"I can't believe that bastard did this to you."

Matt just seemed to repeat the words over and over aloud, waiting for Mike to respond. It was hard to even tell it was Mike underneath the sickly green and purple covering his once pale skin. It was hard to believe a person would ever do this to another being.

It was just painful and gut-wrenching to think that this assault was father to son. That a man could become just so angry T his son for no real reason and inflict so much pain. That the young boy had endured this for 16 years and just kept taking it.

"Most of all, I can't believed that we all ignored it. That I ignored. All the signs were there, but none of us cared enough to notice. Even if I care about you so damn much. Hell, thinking back, the signs were there 8 years ago. You dealt with this shit silently for half your life.

When we were 8, I remember you never let me sleep over at your house. I didn't think anything of it because I was young, immature, and stupid. My Mom always had stared at you with a strange look, but I didn't fare. You were my best friend; I didn't care what anyone else thought.

On some nights you'd let me come to your house, but usually you Dad was out. Your Mom was nice, always had a smile on her face. Sometimes I came when your Dad was home, and he seemed fine- only know do I realize those were the nights you were out of beer and your Dad didn't feel like getting any more.

It just kept on like that, you sleeping over at my house once, sometimes twice or even three times a week. We were both just children, insane adrenaline junkies; we didn't care about getting hurt. I didn't care about the massive blemishes I saw on your skin when we went swimming or changed into our pajamas.

When we hit junior high, something changed. You started wearing long sleeves and pants all the time, but I just figured it was because it was in style. I never imagined it was to hide scars. I never thought it was because that son of a bitch was beating you in his goddamned drunken haze.

I remember when you had kissed me in the middle of 7th grade. We had been right outside your house, as you seemed scared to walk home alone. I just thought that was because of the stranger danger talk we had had last week, not because your Dad had friends who were only half as bad as he was.

You had said good bye and stepped forward to hug me, but your lips had been on mine this time. It had been just weird to be that close to you, but I liked it. I liked being that close to you. After you pulled away, we were both blushing and as you glanced at the window, you mumbled about tripping. You ran off into your house, and as I watched you, I saw your Dad staring at me through the window.

You missed school for a week, and when you came back, you had a broken leg.

You told everyone that you'd had a skateboard accident, even if I could see the black eye under the makeup on your face. The teachers could too, and they all gave you the same grange look my Mom had, but once again, they remained silent. We all stayed quiet.

You weren't allowed to sleep over at my house any more, and I didn't go to your house, period. I didn't underhand, thinking it was strange, but never said anything. I thought maybe your Dad was suddenly racist- in reality, he was just homophobic.

Over the course of middle school, you broke your leg three times and your arm four times. Each time you had a different excuse, but you always got the same look from the teachers. How could everyone in that school, myself included, be such a damn idiot?

In the summer before we got to William McKinley, you asked me to run away with you. It had been nine o'clock at night when I got a text from you, asking meet to meet you at the park. I was worried, as you were never allowed out that late, and sprinted to the park, faster than I'd ever ran.

When I saw you there, you had a bag and a pillow. I ignored your strange choice of clothes for the summer- a turtleneck- and just asked what the hell you were doing there. I remember you gripping your throat nervously as you begged me to run away with you.

I refused.

You disappeared for 3 days and were later found hitch hiking on the back of a car. I doubt that I would admit this to you while you were conscious or in any other situation, but you scared the crap out of me. I was so scared that someone had taken you and murdered you. Or worse.

I didn't hear from you the rest of the summer, which I assumed was because you were grounded. Only now do I realize that the 'or worse' definitely applies there."

Matt paused, staring at Mike, waiting for the colorful face to do something- laugh, cry, scream, Matt didn't care, but he wanted- needed- Mike to do something to make some form of movement to prove he was still alive.

All Matt had was the steady beat of the heart monitor.

Sighing, Matt picked up Mike's hand- the one that wasn't broken- and held it as he continued; gripping it to remind himself that Mike was still there. That even in comatose, Mike was still right next to him.

"In high school, you must have just given up. You came in body covering clothes and remained silent. You mimicked what you had to do at home for survival. Whenever you go hurt, you always blamed it on whatever club you were in at the time.

You were always in a club, every day of the week, which I thought was just to look good on your college application. I guess it was really to avoid going home, to stay away from the pain.

I wish you'd told me that this was going on. I wish I'd been smart enough to put the pieces together myself, not have your Mom call me, crying, begging me to come over. She told me something bad had happened to you.

I had never been so scared in my life. I grabbed my car and broke so many speed limits just to get to your house. Then when I saw you, lying as still as the dead, surrounded by shattered glass, I thought you were dead. It felt like, as cliché as it is, that my heart had cracked in two.

Then when I saw your Dad, slouching on the couch, his eyes glazed over and knuckles scraped, I realized what had happened. I wanted nothing more but to punch him, but I didn't- I had to help you. You came first. You've always come first.

I got your Mom to call the police, and I walked over to you, scared. I was scared you were dead, and I wanted so badly to pick up and hold you, tell you that you were ok. But I couldn't. Instead I checked your slow and irregular pulse and just waited.

The rest of that night and the next day was just a blur. I watched the ambulance and police pull up, watch them take you away on a stretcher, but I felt nothing. I felt nothing since I thought you were dead.

I didn't even see you the day after I found you, aka yesterday, since you were forever in and out of surgery. Hell, they wouldn't even let me in this room right now if I told them what I was; a friend.

I told them a lie; I told them I was your boyfriend. I expected to feel horrible and cringe, but it felt... Nice. I didn't mind saying it. I wanted to say it more- but I guess it doesn't help that you're in a coma.

I wish I had noticed before- I've had half my life to try and stop this Hell you've been living. I swear I won't let the bastard you call a father, or anyone else, hurt you. Because, as stupid as it sounds, I really do need you."

Matt took a deep breath and watched Mike again. Mike still didn't acknowledge Matt; he just lay in his comatose state. Although Matt was exhausted from his monologue and the raging emotions inside himself, he took a deep breath and began to sing softly as e moved onto the edge of Mike's bed.

"You are my sunshine,
my only sunshine,
You make me happy,
when skies are gray,
You'll never know, dear,
how much I love you,
Please don't take my sunshine away.

The other night, dear,
as I lay sleeping,
I dreamed I held you in my arms,
when I awoke, dear,
I was mistaken,
and I hung my head and cried.

You are my sunshine,
my only sunshine,
You make me happy,
when skies are gray,
You'll never know, dear,
How much I love you,

Matt was cut off by the sound of footsteps. He silenced himself and turned, seeing the rest of the glee club in the doorway. They all looked at him skittishly until Rachel stepped forward, just having to open her fat gob.

"We came here as soon as we heard that he was here. We offer our condolences-"

"Just. Shut. Up." Matt gritted his teeth, unable to hide his annoyance. These people barely even knew his and Mike's name, and now they were talking about Mike as if they truly cared. The only people who even really talked to them were Santana and Brittany.

"I think he needs a minute. We'll come back once Matt's done." Mercedes told them, casting a glance at Matt. A sympathetic look, one that Matt really didn't need, yet accepted. Matt mouthed thank you to her, and naturally, Rachel had to have the last word.

"If it helps, you're a beautiful singer and deserve more solos."

"It doesn't. Now leave. Please." Matt mumbled, unable to look at them. They were disgusting for not realizing. Matt himself was disgusting. Directing his attention back at Mike. He tightened his grip on Mike's hand and finished as far as he could get into the song without completely breaking down.

Tears sliding down his face, he gently kissed Mike's forehead as he mumbled "Please don't take my sunshine away."


I feel like a bad person. Filled for a prompt in glee_angst_meme,in which Mike's at the hospital and Matt has to sing 'You are my Sunshine' to him.