Blaine leaned back in his chair. It was a fairly slow day for the shop. He had taken the job as Burt's receptionist for the tire shop for a multitude of reasons, the main one being to keep an eye on Burt and keep his workload as light as possible while he went throughcancer treatments. Currently, Burt was in the garage doing an oil change while Blaine was to keep an eye on the front desk.

Blaine has just finished aligning everything on the desk for the eighth time when the bell chimes, signalling the arrival of a customer. Blaine looks up, putting on his most charming smile to greet the person, only to find himself with the barrel of a gun in his face.

His heart stops.

~*~

The sound of a gun firing pulls Burt from his train of thought. That almost sounded like it was inside the building... From the direction of the office.Blaine.

Throwing down the rag he had in his hands, he jogs as fast as his legs can carry him. The sight that greets him nearly gives him a second heart attack. The desk chair is on it's side, the cash tray is open and empty. There are papers strewn about the room.

But what catches Burt's attention the most is the sight of a seventeen year old boy curled up under the desk, clutching at his side. There's blood coating Blaine's hands, trailing down and pooling on the floor. He's shaking, tears gently clinging to his too-pale-skin, as soft whimpers escape his trembling lips.

The next hour seemed to take an eternity for Burt Hummel, he barely remembers dialling 911, following their instructions on how to keep the bleeding under control until the ambulance arrived. The only thing that sticks out in his head was the way Blaine had clung to him, whispering the same two words over and over. "I'm sorry."

And somehow, Burt knew Blaine wasn't just apologizing for the stolen money...

He rode in the ambulance with Blaine to the hospital. He fretted in the waiting room while Blaine was in surgery. It was twenty minutes into the surgery when Burt realized he had phone calls to make. First to Carole, who assured him she would be there as soon as possible to keep him company. Next, to Blaine's father, who asked to be kept updated, but couldn't leave the business conference he was attending in Chicago until the following Sunday. Today was Thursday.

And finally, to Kurt. Kurt should know, was Burt's reasoning. But this phone call was probably one of the hardest he'd ever have to make. Especially since there was no guarantee Blaine would survive.

Carole arrived just after he pressed the call button.

She kissed his cheek on the first ring.

Took his hand in hers on the second.

Whispered, "It'll be fine." On the third.

Kurt answered on the fourth.

"Dad! Hi!" He sounded so cheerful, so happy...

"Kurt." He spoke as steadily as he could, his tone grave. "If you aren't already, find a place to sit down."

"Dad...? What's wrong? Are you okay?" Just like that, the tone of Kurt's voice changed from carefree to worried sick.

"I'm fine." He was quick to assure his son, still hesitant on how to break the news.

"Then what is it? Dad, tell me!"

"It's Blaine." He braced himself for the onslaught of questions, Kurt was always really inquisitive.

"What about him? Is he okay? Answer me, Dad! What happened to Blaine?"

"There was.... An incident at the shop. Kurt, Blaine was shot in the stomach. He's in surgery right now."

Silence.

"Kurt?"

A sharp intake of breath. Kurt was trying to hold himself together...

"Kurt."

A choked, "I-I'll be on the next plane home." A click. And the line went dead.

A few minutes later the police arrived and took Burt's statement. An hour after that, a doctor was announcing that Blaine was on the road to recovery, he was out of the danger zone.

Twenty minutes of crying tears of relief after, he was allowed to visit Blaine, and as he studied the teenager's pale, slightly bruised face, he just knew he wouldn't have been able to handle it if the young Anderson hadn't made it.

Blaine was a third son to him, and Burt would walk Kurt down the aisle and give him away to this boy if it was the last thing he'd ever do.

And he did.