News travels ridiculously fast within the New Directions, and so the day after Santana is publicly outed, everybody in glee knows all about it. They also know the bloody details about what happened when she got home and faced her parents – they had seen the commercial before she'd got home to tell them, and had been less than accepting.

Their next glee club rehearsal is basically all of them just consoling Santana and listening to her as she tells them what happens. It's unexpected, because Santana rarely ever lets anyone in, and yet here she is bearing herself for all to see. They should be proud, and most of them are, but Blaine – though he would never admit this to anyone – kind of wishes she'd stop talking, or at least wishes he didn't have to hear.

Every word she says bounces around his head. Never felt so alone. Like I was worthless. They looked at me like I was nothing to them.

Nothing to them. Sweat rolls down Blaine's temples and he has to take quick breaths. He's hyperventilating, but most people are so caught up in what Santana's saying they don't even realise. He slips his hand out of Kurt's and quietly exits the room. Unwelcome images flood his mind as he crashes into the restroom.

The timing couldn't have been worse. His parents were about to leave for another important dinner and they were both putting on their coats with frantic fingers, afraid they were going to be late. Blaine stood watching meekly, his fourteen year old body slumped into its usual unhappy posture.

"So just get the maid to whip you something up for dinner, it's what she's here for, Blaine," his mother said as she slipped her hands into pristine white gloves.

"Mom?" Blaine murmured, his eyes on the polished wooden floor.

"And don't be going to bed too late, remember you have school in the morning and God knows you can't function without your eight hours sleep." She continued, checking her purse for essentials.

"Mom!" He shouted a little louder.

"What is it, Blaine?" His dad asked; he didn't like Blaine raising his voice, feeling it was a sign of disrespect.

The words were tumbling out before he could stop them. "I'm gay." He clapped his hand over his mouth but it was too late. He could never take that back. Did he want to?

There was silence for a minute and Blaine's mother looked up from where she was rummaging through her purse, resembling a deer caught in headlights.

"No, you're not." His father declared, voice a little hoarse. He seemed so sure of this statement that Blaine seriously considered just agreeing to make things easier. But things had never been easy, not really. And they wouldn't be until everything was out in the open. It might still be hard then, but Blaine hated keeping secrets.

"Yes, dad, I am. I've known for a while and –"

"We really need to be going, Blaine." His mother cut in. Her voice seemed perfectly normal and she breezed past him with barely a kiss to his cheek.

"Can- can we talk in the morning, then?" His voice was small and clouded with confusion.

Mrs Anderson took a deep breath. "Yes. In the morning."

They never did talk about it. When he opened his mouth to mention it at breakfast his father gave him a sharp glare over the top of his newspaper. His mother acted as though it had never happened.

That night Blaine woke up early in the morning with a nightmare. On his way downstairs to make himself a drink he heard his parents' voices in their room. Standing outside, he heard the words that would shape and scar him for years to come.

"… men at the club say? Having a gay son!"

"… heard it happen to other people but surely not us!" Their voices overlapped in their anger.

"He's a disgrace to us!" His father shouted suddenly. Blaine couldn't help the sob that ripped from his chest as fat, salty tears rolled down his face.

The door suddenly opened, and his parents stood staring at him for a while. Their eyes were blank, expressionless, and when his father spoke his voice was monotone. "Go back to bed, Blaine."

But Blaine waited. He waited for his dad to clap his shoulder, for his mother to envelop him in one of her warm embraces. Neither came. He wiped his eyes and shuffled down the corridor.

"You can't change me," he whispered, voice shot thanks to his tight throat.

The door slamming close was the only answer he received.

The sound of another door, this one opening with a hesitant creak, tears Blaine from his thoughts. He's curled up on the bathroom floor, tears pouring from his eyes. It had been a long time since he'd thought of that, thought of how utterly worthless his parents had made him feel. Things were better between the three of them now, but no matter how good things got, he would never be able to erase those memories from his mind.

"Blaine?" Kurt's tentative voice calls out as he walks over to him and crouches down to his boyfriend's level.

Blaine shakes his head. "'M fine," he mutters. "Go back to rehearsal."

Kurt's hand reaches out and slips itself into Blaine's hair, stroking the curls gently. "It's Santana, isn't it?" He whispers. "This reminds you of when you came out."

Another sob, not unlike the one his parents had heard that night, escapes from him. "I just s-spent a lot of time making myself f-feel better about who I am. And now…" he squeezes his eyes shut tight.

Kurt manages to pull Blaine up a little, and his boyfriend takes the hint and cuddles into him fully, his tears soaking Kurt's shirt.

"Blaine. You are not worthless, okay?" His tone is gentle but there's a strong sense of finality in his words. "I love you for every part of you. You're not a disappointment because you like boys. You should be proud of yourself for being brave enough to stand up for yourself and show people what you really are. Which is perfect."

"I love you," Blaine whispers, but he won't, can't, acknowledge that Kurt thinks he's perfect. Because he's not.

"I love you too," Kurt says, as though it's a simple fact, which it is. After nearly a year together they use that word a lot, though it never loses its meaning; if anything it grows stronger each time.

"Come on," Kurt orders gently, tugging at Blaine and then pulling him to his feet.

"Where are we going?" Blaine asks.

"Back to Glee. I have a song for us to sing, and I think Santana would appreciate it right now, too."

Blaine smiles, and suddenly he doesn't feel so worthless after all.