Blaine stared from his bed at the door.  The light seeping through the cracks taunted him.  But he was safe in the darkness, no-one could find him there.  He didn’t have to see himself in the darkness either.  The dark hid his many bruises and scars, those painful reminders of his failures.  He didn’t have to look at himself and know how disgusting he must be.  In the dark, he could pretend.  He could pretend he was normal.  He could pretend he wasn’t worthless.  He could even pretend that he was loved.

His thoughts turned unbidden to Kurt.  Blaine had never seen such beauty in any person before.  His porcelain skin seemed to glow and his eyes - sometimes blue, sometimes grey, but most often a confusing mix of both - left Blaine breathless.  And he wasn’t just stunning on the outside.  He had a beautiful soul too, albeit a slightly crushed one.  Kurt knew what it was like to be targeted for who he was, and because of that, Kurt could understand Blaine in a way no-one else ever could or had - although he still didn’t know everything there was to know about Blaine Anderson.

Blaine hadn’t ever meant to become involved with Kurt, it had just sort of happened and Blaine was powerless to stop it.  There was something magnetic about Kurt that drew Blaine in and that terrified Blaine.  He couldn’t let himself taint Kurt’s beauty and innocence, and yet he couldn’t stay away.

But Kurt was not the most pressing matter Blaine had to deal with.  At that moment, Blaine was more concerned about the footsteps banging up his staircase.  Since Blaine’s room was the only one the stairs lead to, he knew his safe haven was about to be breached.

Sure enough, the door banged open and light flooded in.  Blaine, who had been momentarily blinded by the brightness, could only just make out his father silhouetted in the doorway.

“Get up, boy!”  He barked, and Blaine scrambled quickly to his feet.

“I asked you to do one thing whilst your mother and I were gone, Blaine.  Can you remind me what that one little thing was?”  He spoke calmly, but the twitch in his jaw betrayed his anger to Blaine.

“You asked me to wash the dog, sir.”  Blaine replied quietly.

“Indeed I did.  So, can you imagine my disgust upon coming home and finding that my beloved dog’s coat was tangled and hadn’t been brushed?  Blaine, you know that the dog’s coat needs brushed at least twice a day, and especially after a wash!  What do you have to say for yourself?”  His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and Blaine tensed.

“I’m sorry sir, I should have known better.”  Blaine kept his eyes downcast.

“You’ve disappointed me, and you know how I hate to be disappointed.”  Blaine nodded as tears welled up in his eyes.

He knew by now to expect the blow, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

As his father aimed punch after punch at him, Blaine could do nothing but endure.  Fighting back earned him a tougher beating.  He did his best to stay standing (for falling to the floor also earned him a greater punishment) but eventually his legs couldn’t hold him any longer.  When the attack was over, John Anderson looked down at his son in contempt.

“Pathetic.” He growled.  “You will brush that dog’s coat until I tell you to stop, and you will not get blood on the new carpet.” 

Job done, he strode out of the room and left Blaine whimpering against the cool wood of his floor.

Once the haze of pain and nausea had cleared a little from his head, Blaine managed to prop himself up into a sitting position.  The door was still wide open, which meant that there was enough light for him to see in his mirror the damage that had been done.  However, his father knew better than to hit him anywhere noticeable, so Blaine was going to have to strip to get a good look at his injuries.  Wincing, he slowly dragged his top over his head.  With an even bigger struggle, he eventually managed to remove his pants as well.

Clad in only his boxers, he stood shakily in front of the mirror.  Purple bruises were already blooming across his chest and thighs to match the yellow ones already there.  A huge gash down his side was the most painful wound, although there were also other cuts and scratches elsewhere that stung as well.

From downstairs, his father shouted to him.  “Hurry the fuck up, boy.  You have kept me waiting long enough already, do I need to beat you again?!”

Blaine hastily washed and covered the wound on his side and then pulled some clothes on.  He stiffly clambered down the stairs and into the kitchen.  After locating the brush, he called over the dog and knelt down beside him, hissing at the pain in his knees.

Dexter was a Golden Retriever, and he was also Blaine’s Father’s most prized possession.  John loved his dog more than he had ever loved his son.

Blaine brushed Dexter’s fur slowly and softly, making sure not to hurt the animal.  He brushed methodically to remove the non-existent tangles whilst listening only half-heartedly to the noise of the television show his father was watching in the living room.  Soon he became lost in his own thoughts.

Hours passed, and Blaine was never given instruction to stop.  Sometime just after midnight he was brought out of his reverie by the sound of his father retiring to bed, but still Blaine hadn’t been granted permission to stop, and so it was that Blaine stayed up all night brushing his father’s beloved pet.

*              *              *              *              *

At school on the Monday after, Blaine tried his best not to wince or draw attention to his injuries.  It was just better if no-one knew.  If they found out about the bruises, then they’d want to know how they got there, and then people would know what a failure Blaine really was.

Blaine felt sometimes that he lived two lives; his life at Dalton, and his life at home.  They were two separate entities, linked by nothing other than the boy that flitted between them.

He couldn’t allow his perfect facade to be destroyed.  Not at Dalton.  Dalton was the one place where he could get away from everything, forget about who he really was and what he really deserved.  At Dalton, he could become someone else, and he did.

To the teachers and student at Dalton, Blaine seemed like the perfect young man.  His grades were spectacular, homework was always handed in on time and work was always done to the highest standards.  He was well-mannered, charming and had a good sense of humour.  His appearance was always tidy.  But it was his voice that let him really shine.  Blaine had immediately joined the Warblers after his transfer to Dalton and had quickly worked his way up through the ranks.  His status as their lead singer made him something of a deity among the student body.  He had also more recently become the model boyfriend. 

Blaine knew that he had only himself to blame for feeling unsatisfied with his and Kurt’s relationship.  His body was constantly gravitating towards the boy but his mind screamed at it to stop.  He could clearly see that Kurt adored him, but whenever Blaine felt those little jolts of his heart or the fluttering in his stomach, he pushed those feelings away.  He couldn’t become any more attached to Kurt because that meant letting him in, and letting him meant telling him everything.  Even the thought of divulging the secrets of his home life had him shaking.  That was his problem - he couldn’t afford to let his walls down.

Blaine had thrown himself into up keeping his image at Dalton - it was the one thing in his life he felt he had any semblance of control over.  He couldn’t afford to let his mask crack. 

He didn’t want to think what would come if it did.

*              *              *              *              *

On Thursday evening, Kurt visited him in his dorm for a study session together.  Kurt had a maths exam the following day he needed some extra help with, and Blaine had French homework that he knew Kurt would be able to answer in a second. 

When he arrived, Blaine greeted Kurt with a chaste kiss on the cheek and they settled side by side on his bed, working and chatting quietly.  When they eventually fell silent, Blaine became aware of Kurt watching him and twitched uncomfortably.

“What’s wrong?” Kurt asked as he shifted again.

“Nothing!” he replied, perhaps a bit too hastily, because Kurt’s eyes narrowed and pursed, although he didn’t question Blaine again.

Kurt had spent a very long time watching Blaine.  He knew when something was bothering him.  Or rather, he knew that there was always something bothering Blaine in the back of his mind, but that there was something in particular bothering him right now.  He knew that Blaine had been hiding something for a very long time - perhaps since before they’d even met, although Kurt couldn’t be sure.  He saw the mask Blaine had created, and he could also see through it.  He could see the boy wasn’t happy.  Hell, he could see that he was perpetually terrified of something.  He watched as Blaine became lost in his thoughts, and jumped when people accidentally brushed him, or passed near to him.  These moments of clarity were often very short, but Kurt saw them, even if no-one else did.

The vulnerability behind Blaine’s mask was what made Blaine real to him.  Before he’d noticed the facade, he’d always thought Blaine was a little too perfect, a little too unreal, but once he’d spotted the mask, he realised that Blaine was just like any other person.  He had his hang-ups and insecurities, and he wanted to hide parts of himself too. 

As a result, whenever Blaine told Kurt he was fine, or it was nothing, Kurt always knew he was lying, because there was something constantly nagging away at Blaine, and it seemed to be concerning him a lot more than usual that past week.  He’d returned from his visit home stiff and distant.   He’d forgotten to bring his gym clothes, which was very unlike him, and even in Warbler’s practice he’d been struggling to focus.  As Kurt watched him quietly, he saw Blaine absent-mindedly stare at the wall, clearly lost in thought again. 

Now, Kurt prided himself on his sharp eye, especially when it came to fashion, but it came in useful at other times too.  So hadn’t failed to notice the bruise on Blaine’s wrist either, even when Blaine hastily covered it up and checked no-one had noticed (Kurt was also exceptionally talented at pretending to have not been staring at him).  Kurt’s mind had raced that night in bed, and his theories certainly hadn’t been quietened the next day when Blaine had grimaced after laughing loudly at one of Nick’s jokes, or when he’d hissed quietly after Jeff nudged him playfully on the shoulder.

Kurt had spent a lot of time watching Blaine, but he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, and so he continued to observe quietly, whilst his mind whirred in an attempt to piece it all together.

Once Blaine had finished his homework and Kurt had given up on his studying, it was getting quite late, so they called it a night.  Kurt made sure to give Blaine a hug and a kiss, and then he had to dash to make curfew in time.

Over the remaining day, Kurt memorised every little detail of Blaine, ready to compare on Monday.  He was going to get to the bottom of it all, but he needed a little time to work it all out.

*              *              *              *              *

That weekend, Kurt spent away from Dalton at home, whilst Blaine stayed in the dorms once more. 

It was easier to pretend it wasn’t happening when it was the occasional light bruise or wince.  Kurt could swallow down the lump in his throat and try to forget that Blaine was lying to him.  He could try to forget that he was hurting and was too proud, too scared to ask for help.  He could pretend he was blind to it all, and when it was dark and late at night, he could cry himself to sleep whilst trying in vain to tell himself that it was not because Blaine didn’t trust him.

It was a lot harder to ignore when Blaine was standing in his doorway, struggling to breathe and clutching at his side.  It was even harder to ignore when Kurt caught sight of his face, blotchy and red - not just from crying, but because his right eye was swollen closed and there were bruises covering his jaw.  It was especially hard to ignore when Blaine folded in on himself and Kurt had to catch him before he hit the ground.

Sobs ripped from Blaine’s throat and Kurt was fairly worried that he was having a panic attack, but his main priority was getting him out of the cold rain first.

“DAD!” he screamed as he wrapped his arm around Blaine’s waist and gently tugged him to his feet.  He had barely managed to prop him up against his own side when Burt walked into the hallway.  Burt stopped dead for a moment when he spotted Blaine, but almost immediately he sprung into action. 

The house was a flurry of movement; between Kurt and Burt, they managed to get Blaine into the kitchen and perched hazardously on a chair.  Kurt had to pull another one up beside him and sit in it because Blaine couldn’t even support his own weight.  Instead, he slumped against Kurt, whimpering when the movement resulted in a pain shooting up his left side.  Carole, who arrived home from a shift at the hospital amidst it all, gets an ice pack and instructs Kurt to keep his right eye covered.  She set about checking him over, before finally declaring that he’d need to be taken to accident and emergency because she’s pretty sure his rib is broken. 

Just getting him in the car was effort enough; every wrong movement caused Blaine to whimper and cling to Kurt tighter. By the time he’d been loaded into the vehicle, he was holding Kurt’s hand so forcefully that it felt as if he’d cut off the blood supply to Kurt’s fingers, but Kurt didn’t complain as he climbed into the backseat with him, delicately laying a comforting arm across his shoulders and drawing him close.

The actual drive is a blur of broken speed limits and pained moans.

Once they arrived at the hospital, the doctors whisked Blaine and Carole ran after, and Kurt and Burt settled in for what could be a long wait.

“You okay kiddo?” Burt looked at Kurt with worry.

“Not really, no.”

“Do you know what happened?” He asked the question gently enough, but Kurt sighed and shifted in his chair, and Burt knew he was uncomfortable with the question. Kurt chewed on his lip for a moment.

“I think- I mean, I’m not sure, but he’s got bruises all over him, so I think... I think it’s his dad.” 

Burt studied Kurt for a moment, and then nodded resolutely.  “You know the police are going to have to get involved?”

Kurt looked down at the table and wrapped both of his hands around his coffee cup before making a sound of acknowledgment.  Burt got the sense that the conversation was over.

It was three hours before they were allowed to see Blaine again - Carole was only permitted because she was a nurse - and when they walked into his room, Kurt sucked in a sharp breath.

Although Kurt had to admit that Blaine didn’t look so pale anymore, it was a shock to see him hooked up to a drip and covered in the bruises and swelling that had only gotten worse.

Burt patted him gently on his shoulder, mumbling about leaving them alone to talk to the doctor.

 “Blaine?” Kurt asked quietly as he rested his hand hesitantly on top of his boyfriend’s, not wanting to disrupt the drips and IV lines.

Blaine’s eyes squinted open, the swollen bruising preventing him from doing anymore. Kurt choked back a sob because he had been given so many opportunities to speak up and stop this, and yet he had done nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he said miserably. “I should have done something.”

“Kurt.”

Blaine’s voice, for once, didn’t make Kurt feel better. It was scratchy from the near-constant stream of moans and cries, and it obviously hurt Blaine just to say one word. His lips were cracked and dry; small drops of blood clinging to the cuts.

“Shh, don’t talk. Don’t hurt yourself.”

Blaine blinked slowly, and his eyes filled up with tears. 

“Oh baby, don’t cry.” Kurt whispered, shuffling in closer to him and running a hand soothingly through his hair.  “You don’t need to cry anymore.  I’m here, I’ve got you.” He started to shake, so Kurt slid onto the bed - even though he was pretty sure he wasn’t meant to - and pulled Blaine into his arms.  Blaine clutched weakly at his shirt and sobbed into his neck.  Kurt could only hold him; he was sure no words would make Blaine feel better.

They lay like that for over an hour.  A nurse came in at one point to check up on them, but she didn’t say anything about Kurt being in the bed.  She smiled reassuringly at him, and left again. Eventually Blaine’s tears ran dry and he fell asleep. 

Kurt watched him as his chest rose and fell gently.  He looked peaceful and innocent, and if it weren’t for the great purple splotches on his face, they could have been snuggled up on a sofa together.  Kurt let the guilt wash over him; if he’d just done something this might never had happened.  And really, what had he been waiting for?  Why hadn’t he said anything before now?

*              *              *              *              *

The two nights Blaine spent in the hospital were a blur to him.  He struggled to grasp the severity of what had happened, and he wasn’t even thinking about his father hitting him again - he was more horrified at Kurt discovering it all.  His facade had fallen, and in its place was nothing but the ashes of his life.  He was sure it was ruined now; no-one would want to have anything to do with him anymore.  Not little Blaine who couldn’t even do such simple things as take his dirty boots off at the back door.  Every time Kurt visited, he clenched his eyes shut tightly and pretended to sleep.  It was better than facing Kurt laughing at how pathetic he was.  When the police came to take his statement, Blaine refused to talk.  They tried hard to convince him to testify against his father, but Blaine remained stiff-lipped and silent.  Eventually, the doctors told him he was free to leave, and for a moment he panicked.  He had no-where to go.  His parents hadn’t even come to visit him, hadn’t phoned looking for him.  But why would they?

On one hand, he was thankful that Burt stepped in and offered him the spare room in the Hummel-Hudson household, but he couldn’t help but be apprehensive.  If he was staying there, then there was no possible way to continue avoiding Kurt, and he’d have to talk to him.  He didn’t want to hear Kurt laugh at him, he didn’t think his heart could take it.  It was then that he realised maybe he’d let Kurt in even more than he’d ever intended.  But he didn’t have anywhere else to go.  Sure, he could go back to Dalton once the bruises had faded and he’d thought up an excuse for the broken bones, but Kurt knew, and Blaine was pretty sure Kurt wouldn’t let him away with it.  So, for now, he had to duck his head in shame and accept what little he was being given.

In the end, he managed to avoid Kurt for all of two hours.  He was perched on the edge of the guest bed when the door creaked open and Kurt peered in.  When Blaine made no objection to him entering - what was the point? - Kurt slipped in and closed the door quietly behind him.  He stood in front of it, hands stuffed in his front pockets and shoulders tense.

“You’ve been ignoring me.” He began.  Blaine nodded tersely.  “Why?”

Blaine didn’t respond, instead he looked down at the floor and then his eyes flicked to the wall opposite him, where they stared resolutely forward.  Kurt sighed, and stepped towards the bed.  He sat down on Blaine’s left, leaving a large gap between them.

“Are you going to tell me what happened then?”  Blaine shook his head, eyes still boring a hole in the wall.

“Why do you care?” Blaine asked eventually after silence had stretched out for a good while.  Kurt was shocked by the gravel in his voice.

“Because you’re my best friend.  Because when I was in a bad place you took the time to help me.  Because before I met you I didn’t think I could go on much longer, but you came into my life like a shooting star and lit everything up, and I will never, ever be done owing you for that. Why can’t you let me do the same for you?”

“Because I don’t want help!” Blaine half-shouted, pushing himself angrily to his feet.  “I don’t need your sympathy, I don’t want you to pity me.”

Kurt stood too. “I don’t pity you, Blaine.  You think this is pity?  This is me being absolutely horrified that you are letting someone getting away with abusing you like this.” He retorted.

Blaine sucked in a large breath at Kurt’s harsh statement and when he exhaled, let out a little whimper. He looked up at Kurt, begging him with his eyes, but Kurt shook his head.

“Blaine, let me see.” A sob ripped from Blaine’s throat as tears of terror welled up in his eyes.  “If you show me, I can make it better.  I promise I will fix this.  Just show me, please?”

Blaine studied Kurt for a long time, judging the sincerity of the promise, weighing out the pros and cons.  He argued internally with himself until the side debating that it would be cathartic to let it all out won.  Besides, Kurt already knew what had happened.

Slowly, and with shaking hands, Blaine began to unbutton his shirt.  In all of his daydreaming, Kurt had never thought he would first see Blaine shirtless because he had been beaten black and blue.  Blaine could only manage the top two buttons before he was shaking so badly Kurt had to sit him back down on the bed.  He gently placed a kiss on his forehead and then knelt on the ground between Blaine’s legs so he was looking down at Kurt.

“Here, let me.” Kurt whispered, and reached for the next button.  Blaine fisted his hands in the bed sheets tightly and whimpered, but didn’t stop him.  With each button that was undone, more of Blaine’s chest became visible.  It was covered in bruises, like some brilliant painting of blues and purples and yellows.  When the final button slipped out and the shirt hung loosely at his sides, Kurt gasped.

“Oh god.” He whispered, and covered his mouth with his hand in shock.

Blaine’s eyes were clamped shut and his face was clenched in pain.  Tears rolled down his face and fell into his lap.  Still trembling, he loosened his hands from the sheets and pulled the shirt off his arms.  He dropped it beside him on the bed, and pushed Kurt backwards so he could stand and remove his trousers.

As he stood, naked except for his boxers, he was reminded of so many nights scrutinising his injuries in his mirror.  The only difference now was that he could feel Kurt’s eyes burning into him.

Kurt had pulled himself up to his feet too.  He eyes roamed over Blaine, catching sight of a cigarette burn on the inside of his elbow, tracing a thin white scar down his thigh, following a line of welts across his hip, and stopping at a bruise on his bicep.  It was clearly where a hand had grabbed too tight.  He reached out slowly, and when Blaine didn’t flinch, carefully matched his hand to the bruise.  His were much smaller.

Kurt exhaled shakily, and let his hand fall to his side.

“You didn’t deserve any of this.” He spoke gently, and Blaine slowly opened his eyes and peered at him through his eyelashes.  Kurt was momentarily stunned by how beautiful he looked, vulnerable as he was.

“I did, Kurt.” Blaine answered, defeat evident in his voice.

“No you didn’t.  No-one deserves this.”  Kurt replied evenly, trying not to cry himself.  He was only just beginning to see quite how much damage John Anderson had caused to his son.

Blaine blinked and swallowed, shaking his head again.

“Stop it.  Stop telling yourself you deserved this.  Blaine, you are strong and clever and you know this is wrong.  Imagine the situation was reversed?  Imagine it was my dad beating me?” Kurt replied furiously.  Blaine flinched at his tone, and Kurt felt guilt quickly wash through him.

“You are infuriating, you know?  Why can’t you-?” He started, but cut himself off by leaning in to kiss Blaine.

Where their first kiss, and every one after, had been sweet and chaste, this kiss was hard and desperate.  Their first kiss had been nerves and bliss, this was hurt and need and relief.  It seemed to spark life back into Blaine - he was kissing Kurt like he needed him more than air, and perhaps he did in that moment. 

Kurt moved his hands to pull Blaine closer and then tangled them in his hair.  Blaine’s hands clutched at Kurt’s vest, clinging to him tightly.  In that second, as Blaine grabbed on to Kurt, something shifted.  In that second, Blaine’s walls crumbled. 

In that second, he let Kurt in.

Kurt pulled away to gasp for air and opened his eyes to find hazel ones mere millimetres away from his own.  Kurt could see the emotions in them and it was so raw that he found himself once again biting back tears.

“Please don’t let me go.” Blaine gasped, and Kurt shook his head, the tears now flowing freely down both boys’ faces.

“Never."