the whole school. There hadn't been ignorant or homophobic slurs pasted all over his Facebook timeline or threatening emails which had been common in the past.

It appeared as though he had been tossed aside like a piece of garbage since the bigoted haters had found a new puppy to kick around.

Blaine came out to protect me, and look where that got him.

A paralyzing shiver crept up Kurt's spine as he realized that in the eyes of most of the students and likely a good portion of the faculty, Blaine Anderson had transformed overnight from a handsome, popular football star to… nothing.

Feeling slightly more composed; Kurt shakily made his way down the hallway, again in the direction of the coaching office.

Approaching footsteps made Kurt look up from the floor with apprehension. At first all he saw was the red and white of the letterman's jacket and he almost panicked for a brief second before realizing that it was Noah Puckerman coming towards him, not David Karofsky.

"Sup dude?" The mohawked teen asked. "Have you seen…?"

"Not now, Puckerman." Kurt replied shortly, and wedged his way past the football player and into the door labeled 'Coaching Office'.

Once safely inside the door, he leaned against the wall for several minutes to regain his composure and catch his breath.

"Kurt? Is that you?"

Still obviously a little skittish, Kurt jumped a little at the unexpected voice.

Coach Beiste stood several feet away from him, holding a clipboard and what looked like a roasted chicken take out container.

Kurt nodded, still unsure if his voice would have returned to normal.

"Are you okay son?" For a very non-feminine looking woman, the coach sounded genuinely soft and concerned.

Kurt nodded once again. "Yeah, I-I'm fine." His voice was definitely not quite back to its normal pitch.

The coach took a few more steps towards Kurt and extended a hand out to him. "Why don't you come sit down for a minute? You look like hell."

Kurt couldn't help but smile. He nodded and followed the giant of a woman further into the office and sat down on a comfy leather sofa.

Several minutes of silence ensued before the coach spoke up. "So… are you gonna tell me what's going on that has you looking so… off?"

Kurt frowned, then remembered that he hadn't showered that morning, changed his clothes or even bothered to run a comb through his normally perfectly coiffed hair.

He must have looked bad for Coach Beiste to notice.

"I'm fine." He started quietly, "It's Blaine I'm worried about."

Coach Beiste nodded, but remained silent.

"You saw him the other day after practice. He was pretty messed up." Kurt explained.

The coach's eyes dropped as she remembered the state the boy was in when he left practice. "He told me his mom would take him to the hospital if it got worse."

Kurt frowned. "He didn't go, and it got worse, much worse."

"Damn." She muttered under her breath.

"He stayed at my place for a couple nights but he kind of freaked out last night and took off, and now I can't find him."

She looked up at Kurt with sad eyes. "What can I do to help?"

Kurt hesitated. He knew what he was about to ask was against the rules. But, it may well be his last chance to find Blaine and he was willing to risk it.

"I need you to look at the school's records and find his home address for me."

Beiste remained quiet.

After several minutes of forced silence, Kurt debated on just standing up and walking out of the office, hoping that the coach would just forget about the whole thing and not suspend him from school for even asking her to break into the principal's private records.

"I'll do it."

Kurt's head popped up.

Whoa, what?

"I kind of figured that something was up with him that day, and I feel awful that I didn't do anything to help him then. But, I can help him now, so… I'll do it."

Kurt couldn't believe his ears.

The football coach was actually going to break into the office and steal confidential information from private records for him?

"Sit tight. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Kurt hadn't even found the appropriate words to answer before the coach had stood up and briskly walked out of the office.

She returned, nearly out of breath, several minutes later and handed Kurt a yellow sticky note with an address scribbled on it in messy cursive.

"Please don't tell anyone." She said guiltily. "I could get in serious trouble for doing that."

Kurt smiled. "I won't. I promise. Thank you… so much, coach."

She grinned and placed a heavy hand on Kurt's shoulder. "Go find him, pumpkin."

Kurt hurried back out to the parking lot and climbed into his Navigator, clenching the yellow sticky note in his fist.

He started the engine and turned up the heater, sticking the note to the rearview mirror so as not to lose sight of it.

He took a deep breath and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

"Hummel Tires and Lube"

"Hey dad, it's Ku…"

"Did you find him?" Burt's voice interrupted.

"Not yet, but I have his address. His real address." Kurt explained triumphantly.

"How did you…?"

This time it was Kurt that did the interrupting.

He shook his head. "Don't… ask."

There was a silent pause before he continued.

"Ummm, dad? I know you're busy, and I hate bugging you when you're at work, but…"

"Come pick me up at the shop. I'll be ready when you get here."

Kurt closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief before agreeing, ending the call and shifting the vehicle into gear.

We're coming Blaine. Hold on, we're coming.

"I'm glad you're sensible enough to not go alone." The elder Hummel said from the passenger seat. He lifted his greasy ball cap from his crown and ran a lubricant-stained hand across his forehead, leaving a tiny, but still noticeable dark stain across his weathered skin.

Kurt nodded, looking towards the exhausted figure seated next to him.

"I just…" He sighed, "If he's as bad as my imagination has made him out to be, I really don't want to meet Blaine's father when I'm alone."

Burt nodded in agreement. "Me neither."

Kurt looked taken aback. "You're afraid too?"

Without an inkling of jest, Burt looked back at his son. "Yeah."

Kurt's eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

Wow.

Kurt couldn't help but laugh out loud when his father winked a second later and added, "Afraid of what I'd do to the prick if I was alone with him."

Several minutes later, Kurt's GPS unit showed them arriving at their destination. He pulled the Navigator over to the curb and switched off the engine.

Both Hummel men looked out the windshield at the giant white house that matched the address.

Burt whistled. "That's a big friggin' house."

Kurt nodded.

Blaine lives here?

Then why does he work at that decrepit old bakery on the other side of town?

As they both crept up the sidewalk cautiously, Burt turned towards his son. "Let me do the talking. If he tries anything, I'm going to punch the bastard in the head… and then we run like hell."

Kurt couldn't tell whether or not his father was kidding.

The Victorian-style mansion was surrounded by a heavy white wrought-iron fence, which made it look even more impressive. Kurt's jaw dropped in disbelief when he noticed that there were both pillars and gargoyles (gargoyles!) on the front porch, which itself featured a beautifully crafted two-story turret. The place looked more like a museum than a home. A white lattice-covered veranda wound its way around the first as well as the second levels of the home. The intricate trim work around the home was impressive, if not borderline over-powering.

Kurt was still preoccupied with the complexity and sophistication of the house until the duo climbed up the front steps and Burt rang the doorbell.

The flabbergasted teen snapped out of his reverie and stood stalk-still with wide eyes.

This is when we meet the monster.

Next to him, Burt was nervous. He was trying to put on a brave front for his son, but he could feel his palms sweating and his knees quivering ever so slightly. Had it been a mistake to come here? Should he have alerted the cops to come instead? All they'd have to do is take one look at Blaine and his father would be tossed in jail and the key thrown away forever.

Why had he brought Kurt? Why put him in the middle of this?

Smart move dumbass. Bring the flamboyantly gay kid to the violent homophobe's evil lair.

Burt had been imagining how likely it was that a butler with a thick English accent, dressed in a black tuxedo and holding a round silver tray filled with cocktails would answer the door when the sound of metal clicking against metal shocked him back into the present.

The door was opened several inches, revealing a thin, gaunt-looking man who stood a few inches taller than Kurt and appeared to be in his early sixties. He was dressed in an immaculate Armani business suit, complete with an expensive looking tie and matching pocket square. The man's facial features instantly reminded Kurt of a weasel and he had a thick head of wavy, silver hair parted almost symmetrically on the left side of his head. The man's face was slender, almost elongated, and his chin angled slightly forward and featured a pronounced cleft. His eyes were narrow, dark, and filled with inscrutability.

Burt thought he looked shifty.

"Mr. Anderson?" He asked warily. He was going to make bloody sure this was the correct man this time.

"Yes?" The man answered suspiciously, giving the grease covered man on his porch a disgusted once over.

"Who wants to know?" He didn't even bother to look at Kurt, who stood directly to Burt's left.

"I'm Burt and this is my son Kurt."

The man scoffed. "You're not serious? Is this some kind of joke?" He looked around the two strangers on the doorstep, as though expecting someone else to jump out and yell 'gotcha!'

Burt swallowed the lump of agitation that had taken up residence in his throat and narrowed his eyes.

"Where's Blaine?"

Kurt's eyebrows raised quickly on his forehead as he looked at his father in surprise.

Wow, that was subtle.

The man also appeared surprised. And extremely annoyed.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you and your…" he nodded towards Kurt in distaste, "…son to leave these premises immediately."

"We're not leaving until we talk to Blaine." Kurt declared, raising his chin proudly. His voice was several octaves higher than he'd hoped for; his anger and trepidation seeping past his false bravado.

The man finally turned to face Kurt and, not dissimilarly to his brief overview of the boy's father, he allowed his eyes to hastily roam from head to toe and back again before raising a disapproving eyebrow.

"And how do you know my son?"

"I go to school with him." Kurt stated, not allowing his eyes to wander from where they were affixed to the other man's dark, empty ones.

"Ummhmm…" The man muttered.

Burt took a step to his left, placing himself between his son and the man on the other side of the doorframe.

"I'm not going to ask you again. Where's Blaine?"

Mr. Anderson's bushy triangular eyebrows knitted together and his dark eyes narrowed.

"You need to leave. Now"

"Where is he? Is he here?" Kurt pleaded. The words came out far less intimidating than he'd planned. He tried to position himself closer to the open door so he could risk a peek inside the extravagant home.

It was as though he expected Blaine to be nervously standing behind his father's coattails, waiting for his rescuers to arrive and take him away.

"Get off my property before I call the police!" The man's voice raised several decibels and both impatience and anger became more apparent in his tone.

"Sure." Burt replied smugly, not backing down. "You go right ahead and call them. When they get here, I'll be sure to tell them all about you beating the shit out of your own son."

The man's face transitioned from aggravation to bewilderment instantaneously. "What in god's name are you talking about?"

Burt scoffed as his own level of irritation climbed steadily.

As if you're going to try and deny it you filthy rat bastard.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, you homophobic asshole!"

Kurt startled slightly. He'd never seen his father this upset before.

Mr. Anderson's eyes widened at Burt's sudden accusations. "What has that filthy little faggot been telling you?"

Kurt winced.

Burt almost exploded. His bald head turned a violent shade of red and grew increasingly hot. He clenched his fists together and forced himself to take in a deep breath, hold it for a millisecond before releasing it slowly.

I'm not going to kill him. I'm not going to kill him.

"Don't you talk about him like that!" Kurt interjected. He could feel the dampness of tears threatening to gather at the corners of his eyes.

"Hmmph, let me guess…" The man sneered. "You're one of those fairies too, right?"

Burt's temperature raised another few degrees and his fists starting twitching.

I'm going to kill him.

"Don't you dare talk about my son like that ever again." He muttered through gritted teeth.

The man in the doorway paid no attention to Burt's warning.

"That disgusting little freak hasn't showed his face around here in months." He spat. "If he knew what was good for him, he'd do us all a favor and take a jump off a tall bridge."

Burt's eyes widened and his jaw dropped but he couldn't come up with any words.

"Stupid little faggot would probably screw that up too. He messed everything else up. Spoiled little brat."

Mr. Anderson was completely oblivious to the two jaw-slacked Hummels standing before him as he continued on with his rant.

"Do you know what that ungrateful little fucker did? The day after I kicked his rotten little spoiled brat ass out, he had the nerve to sneak back into the house while we were at work and steal from us! He took food, clothes, and I wouldn't be surprised if he raided my wife's purse. Disgusting little faggot probably needed the spare change to pay for blowjobs in the back alley."

"That's enough!" Burt hollered, after visibly shaking himself from his stupor.

The man actually cowered away slightly at the ferocity of Burt's tone. He pulled the door closed a few millimeters, an act which did not go unnoticed by either Kurt or his father.

Any and all intelligible words had escaped Kurt by this point. Tears had begun falling long ago and there was no stopping them now.

How could anyone speak like that about his own son?

He could feel his legs trembling as he swayed slightly on the front porch of this man's home.

He really was a monster.

Kurt was in such a state of shock that he couldn't even make out any of the words that his father and the monster were saying, or rather, screaming at each other.

It wasn't until Burt grabbed him harshly by the arm and pulled him off the step that he realized that the front door had been slammed shut and Mr. Anderson was gone.

He looked around dazedly, until his eyes met his father's face, but still, no words spilled from his mouth.

"Come on Kurt. Let's get out of here." His father's tone was still laced heavily with anger, but Kurt could feel that none of it was directed towards him.

"B-blaine?" He sobbed; salty tears still running freely down his reddened cheeks.

Burt sighed. "He's not here Kurt. He never has been."

"W-what?"

"It wasn't him." Burt replied dumbly.

Kurt didn't understand.

Mr. Anderson was the monster. He had to be.

The monster that hurt Blaine.

"It wasn't him." His father repeated stoically as he helped his stupefied son into the passenger seat of the Navigator. "He's not the one that's been harming Blaine."

"It wasn't him."

A shiver ran up Blaine's spine as he pulled his arms around his torso in an even tighter, lonely embrace.

He re-adjusted his position as the frozen, unforgiving metal bench at the bus stop did nothing to warm him and he tucked his chin down into his chest once again, curling into himself like a child.

The frigid air stung his cheeks and he felt his throat and lungs burning; each breath he released caused a plume of fog to stutter from between his bluish lips as his teeth chattered violently. His entire body was trembling noticeably as he struggled to keep his sluggish eyes open.

Blaine couldn't help but appreciate the irony; the chilling cold had numbed his body to the point that the throbbing in his shoulder and ribs had almost completely been eliminated.

He wished he'd kept the sling. Such a simple device had made his shoulder feel significantly better when he'd been wearing it. But he didn't want the Hummels to assume that he'd stolen it from them. It was bad enough that he'd kept another set of Kurt's clothes.

Blaine cursed his stupidity.

I should have never left the Hummel's home. They were so kind to me. So…welcoming.

The moment that he'd learned he had been lying unconscious for the past several days, he'd panicked.

He knew he was going to be in trouble.

Four days without telling anyone where he'd been.

Four days without…

Yeah, he was definitely going to be in trouble.

Another shiver wracked his small frame as he heard a vehicle approach.

He lifted his head, now fully alert as he saw the black SUV driving slowly along the street in front of him.

Blaine's heart raced when it pulled up in front of him and the tinted window on the passenger's side rolled down slowly.

He's here! Kurt actually came!

"Hey kid. Do you know how to get to the stadium?"

Blaine's heart sank.

Not Kurt.

Unable to speak, he merely shook his head and watched sadly as the car sped off down the street.

After he'd climbed out the window of the Hummel's bathroom the night before, he spent the next several hours pacing the streets, trying desperately to find a place to keep warm.

He'd underestimated the weather.

It was cold. Too cold.

Blaine eventually found himself in a dingy café, sitting in a booth with a torn red plastic cover on the seat.

He'd remained there for several hours, watching silently out the window. He wasn't even sure what he was watching for.

Or who.

Finally, the waitress told him that if he wasn't going to order anything except a cup of hot water, that he was going to have to leave.

Facing the cold was even worse the second time.

Blaine had walked briskly, trying desperately to keep warm and ended up trekking miles across town, with no definite plan or final destination in mind. He followed the railway tracks, and stopped at several underground train stations along the way, where he stood next to multiple homeless people, trying to find warmth under the tiny heaters.

When morning finally came and the sun peeked out from behind the eastern horizon, Blaine tried to remain hidden in the alleys as he continued his journey to nowhere in particular.

He didn't dare walk out in the open.

Later on in the day, while still wandering aimlessly, Blaine was shocked when he came upon a pay phone on a side street he'd never been down before. Payphones were a rare commodity these days.

Especially in Lima, Ohio.

He'd stealthily snuck up to the machine and reached his chilled fingers into the change dispenser.

Just like all of the soda machines and bus ticket dispensers he'd checked so far, the tiny opening in the machine was cold and empty.

Before he'd turned around and stepped out of the booth, Blaine grabbed the phonebook that lay defaced and dangling below the receiver and flipped it open. He flicked through the thin pages with his still trembling fingers until he found what he'd been searching for; a quarter page ad for 'Hummel Tires and Lube'. He tore out the whole page and stuffed it into his pocket.

He spent the remainder of the afternoon debating on who he'd even call if he ever came upon a loose quarter.

His brain told him to go back. It would be better for everyone if he just went… back.

The Hummels shouldn't get themselves involved. Someone could get hurt.

Kurt could get hurt.

But he really didn't want to go back there.

A chill streaked up his spine, but for the first time, it was not as a result of the cold.

He couldn't go back.

Blaine's mind drifted back to his time spent with Kurt and his family. They'd welcomed him into their home, no questions asked, and took care of him while he'd been recuperating.

They deserve better.

Blaine considered walking to Abby's. She was always up early each morning baking bread.

But then she would ask questions.

He couldn't have anyone asking questions.

Calling his father was not even an option. He hadn't heard from that bigoted asshole in months.

Blaine planned to keep it that way.

Finally, after the afternoon had transitioned into early evening, Blaine concluded that there was no way he could survive another night alone on the streets.

Literally.

As he was walking down another side street, he came upon a small church.

The Andersons were not religious people, by any stretch of the imagination, but Blaine knew that if there was one place he could turn to for help, it would be a church.

He stepped inside the doors and vigorously rubbed his hands together, trying to regain some warmth. His stiffened fingers tingled as the circulation returned within minutes.

"Son, are you alright?" A deep voice sounded from his left. "Why haven't you got a coat?"

Blaine turned towards the voice to see a tall, heavyset man he assumed to be the minister of the church.

"C-can I…er… may I p-please use your phone?" His voice trembled.

The man looked at the state of the boy before him and nodded immediately. "Yes, please come inside."

He led Blaine into the church office, showed him the phone and promptly left the room, allowing Blaine the privacy he craved.

Blaine picked up the receiver of the phone and hesitated.

He pulled out the thin piece of paper from his pocket that he'd torn out of the phonebook at stared at the numbers.

A knock on the door several minutes later startled him.

"Son, is everything alright? Are you done with the phone now?"

Blaine shook his head; he hadn't realized so much time had passed while he'd sat pondering.

"No sir, I'm sorry. I need another minute."

He closed his eyes and began dialing.

Now here he sat, on the frigid bench at the bus stop, shivering violently and praying for warmth.

His heart stopped momentarily when he saw the vehicle approaching.

When it pulled over directly in front of him, Blaine hesitated before standing up from the stone cold bench.

His legs protested due to the lack of blood circulating to his feet. He walked on pins and needles until he pried open the door of the SUV with trembling fingers and climbed in.

He was instantly hit with warm air that was billowing out from the heater of the car causing his shivering to reach a crescendo, but it wasn't the temperature that had the boy quaking and cowering as close to the passenger door as he could manage.

"Where the fuck, have you been?"

Blaine winced.

Here it comes.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you! I asked you a question!"

Blaine gulped and turned his head slowly to face the other occupant of the car for the first time, tears freely slipping down his rosy, wind-burned cheeks.

The other boy noticed the array of multi-colored bruises that colored Blaine's face and his expression changed minutely.

"Jesus! It's worse than I thought. You didn't go to the hospital, did you?"

Blaine shook his head, still unable to speak.

"Baby, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit you that hard. You know I didn't mean it, right?"

Blaine couldn't prevent the grimace that formed on his face.

"You know I love you, right?"

He ignored the question.

A cold hand pressed onto Blaine's thigh, causing the boy to flinch away and cower closer to the door of the car.

"Oh, come on Blaine, don't be like that." The boy mocked, moving his hand further to the inside of Blaine's thigh. His long fingers graced over his crotch and Blaine winced, a tiny whimper leaving his lips.

"P-please don't." It was barely more than a frightened whisper.

"Come on baby, I told you I was sorry. I just haven't seen you in so long. I was worried."

The fingers pressed harder on Blaine's crotch and he could feel warmth on his neck as the other boy leaned over the console which until this point had separated them, and whispered into his ear. "I missed you and your sexy body."

Blaine felt new tears slipping from his face as the other teen's fingers began palming the bulge of his crotch through the thin fabric of the jeans.

"S-Sebastian, please stop. I just wanna go home."