Made of steel. Eventually people come to notice that Kart is.
Made. Of Steel.
Blaine takes it in stride, even if at first it hits him like a ceiling falling free. He never thought about strength of character, he didn't need it. He never thought about violence, about sex in the worst light, about telling another human being that their life meant nothing.
He's been insulted, been called gay in countless different ways, been sneered at, been ostracized.
But nobody ever hit him. He's never been beaten up for something he honestly can't help, he's never been seriously injured. No one has ever threatened him, or anything of the sort.
He can't help but think, subconsciously, that those things don't happen in real life.
But they do. And sometimes strenght of character isn't enough to make it through unscathed.
The text comes from someone called Rachel. It's well written, spelled carefully, full words, and properly used punctuation marks. It says: You should call Kurt's father. Something's happened. Try to do it as soon as possible.
His heart rate speeds up and his palms start sweating as he answers the text by asking for Burt's phone number.
He calls. Three times. When the gruff voice that he's come to identify with Burt Hummel (finally) answers with a vacant yes he knows that something's wrong. That something undoubtedly bad's happened to Kurt.
"Excuse me Mr. Hummel, my name is Blaine, I'm a friend of Kurt's and I got a message from somebody called Rachel..."
"Kurt is in a coma."
And that's it. The last thing he hears from Burt before Carole (Kurt's almost step mother?) takes the phone and starts explaining the situation to him.
Apparently after he sent that courage text to Kurt, he stepped up to Karofsky-the-bully, who –after an impressive face off- kissed him against his will. And after Kurt managed to push him away, the boy lost it and shoved Kurt against a row of lockers. Quite hard. And after that, Kurt slipped and banged his head against a bench's edge.
At least, that's what he manages to grab from Carole's rushed speech. There are also terms like blood loss, and brain swelling, and acronyms like TBI being thrown around, but he feels like he can barely grasp those concepts.
He can only think how? and why? and what?
The next day he drives all the way to Lima, breaking speed laws right, left, and center, and not caring in the slightest.
He does get to the hospital, but never gets to the front doors.
When he's parking his car, a somewhat dark skinned guy with a... a mohawk? comes out of nowhere and steps in front of him. He steps on the brakes and only just avoids running him over. He kills the engine and gets out quickly, moving closer to the mohawked teen, who looks at him with a tight jaw and cold eyes.
"Excuse me, are you alright?"
"Are you Blaine Anderson?"
The sneer on those lips make him realize that this boy –man- right here is Noah Puckerman, the Noah Puckerman. And he really isn't afraid, but something wet and freezing and unsettling coats his head like soaked cotton balls. He's worried.
"Are you Blaine Anderson?" The guy asks again, butchering half the words and cracking his fingers in a menacing fashion.
He opens his mouth to answer, when somebody comes between them. He recognizes the uniform as one of the William McKinley's cheerleading squad's, and then he looks at her face and her identity is clear, even though he's only ever seen her on a few pictures that Kurt's shown him of some of his friends.
Santana Lopez.
She is a whirlwind of ebony hair, perfect cheeks, a deep scowl, and eyes that make him want to hide for a year or two, or at least until she's found another person to lock her heated gaze on.
Her hand comes against Puck's chest and he can see that she's using force to mantain him still, her other hand however, grabs his collar and pulls him close enough to her face that he can see himself on her narrowed eyes.
"You," She starts, with venom and barely concealed animosity. "fuck off. Fuck off to your little gay school and don't come back unless you want me to cut your head off and feed it to my dogs. You fucking heard me, bitch?"
And just like that she's walking away, dragging a furious Puckerman with her, and he can listen to a I'm not letting yourself get locked up again, Puckerman. Shut up, okay?
He watches their backs for a few seconds and then leaves, not because of fear, but because he can respect the hurt he's seen underneath all this bizarre excuse of an exchange.
(That and because of the slow understanding that somehow, Kurt's friends seem to think that he's responsible for all this, and that knowledge? That knowledge hurts, because he likes Kurt too much, and he never saw this coming, and he knows he isn't, but he does feel responsible to some extent for hugely underestimating the situation, and...)
The day after that, he meets Brittany Pierce, Kurt's famous ex-girlfiend.
The blonde girl dances her way through one of Dalton's deserted hallways and tells him –in this soft, gone voice that manages to scare him in a way that that Santana girl couldn't- i really, really, really hate you. She says that with a blinding smile, while she rubs one of his arms in an absent gesture. but you're cute, and he likes you, so i'll try to forgive you.
After that, she's gone. Her long hair floats around her as she walks, giving her this incredibly dignified air, and her hips sway to the beats of a song that he hasn't ever heard.
And how, just how, did she manage to get inside without anyone noticing her?
Finn Hudson just calls him to his cell phone and asks him politely to never even dream of coming near his brother again.
Okay, maybe it wasn't polite. Maybe it was more of a you ever even look at him again, I fucking kick your ass, dude sort of deal. But still.
It has been the less threatening reaction to his person as to this moment.
Until he actually sees Finn Hudson on the hospital one morning.
It hadn't ever crossed his mind until that point that the guy was not related in blood to Kurt, and thus, he wasn't very likely to be anything like him. He doesn't know why he didn't think of it, because Finn is kind of... kind of huge. A six feet everything monster of a boy.
And a pissed one, too.
When Finn catches sight of him –face going from blank to livid in a matter of seconds- he stands up violently and starts striding up to him, fists tight at his sides and bared teeth and pure hatred on his face.
"You." He starts lifting his right arm and Blaine just closes his eyes, wating for the sickening pain of that enormous hand breaking his nose, or jaw, or something. He expects it, and maybe even wants it. But it never comes.
Slowly, he opens his eyes and finds Finn frozen in front of him, eyes narrowed and wet. And behind him he finds Mercedes, her soft and warm hand placed on one of Hudson's broad shoulders.
She looks tired, she looks sad, she looks haggard and disarmed and Blaine wants to hold her; she looks at him and her lips tauten into a thin line.
"Stop." She sounds even worse than she looks and he feels guilty even though nothing about this situation could possibly be held against him (he tries to remind himself of that every so often, to avoid going a little crazy). He feels guilty because Mercedes should never sound like this, she should always sound like he's heard her on Kurt's end of the phone (bright, secure, warm, filled with kindness, and a neverending source of beautiful music)."Stop, Finn. You can't blame this on him. It's not fair, boy."
And Finn lowers his arm, still looking at him with naked aversion. He opens his hand and closes it again, twice or three times, in quick succession; he can see white discolorations and pink blotches everywhere, from the pressure, and he's hit by the certain knowledge that Finn would've done more than break his nose if Mercedes hadn't been there to deter him.
"Look, man." Finn's voice is contrite, Blaine can see the lines near his mouth, he's barely controled, but he's trying, and that's more than Blaine thinks he would be able to do if he were in Finn's shoes. "I know this is not your fault or whatever, but Kurt? Kurt is my brother. He is. And now he's in a, in a..."
Finn breaks down a bit, tears falling free. He looks like a parody, such a giant person looking so defenseless. He doesn't say the word coma and Blaine doesn't know if it is because he doesn't want to acquiesce the situation, or if he just forgot the correct jargon.
But in the end, it doesn't matter. The sight of that kid, hunched over and bawling brings the weight of reality to him. Kurt is in a coma. Karofsky put Kurt in a coma. And it could have been easily avoided, if he hadn't told Kurt to stand up to that guy, in an attempt to get himself on Kurt's good graces.
"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I never thought... I... I am terribly sorry." He can't recognize the noises he's making, they sound distorted, bland, too low, too shaky. Is that his voice? "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Finn looks at him, shocked. He imagines what they must look like to an outsider, the both of them crying and standing in the middle of this sickeningly white hall of the Lima General Hospital.
(They must look exactly like what they are, two mourning teenagers who've recently discovered that life is not a given, life can end abruptly, or not. But still, it can be taken away from you, from those you love. Life is a fleeting affair.)
They stay there for an hour, perhaps. Mercedes, too. They never sit down, or go near Kurt's room (Kurt's father and Finn's mother are there, he knows. He knows that they've probably been there all week, now), they don't talk anymore, they almost don't even stare at one another. They just coexist in the same grief and hopes.