Summary: Blaine is in trouble, and he has no one to go to- after all, who would believe that Dalton's Dean sexually abused a student? So he turns to a peer counseling website to help him get through each day. And that's when he met his angel.

Rated: T

Author's Note: I know this is a very touchy subject for many people. In many ways this is therapeutic for me because I've been through something like this before, but I wanted to warn everyone that at times this may be hard to read. Thank you for reading.

Blaine could still remember it like it had happened yesterday. People were always telling him that remembering an experience would make it heal faster, but for Blaine it only suffocated him further. He couldn't breathe when he remembered, he couldn't even remember how it felt to have oxygen fill his lungs. But everything else was there.

It started in the beginning of the school year. Blaine had just been dropped off by his dad when Wes broke the news to him. Dean Murray was offered a higher position and took it without a second thought. Blaine remembered how uncomfortable that had made him, because Dean Murray had been at Dalton since he first started attending and had helped him get through a lot those first months. In Blaine's mind, he made Dalton what it was. Now some new Dean was taking over.

Blaine remembered being introduced to the new Dean by Wes, who, in his attempt to keep the Warbler's in the schools favor, sought to familiarize the Dean with the "rock stars" of the school. Dean Marshall. Blaine shook his hand firmly and gave him one of his most charming smiles, knowing that this was what Wes wanted. He still didn't know the guy and still felt uncomfortable without Dean Murray around, but he figured that if this guy got the job than he must be a pretty okay guy.

The new Dean seemed to respect Blaine a lot, and Blaine found out later that this was due to the fact that he knew his father. Senator Anderson and he had gone to school together, it seemed, and they had even roomed together during college. Now that Blaine thought back on it, he could vaguely remember his father talking about how he had to talk politics with such a man. Blaine figured that if this man knew and was friends with his father than he must be a good guy.

And that's how he got himself in trouble.

Blaine remembered the day that he was called down to the Dean's office under the pretext that something was going on with his father that he needed to know. He remembered walking quickly, almost running, to the office, afraid that his father had gotten hurt. He remembered the hundreds of scenarios that flooded his mind in the two minutes it took him to go from Italian to the office and be seated in the black leather couches. He remembered waiting impatiently, biting down on his knuckles with worry.

Blaine lifted his hand and inspected his much-abused knuckles. Biting was only the beginning. It took the edge off the memory, took the pain away and redirected it. It wasn't long before biting wasn't enough.

But at the time it was a small bite, not breaking the skin at all, but rather a wordless prayer to the Lord to let his father be safe. He remembered how much he used to pray back then. And he felt more calm after praying, like maybe there was a God who would protect his father. He would protect his mother, and his little brother and sister. But Blaine never realized that he had been left out of the equation.

Blaine remembered the relief that washed over him as Dean Marshall told him immediately that his father was safe. Blaine smiled, relaxed, and asked him what he could do for him. The dean was sitting in the chair right next to him instead of across the desk. Most students would find this strange, but Blaine was used to it. His old Dean did the same thing.

Blaine remembered the smile that set his pulse into overdrive and set a warning bell off in his head. The same warning bell, in fact, that had gone off the second he saw the man. But Blaine kept reminding himself that this was not only the Dean of the school, but also a close friend of his fathers, and his father was a good man. There was nothing to worry about.

So he squashed the impulse to run and remained seated, waiting to see what Marshall wanted. If only he had listened to that little impulse. If only he had known the true nature of humanity. If only he had not tried to believe the best in everyone else. Perhaps he wouldn't be biting his knuckle now just thinking about it.

Blaine remembered when Marshall slid his hand across the young students slap. He remembered kindly pushing his hand off while at the same time trying not to offend him. He remembered when Marshall suddenly jumped up from his chair and forced himself onto his innocent, confident student.

And he remembered the exact moment when the innocence was killed, the confidence torn to pieces and thrown into an ocean of oblivion. He remembered the exact moment he placed his knuckle into his mouth and bit down so hard that the gentle skin of his hand broke and the taste of blood filled his mouth, mingling with the taste of salty tears. And every moment after that, remembering was something he tried not to do. Because sooner or later, biting would not be enough.


Blaine went through his daily routine like a droid. It didn't take long for Wes and David to notice his absent-minded persona, or to see how little he actually ate lately. It didn't take them long to realize that his behavior had nothing to do with Warblers or classwork or home. They tried to get the truth out of him but Blaine's lips were sealed.

Blaine knew that Wes wouldn't believe him. He liked Dean Marshall, ten times more than Murray. He knew that Blaine favored the other and would simply assume that Blaine made it up to turn him against his up-and-coming idol. At first, Blaine wanted to hit Wes so hard for not realizing what an awful demon this man was, but he stopped caring after a while. He went through his day, did his homework, went to Warblers practice. But when he was alone he locked his bedroom door, curled up under ten pounds of thick blankets, and didn't move for hours. Never sleeping, just laying, wondering when his life became a nightmare.

Sometimes he cried. He would cry for hours, feeling like something so important had been taken from him, all because he didn't listen to his instincts. In many ways, he felt like he was to blame. It was his stupidity that led to a grown man forcing himself onto him, and therefore his cross to bare.

Sometimes he would just lay there and revel in the feeling of those ten pounds of blankets crushing down on him. Hell, he was already getting used to not being able to breathe. It became a comfort for him, one that he didn't want to go away, because if he could breathe properly than he could think properly, and he was afraid to think.

But it was all becoming too much. The kids at school respected their new Dean and liked when he would stop in to Warblers practice. The first time he came Blaine fainted. He woke up in the hospital wing with Wes and David fluttering above his head, and that man sitting in a chair by his bed. He had his hand resting on the bed, dangerously close to Blaine's thigh, and Blaine didn't have to think. He ran for it. Because the last time he denied his instincts he ended up hating himself. He wasn't going to make the same mistake.

Blaine bolted from the room as fast as he could, but he wasn't being fast enough. He could hear Wes and David running after him, yelling that he would only work himself up more. But they didn't know what fast was. Fast was how Blaine jumped over the railing of the stairs, darted through a back hallway, and made it to his room in less than thirty seconds. Fast was how Blaine didn't even need to bite down on his knuckle to know that this time biting wasn't going to help. Fast was how Blaine made the decision to abuse another part of his body because he already felt too abused to ever heal.

Fast was how Blaine decided that he needed someone to talk to, someone to tell everything to. Someone who would believe him no matter what, because they didn't know his school, or his Dean, or the pathetic way the world views people in high positions. Like they're somehow incapable of hurting another human being.

It took only minutes for Blaine to find the site he was looking for. A site for teens who have been abused. He hands shook as he wrote his anonymous message, crying as he typed the pleading words, the words that he hoped would save him from everyone. From the monster he couldn't escape, from the ignorance of people he called his friends, and even from himself.

He submitted his message and lay back on his bed, examining the small bandage on his wrist. It was a small cut, but it scared him. He didn't want to cause himself more pain than he was already in. And a part of him, a very small part, wondered if he shouldn't just end it.

Then something happened, something that he will always remember, not with happiness, but something close. With hope.

A beep of his laptop alerted him that he had just received a message. Thinking it too good to be true, he went to check. Sure enough, only two minutes after posting, someone had sent him a message.

Hi, I'm Kurt.

I read your message. To be honest, I've never been sexually abused before. More like always coming home donning a new bruise. sound like you just want someone to talk to. I wouldn't mind being that person. A person should never have to go through something like this alone. Remember: it's never too late.

Blaine sat back against his headboard and stared at the message in front of him, feeling tears cascade down his cheeks. Sure, he didn't know what Blaine was going through, but he was ready to listen. It hurt Blaine to remember, but he had to make a decision: he could trust a total stranger, or let this destroy him slowly but surely.

Mustering up all the courage that he had saved up in the entire span of his life, Blaine focused it all into remembering exactly what happened, and he sent all his bad memories and weak moments off to rest in the hands of a stranger. And for the first time in months he prayed. He prayed that he had finally found someone who would care.

My usual sentiment at the end of a chapter is "how did you like it?" but I'm not sure many would like this. Even going over it myself, I felt the weight of what I had just created. I promise if you stick with it it does get better! Again, thank you for reading.

Please review, it will make typing this up really worth it.