A/N: Hi everyone! So, I'm sorry the wait was longer than usual, but here's chapter five! :) Enjoy! Also, would you mind answering a question for me? I already have a Tumblr, but should I make another one that's primarily for my stories? Feedback would be much appreciated, as well as feedback on the chapter! Thanks!

The next weeks were easier, but not very. They were only easier because Blaine had his friends this time, he didn't reject them. Otherwise, it sucked. He felt so gloomy and unenthusiastic every day, he just lay around most of the day like an inanimate object. Despite what everyone told him, he still attended school at least once a week. School was good for him. He didn't want to spend weeks catching up, even though the teachers said they could send him work, they could help when he returned. School made him feel like he was doing something. That he wasn't just lying around like a hopeless case, that he could push himself.

Everyone in school reacted to him. Some in different ways than others. His friends were constantly supportive, saying all the right things and helping him in the ways he needed to be helped. Then there was the odd bully or two, who would make fun of him. Tell him to "grow an emo fringe and cut yourself", or they would say he's "depressed because you're dating Kurt Hummel". But the bad thing was, it didn't get him down. That sounded silly, didn't it? But it didn't get him down, because he was already the lowest he could be. He was already the worst he could feel, that all the comments didn't even matter. They didn't help, but they didn't make things worse. They did nothing, really. And then there were some of the teachers, who almost talked down to him. Treated him like a puppy or a small child. They talked slowly, were overly rewarding when he got a question right in class. They didn't know what they were doing, but Blaine knew they were just trying to help, so he let it slide.

Another thing was his schoolwork. He wasn't getting the 100% or the 10/10 or the A grades that Dalton had adapted him to. He just felt like doing nothing or very little, so he struggled with schoolwork. Mr. Schuester always scribbled "good effort!" on his Spanish test, which were the best words to describe his work. A good effort, but not a good result. All the teachers understood what effects his depression - what the doctor liked to call it, but it was far too dismal a name for Blaine - were taking on him, so they didn't mind the half-assed tests, with nine out of twenty questions answered, and with wrong answers probably. They didn't even mind the times when it got to Blaine, when he wrote cocky things like "Hell if I know." or "Who cares?".

He had to buy new clothes, too. He ate barely one full meal a day, with small snacks during the day. Most of them were forced to be eaten, by a concerned boyfriend, or a " I'm looking out for you" mohawked friend, or a "Blaine, you really should try this, it's delicious!" Northern Irish brunette friend, or anyone who could convince him enough. He had dropped a size or two, and when Carole saw him with his jumpers sliding down, exposing his shoulders, and his skinny jeans practically falling off his ass, which also meant his brightly coloured briefs were exposed, enough was enough.

"Honey, you look like a sad little rapper," she had told him. He, Kurt and Carole went shopping later that day, and it was actually quite fun, enjoyable. He was allowed to pick any clothes he wanted - and that really meant he chose clothes he liked, sought Kurt's approval, and then made his decision - but he didn't really see the point. He was probably going to get better eventually, so why did they get all these temporary clothes? He assumed Carole's mother alarm was ringing far too laudly for her to carry on with his clothes hanging off him. All the clothes that used to look great on him looked different now. The skinny jeans emphasised his skinny, the tank tops showed how tiny his torso was, the tight-fitting things he nearly always wore were almost too tight-fitting. All the things that Kurt had complimented on, all the things that Kurt said looked "cute" and "perfect" and "sexy" and "stylish" just made him look even more sick. His hips poked out and when he lay down, his ribs were visible and they stuck out. His face was thin, his cheekbones stood out. He had always had good cheekbones, but they really stood out now. He was pointy, basically. Pointy all over.

The next issue was his sleep. He didn't sleep, really. He slept maybe an hour every night, if even that. Sometimes he just sat up awake until Kurt woke up beside him. And he would occasionally wake Kurt up, too. He would be half-awake and mumbling things like, "Baby, try and get some sleep, okay? And don't look at me, I've just woken up." and he would be out like a light again. It was lonely. And he tried to sleep, he really did, but he just couldn't. That was taking effect on his face, too. His injuries from his dad were almost healed now, and he had left a few scars on various parts of his body, including his face. But what annoyed Blaine most were the big dark circles under his eyes. He hated them, they made him look like a zombie. His sleeping problems also contributed to his energy problems, obviously, and a lack of sleep meant he wasn't very attentive, either. He was very half-assed these days and it just wasn't Blaine. It wasn't Blaine who tried his very hardest at everything he did, who didn't give up until it was completely necessary, who would fight to get what he wanted. He just let everything happen. He let life move around without so much as blinking an eye. He slept full nights every once in a while, but that was only because he took sleeping pills. And Blaine couldn't say he didn't consider overdosing on those sleeping pills a few times, but he stopped himself and remembered he was going to get better. That he was in a house of people who loved him and a community of people who cared about him. That he was better than that. He wouldn't let some dumb depression (the doctor's term) stop him in his tracks.

Another new thing for Blaine was a therapist. Burt and Carole had arranged to get him a therapist, despite his constant protesting. And it was only early days, so he didn't understand how this guy was supposed to help him. As far as Blaine was concerned, he was just some "dumb guy who tells me how to run my life, and he thinks he's better than me because he has extra initials at the start of his name."

He knew therapists were supposed to ask you personal questions, make you tell all your horrible stories and things like that.

It didn't mean he had to like it.

Blaine saw this therapist later that week, on Thursday.

"Hello Blaine, how are you?" his therapist, Dr. Riley, greeted, "have a seat."

"Thanks," Blaine replied, lying back on the long chair to the right of Dr. Riley.

"Now, Blaine. We're gonna tackle something pretty big today, okay? Your early teenage years."

"No," Blaine said almost instantly.

"- I know those years were hard, you've told me, but we need to go over it. Get your feelings out, if might help you."

Blaine had only told the story of his early teenage years to three people - Rachel, Rory and Kurt. He had told Rachel and Rory on the same occasion, and Kurt a week or two previous. And it didn't get any easier to tell.

"...Fourteen," he began, bracing himself for his emotions, "that's when it got the worst. I was bullied from when I was around twelve, but fourteen's when it got really bad."

"And can you tell me why?" Dr. Riley questioned, taking a pen and paper from a nearby table.

Blaine swallowed, "I came out."

He saw his therapist scribble down some notes, and he went on,

"I - I told my dad first. My dad and I had never really gotten on, and of course me being gay didn't help. He..." Blaine paused, he could feel tears coming on already, "he beat the crap out of me. It was the first time my dad beat me. I already had the bullies at school, I mean... wasn't that enough? I - I had to go to hospital. I had to get a cast on my arm and stitches in my kneecap and the back of my head, I had all these gross bruises everywhere on my body. And I mean everywhere. I still have scars from that day and I fucking hate looking at them. I hate knowing they're there," there was a catch in Blaine's throat, and he couldn't hold his tears for much longer, but he tried.

"School made it even worse. Word got out. One of the guys in my class found me crying in the bathrooms one day. He told me I could confide in him, that he wouldn't tell anyone. A-And then I told him. W-Why did I tell him? I-I'm so stupid!" Blaine's voice rose. He was angry with himself. Dr. Riley saw this as good news, however. He was letting emotions out. Maybe emotions he'd had trapped for a long time. He went on writing notes and Blaine continued.

"Everyone in school found out. They all expected it anyway, so I basically lived up to their e-expectations, I - I confirmed their ideas," Blaine was crying at this point, his face wet with hot tears. He didn't wipe them away, he didn't try and stop. He just let them stream down.

"I got h-hurt even more. All the idiots in my school shoved me around and punched me and threw things at me. They pushed me up against lockers and basically told me what a piece of shit I was. They locked me in the bathrooms, dunked my head in the toilets, anything really. And the teachers did fuck all about it."

Blaine sniffed. "So basically I wasn't safe anywhere. I would head off in the morning to get beaten and arrive home at evening to get beaten. It sucked. It really fucking sucked.

And then it all got too much, and to stop my," Blaine gave a crude, mocking impersonation of his father, " 'bitching and whining' as my "lovely"," he used air quotes here, "father said, I transferred to Dalton when I was fifteen. The problems stopped in school but not at home. My father would beat me for no fucking reason, he would look for things to get angry about and blame me for them, like he had a reason to beat me."

Blaine stopped for a moment and wiped his cheeks and his eyes, only for more tears to fall nearly instantaneously. He wiped his nose on his arm, it was running. It always did when he cried too much.

"Got really fucking angry when I told him about Kurt," he sounded bitter now. Like all the emotions had been drained and all he had left was bitterness. His voice was low, "Fucker beat the shit out of me again. He threw stuff. He made me bleed, he got my blood all over the carpets and the counters," he laughed sadly, bitterly, "he didn't care. Bastard never does."

"It was hell. Fourteen was complete and u-utter hell," Blaine wrapped it up, "I felt like killing myself."

"And... and did you try?" Dr. Riley finally spoke.

Blaine said nothing. He just looked down at his wrists and gave another bitter laugh.

"I don't even know why I told you," he added after a short silence, "you'll probably tell too, like the guy in my school."

He looked down at his legs glumly, and tears started dripping from his cheeks down onto his jeans. He wiped at his face one last time with the side of his hand.

"I never will. What happens in this office stays in this office. That is something I tell all my patients and I stand by it. You don't have to worry," Dr. Riley assured him, "you can leave now, when you're ready."

Blaine nodded slowly and left the chair, making his way to the door, his eyes never leaving the ground.

"Thank you, Blaine. I'll see you next week," Dr. Riley said as Blaine opened the office door.

"Sure thing," Blaine mumbled, leaving the office and plodding down the hallways.

It wasn't long before he found a bathroom, stopped and broke down in one of the cubicles.

Saturday night was a sleepover hosted by the Hummel-Hudson brothers. The guests were Brittany, Rory, Santana, Rachel, Mercedes and Puck. "This ought to cheer you up a little," Kurt had told him, "besides, sleepovers with my girls are few and far between these days. That needs to improve."

"Yeah, and I invited Puck and Rory, too, dude," Finn added, "so we don't feel like... attack of the estrogen."

It was okay. Blaine was close enough with all of these people, and they all knew about his depression (as the doctor said). He could talk to them.

"It's gonna get easier, y'know," Rory had mumbled to him as they watched Moulin Rouge, then being interrupted by a sharp "Shhhh!" from Rachel and Brittany putting a finger over his lips, shushing him.

Rory blushed and lowered his voice, "you might not think so, but it will eventually."

"It worries me how much you know about this," Blaine answered, sipping the hot chocolate Kurt had made for him.

"I'm just looking out for you," Rory replied with a shrug, and Blaine nodded, "I know, I know."

"Eyebrows, Irish! Whispering means talking quietly if you didn't know, we're trying to watch a movie!" Santana snapped, "Puckerman and Man Boobs have managed to keep their mouthes shut."

Blaine looked over at Puck and Finn, who were sitting beside each other. Finn looked confused, but Puck looked emotional, touched. He saw Puck like that during some glee club performances. It was sort of cute.

Rory made a sulky face after Santana yelled at him, snuggling into a pillow on his lap, Brittany ruffling his hair as he snuggled down. He smiled.

Blaine took use of Kurt's shoulder at his opposite side, resting his head on his boyfriend's shoulder.

Kurt smiled and kissed the top of Blaine's head, and Blaine could practically feel Mercedes and Rachel smiling sweetly at them from across the room.

Kurt took the blanket he was under and invited Blaine under it, wrapping his arm around Blaine's shoulders.

Blaine snuggled into his chest, making himself comfortable. His eyes were tired.

He was sleepy.

Oh my god.

He was sleepy.

"Kurt, look," Rachel smiled and gestured to Blaine an hour or so later, "Blaine's sleeping. Blaine's asleep, Kurt! No medication or anything," her smile broke into a grin and she laughed a little, "Good news!" she added in a sing-song voice.

Kurt looked down at his boyfriend, who was, in fact, sleeping. He was snoring quietly and moving around quite a lot, but he was asleep.

Kurt grinned, "Looks like progress."