Blaine feels pathetic. He’s a stupid, pathetic, weak little boy who can’t even go outside without his mother and father on either side on him. It’s not like he’s being exposed to a large group of people or loud noises; he’s going to his therapist’s office, where there are few people in the waiting room and it is always quiet.

But ever since… the attack (go on say it, Blaine, he chides himself), he’s been nervous and scared of going outside.

It doesn’t help that he can’t see.

Maybe if he could it wouldn’t be so bad. He’d be able to assess the areas he’d be put into, look for threats and hostile words and he’d be able to run away from them, away to safety.

Social anxiety, his therapist had told him, was completely normal. She’d told him it was nothing to be ashamed of and that given his circumstances; she’s not surprised he has it. They’ve been working on helping him overcome it, working on techniques to help him deal.

Blaine focuses on breathing as he walks, guided by the cane in his hand and his mother’s gentle hand on his arm. His father’s low murmuring next to him helps; he keeps telling Blaine where they are, where they’re going, the people around them and reassuring Blaine that everything will be okay and that they’re almost to the office’s front door.

He feels his father take a half step away and his breath hitches, but his father comes back and holds the door open for Blaine, lets his hand rest on Blaine’s should as a comfort. Maribel helps Blaine to a seat, and Blaine lets her fuss even though they both know he can get there himself. It has been a process, but ever since he finally got the cast off his leg he’s really gotten the hang of moving around and living without the use of one of his most precious senses.

Blaine can hear his father checking them in with Penny, the receptionist and he knows his mother is removing a thermos of hot coffee from her bag for him. After he’s settles with the cup in his hand, she’ll offer him a piece of sweet bread and they’ll share it while they wait for his name to be called.

But there is something new today, as the door is opened and closed with a soft swoosh and the sound of tentative footfalls passes Blaine.

He tenses and holds his breath, waits until he knows the person who caused them is away from him before he can breathe again.

Maribel brushes back a stray curl from his forehead and asks if he’s okay. Blaine tries to smile, nods and gives her the bread and coffee back without having consumed anything.

His appetite has suddenly left him.

Santana wakes up on Wednesday morning to the sounds of Blaine playing the piano. It is a slow melody, sad and nostalgic, but beautiful nonetheless. She smiles into her pillow, closes her eyes and lets the sounds of the keys wash over her. The piano playing is relatively new – Blaine had just picked it up again only last week – and Santana savors every moment.

Santana glances at her clock and notices her alarm is about to go off. She doesn’t want to disturb Blaine’s playing, so she shuts off the alarm function and slowly crawls out of her warm bed. Walking quietly toward the armchair by her closet, she grabs the sweater Brittany left here the last time she was over and pulls it on over her slender frame.

The soft material smells like bubble gum and Santana smiles, crosses her arms and snuggles into the sweater.

She takes a deep breath and opens her door, padding with light footsteps down the stairs and toward the den, the music getting louder as she makes her way closer.

The door is open when she approaches and Santana leans against the doorframe as she watches the scene in front of her with arms crossed over her waist.

Blaine’s fingers glide skillfully across keys, his eyes shut peacefully. Sitting next to him is Quinn; her hair is soft waves down her back, her head pillowed on Blaine’s shoulder.

Their parents sit on the couch by the window, tired smiles on their faces. Charles’ eyes are open, glancing once at Santana, and then back to Blaine. Maribel’s head is laid on his chest as she listens, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. Santana would almost think she’s asleep, but the fact that Maribel’s fingers are mimicking Blaine’s on Charles’ arm give her away.

The song fades into a hopeful ending and they all seem to collectively take a deep breath as the last note gets swept away like dust. Santana pushes herself away from the doorframe and lets her feet fall heavier as she approaches her brother. Quinn looks her way and gives her a small smile as a greeting before Santana presses a kiss to Blaine’s temple. He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, a blush coloring his neck and cheeks. She smirks and repeats the gesture to her parents and then promptly rolls her eyes when Quinn juts out her chin, cocks her head and expectantly points to her cheek.

Santana is in a pleasant mood this morning though, so she smacks her lips obnoxiously against the other girl’s cheek and leaves the room, laughing at Quinn’s indignant face and Blaine’s clueless one.

It is the start of what she just knows will be a good day.

“How are you feeling today?” Dr. Amy Fletcher asks gently, her voice soft and soothing.

Blaine fidgets in the plush armchair, his hands wringing together, his foot tapping lightly against the white cane propped up next to him. His face is tilted towards the floor, his voice dull and monotone when he answers shortly.

“Fine.”

Amy holds in her sigh and takes a minute to study her patient in silence. Blaine looks thinner than he did last week, which really worries her. He has dark circles under his eyes and he keeps discreetly scratching at his right wrist. Despite all of this, though, she has to commend Blaine for his progress. When he first came in to see her, his parents had to coax him into the room and he ended up having a panic attack after the first minutes of talking with her. They’ve been working on his social anxiety since and she’s so glad to see his progress.

Now, if they could just get a hold on those other issues and start to get a sense of control back into his life, she thinks he would be a totally different person.

She’s learnt that with Blaine it’s better to start to talk about some issue of hers that’s been plaguing her and that he’ll eventually confide in her too.

“Well I don’t know about you, Blaine, but I’m downright exhausted. My husband and I are looking into buying a new house, did I tell you that?” She stops and smiles when Blaine perks up, continuing with a hum when he shakes his head in the negative.

“It has been difficult what with Henry out of the country and Valerie starting kindergarten. I’m sure everything will work out fine, but I just keeping lying awake at night worrying and stressing about it.”

Blaine sighs, nods and takes over, just as Amy hoped he would.

“I’ve, um, had some trouble sleeping too. Had some trouble for a while actually, but I just…I know my parents and my siblings and even my best friend worry so much already and I hate that.”

She cocks her head, scribbles down in messy script, ‘Trouble sleeping, possible precrip.?’, before inquiring, “Is that what’s making you lose so much sleep? Worry for your family and friends?”

“No, I – I just um, I keep having these um, these dreams – nightmares more like – and when I wake up I just feel…scared and shaken and um. Sometimes I get sick and I just, I just don’t fall back asleep, I can’t.”

Amy sighs and tells him, “Alright well, why don’t we work on those nightmares next session okay? I’m going to write you a prescription for some sleeping pills and hopefully that’ll help.”

He relaxes back into the chair at the words and Amy smiles sadly at the sight. It’s obvious Blaine’s been holding back for awhile, how much he needs sleep and to hear he might be able to get that part of his life back must be a huge relief.

“Is there anything else you wanted to talk about, Blaine? Maybe something that made you feel good this week?”

“Well, I’ve been playing the piano again, so that’s been really good. I um, I had this fear that I wouldn’t be able to play again because I couldn’t see, but it turns out I still can. Mom has been looking online for some sheet music books in Braille, so that’ll be fun I think.”

Amy smiles, her eyes crinkling and she says excitedly, “That’s fantastic, Blaine! It’s so great that you have that outlet back in your life. And you seem to have tackled Braille quite well in such a short time.”

He ducks his head at that, blushing, not sure how to accept her flippant compliment. Amy glances at the clock ticking away on her desk and finishes up her notes, quirking her lips at Blaine who seems so much more relaxed than when he first walked in to her office an hour ago. She tears off a script and stands, humming contently and waits while Blaine stands as well, reading her cues by ear.

“Well, we’re out of time for today, but I want you to think about those nightmares and anything else you might want to discuss for next week, alright?”

“I will, Dr. Fletcher, thank you.”

She laughs lightly and touches his arm with gentle fingertips, teasing gently with her words, “Such a gentleman, Mr. Anderson, like always.”

Blaine smiles and rubs his neck in a self conscious gesture and Amy squeezes his arm with affection before releasing him and guiding him out of her office and back into the waiting room.

“Oh! One more thing: I’m looking to start up a support group for young teens like yourself, Blaine, and I was wondering if you would be interested. There’s no pressure and you can just come and observe before deciding if you want to come back, but I really think it would be really beneficial to you. The group will be meeting on Fridays at five, if you’re interested.”

Blaine frowns in thought and mutters a hesitant, “I’ll definitely think about it, ma’am.”

Amy smiles down at him and nods a greeting at Maribel and Charles as they start to stand and make their way over to them.

“That’s all I ask Blaine. I’ll see you next week, then.”

Blaine nods and says his goodbye pleasantly, but quietly. Amy watches from the hall as Blaine reaches out for his mother’s arm and the small family makes their way out the door.

This is a terrible day, Kurt thinks as he adjusts the strap of his messenger bag on his shoulder, the Friday he’d been looking forward to ruined by his bad mood and Coach Sylvester’s decision to tack on another hour of practice for the afternoon. He’s been on the Cheerios for most of the year and while he isn’t getting locker slammed, slushied or thrown into dumpsters anymore, he’s just not… happy. He feels stupid thinking it, acknowledging it, because logically speaking, he should be happy. He has a fabulous best friend in Mercedes, a father who doesn’t question his choices or habits, he isn’t being bullied anymore and he even gets invited to parties.

Kurt spots Brittany sharing her sprinkled donut with Mercedes and quickens his steps in their direction. Some Cheerios wave at him as he passes and he politely nods in their direction and smiles at Mike Chang when he waves.

Kurt is…he’s popular – maybe not as popular as Santana or Finn Hudson or hell, even Quinn who still manages to part crowded hallways with ease even when she blows off parties to join the Academic Decathlon team with Mike from the football team.

People at McKinley know Kurt; they talk to him and smile and high five him, but Kurt feels like its all fake, like that is what is expected of them just because he wears the red and white polyester uniform that screams acceptance and normal and top of the pyramid.

If he were to come to school tomorrow wearing the sweater he bought from the women’s department they would shun him and ruin it with a grape flavored splash of harsh, cold reality.

Kurt reaches the girls and Mercedes gives him a look, one he’s come to learn to look forward to and dread at the same time. It means she knows something is bothering him and that no matter what, he will be telling her in great detail what’s wrong later.

He simply sighs in her direction and gives her a lingering hug, taking comfort in her arms while he can.

Brittany smiles at him and offers him a piece of her donut, which he takes graciously. She then perks up and waves wildly at something behind Kurt. He turns to see Santana and Quinn trudging along toward their little group. Mike smiles shyly at Quinn – and Kurt makes a mental note to himself that needs to talk to her about that – but she doesn’t see it. Both she and Santana’s heads are down and they are talking quickly to each other with deep set frown on their pretty faces.

Kurt quirks an eyebrow at Mercedes and she shrugs, her curls bouncing with the movement, so he turns his gaze to Brittany whose eyes have lost their glimmer and instead have turned stormy with sadness. Kurt has told himself over and over not to meddle and poke his nose where it doesn’t belong, and when Santana had returned to school all those months ago with a new maturity – and a lingering sadness - to her eyes and words but a renewed pep in her step, he’d dropped his plan to ask her about her odd behavior and the mysterious Blaine.

Now though, now he needs to know.

Santana, Brittany and Quinn are his friends, no matter how new the friendships or how odd, and if some guy – or girl, he thinks – assumes he can just mess with their emotions and string them along like little dolls, well Kurt Hummel has some choice words ready in his back pocket just waiting to be used.

Brittany is the first to speak when they halt their steps. “Is something wrong with Blainers, ‘Tana? Quinn?”

Kurt seems to be the only one who notices the two girls reek of cigarette smoke, though if Mercedes catches on she seems to be hiding her distaste very well.

Santana takes a deep breath and squeezes Brittany’s hand, says in a quiet voice, “Just a bad day, Brit Brit.”

Kurt inhales and steels himself, clenches his fists and asks in a calm voice, “Who’s Blaine, Santana?”

Santana’s eyes flit towards him and Quinn glances between them in surprise. Santana seems torn, her eyes narrowed in what Kurt thinks is anger, with fear creeping in along the edges.

Brittany furrows her eyes in confusion and tells Kurt, ignoring Santana’s persistent tugging at her hand, “Blaine is Santana’s brother, duh, Kurt.”

Blaine plucks at keys distractedly, lost in thought. It’s Friday, which means the first meeting of the support group Dr. Fletcher had told him about is meeting for the first time today. He still hasn’t made up his mind if he is indeed going to go or not. His parents told him they’d support him whether he decided to go or not, but he has a feeling they want him to go.

Blaine hasn’t had the chance to ask Santana or Quinn what he should do. They, and Brittany, are in California as of noon today at some cheerleading competition and won’t be back until Sunday. Blaine could call, but he knows their coach will be keeping them busy, and he knows that if he does call, the both of them will drop whatever they’re doing to help him out.

Blaine hates feeling like a burden.

He sighs in the empty room and props his chin on his fist. He knows the group will help him and he knows that even if he doesn’t return after the first day, his parents and Dr. Fletcher will still be proud of him.

However, the thought of leaving the house and spending an hour with a group of strangers somewhere he doesn’t know makes his hearts race and leaves him with sweat running across his temple.

He’s aware of his social anxiety and he knows it’s gotten a lot better since he’s been seeing Dr. Fletcher, but he stills feel as if he’s not enough. What if he goes to the group tonight and they all stare at him, judge the poor blind kid who can’t even make himself leave his house?

No, Blaine mentally scolds himself, stop thinking that and take deep breaths.

He does want to get better, and getting better means seeking help and taking charge of his life. He’s already working on the first one, but he doesn’t think he has much control of his life anymore. This could be the first step to getting his control back.

Blaine exhales shakily into his hand.

He’s decided.

Maribel has to clench her fists to keep herself from reaching towards Blaine. He’s walking down a hall by himself, following the directions Charles had given him to find the room the group would be meeting in.

Her little boy looks so terrified, yet determined at the same time. She has never been more proud of him as he takes these steps by himself. Charles grips her hand in his and she looks over to find him staring at Blaine with a look she thinks is similar to her own. She squeezes his hand and leads him out of the building with a deep breath.

Blaine’s steps falter as he hears his parents exit the building and he counts to ten, breathing deep, calming himself before he continues on. He can hear Dr. Fletcher’s kind voice about ten steps down the hall, so he steels himself and takes the steps, his cane tapping against the doorframe as he reaches it.

Dr. Fletcher notices him and she excuses herself from the two girls she was conversing with to greet Blaine and walk him through the layout of the room. She purposefully makes her steps heavier and she makes sure not to startles him as she speaks softly to get his attention.

“Blaine, sweetie it is so good to see you here. Here let me take you around the room, okay?”

He smiles in her direction nervously and lets her take hold of his forearm, leading him with slow steps around the edge of the room, informing him of obstacles and approximate steps towards the table with refreshments, the door and the circle of seats in the center of the room.

After about five minutes she notices out of the corner of her eye as his muscles relax minutely and so she guides him to a chair in the circle.

He thanks her as he sits and she pats his shoulder in return. She then calls the other kids to take a seat and then takes her own seat, patting down her skirt and waiting for them all to get settled.

“Alright then“, she begins, “how about we get started?”

Blaine blanks out most of the introductions. He feels bad, but he’s focusing most of his energy on not having a panic attack, and he just doesn’t have the will power to listen to all these people announce their names, how old they are, and why they’re here. He jolts back into himself when Dr. Fletcher gently prods with a hand on his elbow though.

He clears his throat nervously, scratches his wrist and takes deep breaths as he gears himself up to speak.

“Um, my name is uh, my name is Blaine Anderson. I turn fifteen next week and um, I’m here because I have social anxiety and I’m um depressed.”

He hears Dr. Fletcher murmur praise next to him and he breathes a sigh of relief. This is the first step, he reminds himself, and I’ve just taken it.

His mother is the one who finds out and confronts him about it. Out of everyone, he wishes it wasn’t her. His mother has sacrificed so much to help him. She hasn’t been back to work since he was released from the hospital and she’s been the one home schooling him, giving him his pills and taking him to check ups and all of his appointments.

Even if he can’t see her, he can still hear the heartbreak and sorrow in her voice.

He’s reading a book on overcoming anxiety, his finger gliding over bumps on the pages, when his mother comes in quietly to his room. She’s never quiet when she wants his attention or when she’s approaching him, so he knows instantly that something is not right.

Blaine sits up when he hears his door close, sets his book to the side, making sure to place a bookmark in between the pages. He hears light footsteps, but he can’t tell who they belong to until the bed dips.

It is his mother, he notices; the smell of fresh coffee and cinnamon surround her and he breathes in deep, letting the scent overcome him.

“Mom? What’s up?” He questions curiously.

“Mijo…” She starts, her voice wavering and so low he strains to hear her.

He reaches out with a hand to feel for her and he finds her hands holding tight to a piece of fabric – a shirt, maybe?

Her hands are trembling and he covers them, squeezes gently as she tries to continue with a clearing of her throat.

“Why is there blood on your shirt, baby?” She asks, and he freezes, his breath coming to a stop. His heart pounds faster and he reminds himself to breathe, taking slow, deep gulps of air.

“Mami, I – I’m sorry. I stopped, I swear, please, I’m so sorry.” His words come out choppy and rushed, his chin wobbling as he tries to hold in his tears.

Maribel chokes out a sob, tears steadily making their way down her cheeks. She tosses the shirt to the floor and gathers Blaine into her arms, holding him tight in her arms, resting her cheek on the top of his head, her tears landing among his curls.

As she rocks them back and forth, Blaine continues to apologize, his words mixing with sobs and gasps of air. Maribel tries to shush him, but it is no use and she knows it. Her hands make their way towards his wrists and he tenses. Maribel kisses his head and assures him that it’s okay.

“Hush my baby, its okay. Let me see, mijo.”

Blaine sighs shakily and uncurls his arms, letting them lay limp in his lap. Maribel gently rolls up the sleeve of his left arm and sighs in relief when she finds his skin unmarked. Blaine curls further in her hold as she lays his left arm back down and reaches for his right. She presses another kiss to his forehead and slowly uncovers his arm, holding her breath as she finds the skin marred with cuts.

Her thumb traces the lines as Blaine cries, his teardrops staining her sweater as they fall. Maribel hugs him tighter and he clings to her.

“I’ll call Dr. Fletcher, baby, okay? And we’ll – we’ll get help and, and everything will be better. I’ll make it better, my baby, I promise.”

Santana comes home on Sunday to a quiet house. She’d expected to find her parents and Blaine waiting for her in the kitchen to congratulate her on their win in California, but when she enters the kitchen, the only person she finds is her father, sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. On a plate in front of him is a slice of tres leches cake waiting for her to eat.

“Dad? Is everything okay? Where are mom and Blaine?”

 Charles sighs and looks up, his eyes tired as they meet Santana’s. He doesn’t answer her, just gets up and wraps her in a hug. Santana hugs him back, resting her head on his shoulder. After a minute they break apart, Charles fondly tucking a stray lock of hair behind Santana’s ear. Santana grins at him and moves to sit down at the table to eat her cake. She’ll have to eat less during dinner and tack on an extra hour to her work out in the evening, but it’s worth it.

Charles sits heavily next to her and says, “Your mother took Blaine to an appointment with Dr. Fletcher, sweetie.”

She contemplates this as she chews, the cake moist in her mouth. When she swallows, she wipes her mouth and speaks in a small, panicky voice.

“But – but its Sunday. Blaine doesn’t – he only sees her on Mondays. Why would – why would he see her today, dad? What happened?”

Her father rubs a hand across his face, his eyes starting to fill with salty tears. He sounds so defeated when he answers her.

“Your mom called Dr. Fletcher last night and made an emergency appointment for today. Yesterday she um, she found out that your brother’s been hurting himself.”

The sound of Santana’s fork clattering against her plate startles them both. Santana isn’t sure what she’s feeling, but she sure as hell knows she isn’t hungry anymore.

“I’m not hungry anymore. I think, um, I think I’m just going to go to bed.”

She leaves the kitchen without another word and Charles looks lost as he stares at her retreating form. When his gaze drifts to the table, he sighs shakily, and takes the forgotten cake to the trash to dump it. He takes the dirtied plate to the sink and meticulously cleans it, scrubbing with rough hands as he thinks about Santana. They’ve all been so focused on Blaine lately that Santana has been pushed to the side a bit. He knows it wasn’t intentional and he knows Santana doesn’t care, but Charles does. He can see little cracks forming in Santana’s thick armor.

When Maribel gets back, he resolves to speak with her about taking Santana to see Dr. Fletcher as well.

Santana’s been avoiding Kurt. She knows it, he knows it, everyone and their mother know it. She doesn’t care though. Right now she doesn’t care about anything. She feels numb and unfeeling. It is one thing to know that your brother is hurting, but it is another thing entirely to find out he’s hurting himself.

She just doesn’t know how to deal with all of this. She loves Blaine and to know that he’s – he’s slicing into his skin just…

It makes her want to throw up.

Quinn finds her in the library, where she’s working on her half of a project assigned to her and Kurt for their History class.

“Hey,” she greets, her arms full of books and a crooked grin on her face.

Santana sighs, gestures for Quinn to sit and rubs at her temples as she speaks. “Hey, Q. What’s up?”

Quinn talks as she spreads out her books across the table, her eyes focused on her actions rather than Santana. “Well first, we need to talk about what we’re doing for Blaine’s birthday. It’s in two days and so far we have nothing planned.”

Santana can feel a headache coming on as she purses her lips and thinks. “’S’not like we can take him to a show, he can barely leave the house without having a full on freak out. I don’t think he’ll appreciate a movie marathon since he can’t exactly ogle Zachary Quinto or Christian Bale anymore.”

Quinn huffs out a laugh and rolls her eyes, but she can’t deny the fact that Santana speaks the truth.

“We can set up some tents in the living room and have a night in like we used to, remember? Blaine used to love those and since it’s too cold outside we can make s’mores in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, that - um, that sounds pretty good actually. Though we’ll probably have to shove those s’mores down his goddamn throat, I swear its like living with one of the Cheerios at home, he like, never eats anymore, it’s ridiculous.”

Quinn sighs, bites her tongue so she doesn’t say anything to upset Santana and readies herself to continue onto her next topic of discussion she had planned in her head.

“So. The next thing I wanted to discuss with you, which I’m sure you already knew I was going to bug you about, is Kurt. Santana why didn’t you tell Kurt – and Mercedes for that matter – about Blaine? Or Cooper? You guys have been friends this whole year, but they still feel like they know nothing about you. And I haven’t said anything to them, because that’s your deal, but you do need to talk to them. They’re worried about you, Santana. Hell, I’m worried about you! All this – this crap that happened with Blaine this year downright sucked, and we’ve all been so focused on helping him get better, but sometimes I think – what about you? I just – I don’t know, I mean, you’re my friend too, someone I consider a really close friend, really and I just want you to be okay. And you being this secretive shell of a person? That’s not you being okay.”

“Are you done?” Santana demands, her gaze stony and her fingers gripping the edge of the table so forcefully her knuckles have turned a pale white.

Quinn sighs out a, “yes”, expecting the worst.

The worst is what she gets, as Santana gathers her materials hastily and storms out of the library.