A/N: Written for day two of A Very Blam Christmas (Dalton).

Rating: PG-13
Warning: Mentions of violence and homophobia
Word Count: 2000
Characters: Sam Evans/Blaine Anderson.

A broken leg, sprained arm, three broken ribs, internal bleeding, bruised bones and damaged organs. Amnesia. Brain damage.

That's the result of the Sadie Hawkins dance, and for Blaine, recovery seems futile.

The doctor says his memory may never come back and his leg may never recover, that he may have a permanent limp and dancing may not be a possibility for him anymore. The doctor says that his performance in school may not be up to his usual standard, not with the intensity of the head injury he'd received. The doctor says it'll take months for him to heal, months of physical therapy and psychiatric appointments, months of hard work and extreme effort.

Blaine wants to punch the doctor for saying anything at all.

Thankfully, his date is a lot luckier. He has a broken shoulder and a broken wrist, a cracked rib and only minimal internal bleeding. Most of his body is bruised, but it's not bad. But Blaine hates that he's the reason Sam got hurt, sweet and kind and gentle Sam, and the guilt hurts worse than all of his injuries combined.

A week after the incident, he visits Blaine in his room, limping forward and perching on the end of Blaine's bed like he's afraid to get any closer.

"Hey."

"Hey … My mom told me you have, um, that you have amnesia."

"That's what they tell me," Blaine murmured simply, shrugging a shoulder.

"What do you remember?"

Blaine's had to tell this story several times over the past week. To family, to doctors, to therapists. It comes to him like he's been reciting it his whole life, and he sighs as he settles back against the pillows.

"The past few weeks are kind of in pieces … I remember coming out. I remember hearing the announcement for the dance. I remember … I remember talking about it with you in your room. I can't remember asking you, but I remember wanting to."

"I asked you," Sam said.

"Oh. Well, I don't remember that. I can- I can kind of see myself getting ready before the dance. It's kind of in pieces, but I think it's there. I was wearing a red bowtie."

"Do you remember anything else about the night?"

"No."

"Do you want to know?"

"… Okay."

So Sam tells him. He tells him how he picked him up from his house and his mom insisted of taking dorky pictures of them together, how they walked into the dance holding hands. He tells him how bright his smile was, how they danced for hours without a care in the world, how they ignored all the stares they were getting.

He tells him how he called his mom and asked her to pick them up, how the jocks followed them outside and cornered them before Mrs Evans got there. He tells him about the baseball bats, and the blood, and the pain. He tells him how they seemed to be targeting Blaine more than Sam, how Sam tried so hard to turn their attention to himself to stop Blaine from getting hurt.

He tells him how he saw one of the jocks aiming the baseball bat to his head, how Blaine blacked out instantly and he was so sure that Blaine was dying. He tells him how the jocks ran as soon as they realised he was unconscious, leaving them on the floor and left for dead.

He tells him how his mom found them and called for an ambulance, how they got separated at the hospital so they could both be taken care of.

He's crying by the time he's finished, tears falling down his cheeks and body shaking with sobs. He lets out a choked, "I'm so sorry, Blaine," and Blaine begins to cry too, resting a hand on Sam's knee and promising, "It's not your fault."

—

Sam visits Blaine daily, keeping him company in the tiny hospital room while his parents are at work and Cooper's at college. They sit on the bed together and hold hands, talking in hushed voices about anything and everything that doesn't involve the attack.

Sometimes they talk about their therapy, and the things the doctors have been making them do, but they just want to escape the thoughts of that night and they soon stop discussing anything that reminds them of it.

When Sam comes to see him twelve days after his first visit, the hospital gown has been replaced with his own clothes, and the first thing he says is, "They're letting me go home."

Blaine wants to scream and cry and punch things, because he takes that to mean I'm leaving you and he knows he's going to be stuck here for a while longer, but all he says is "Oh." and he reaches for the TV remote, turning the television on. His hand begins to shake, the brain damage affecting his ability control his body functions, and he quickly sets the remote down, clasping his hand in his lap.

"I'll still come and visit you," Sam says, sitting at the end of the bed like he did on the day of his first visit.

Blaine doesn't take his eyes off the TV. "Okay."

Sighing, Sam moves closer, reaching out for Blaine's trembling hand and lacing their fingers together. Blaine doesn't try to stop him, but he doesn't acknowledge him either.

"My dad found this school," Sam continues. "It's a private school, all-boys. They have a zero-tolerance bullying policy, and they even have extra classes for people that struggle with classes, like me …"

And like you, maybe, now that you're brain damaged. Sam doesn't say it, but he doesn't have to. Blaine can hear it in the way he leaves the sentence hanging, and Blaine bites his lip, finally glancing over at his best friend. The look seems to knock Sam out of his thoughts, and he presses on.

"Anyway, my parents are paying for me to go there now. And they're gonna talk to your parents, to see if you can go there, too, once they let you out of here. We can be safe there, Blaine, you know? Even if people try to give us grief, the school will actually do something about it. They'll keep us safe."

"That's great," Blaine says blankly, not sounding even slightly impressed or hopeful. He watches Sam's face fall a little, like he was expecting Blaine to be thrilled, and he pulls his hand away from Blaine's.

"… Okay. Well, I should go. I'll stop by tomorrow, okay?"

As he gets up to leave, Blaine stops him with a question.

"What's the name of the school?" he asks.

"Dalton Academy."

—

It takes two weeks before the doctors deem Blaine well enough to leave. He has to stay at home for another two weeks, not allowed to leave for anything except his appointments, but he's so relieved to be out of the hospital that he can't even bring himself to care about the setbacks.

The crutches make his hands hurt anyway, and although the sprain in his arm is mostly better now, it still hurts to put much pressure on it. He's kind of glad that he doesn't have to go anywhere.

He spends those two weeks in his bed, and his mom takes the time off work so she can look after him. She spoils him rotten, bringing him food and fluffing his pillows, helping him into the bath when he needs to clean. It's the most love he's received from her in years, and it's nice.

Sam visits him when he can, but he's busy with school, catching up on everything he missed and dealing with the workload, which is apparently a lot more intense than before.

When he is around, Sam tells him all about Dalton. He tells him about the classes and the guys, the teachers, the clubs and teams. He complains about how he's not allowed to join any sports until he's recovered completely, and brags about how he's determined to get on the lacrosse team in the new school year.

Dalton sounds like a nice place, much better than their last school without a doubt, but Blaine still isn't sure if he wants to go there. He's not sure he wants to go anywhere, not when his bedroom is so warm and cosy and his mom is being so nice; he's safe here, and even if Dalton is meant to be safe too, you can never be too careful. Right?

—

In spite of his desire to spend the rest of his life in bed, his parents get him into Dalton, and he finds himself standing in his bedroom with the uniform in front of him a week after the doctors say he no longer has to be on bed rest.

He's so nervous he thinks he might pass out, his hands trembling as he slowly takes his sleeping attire off and begins to dress himself.

There's a knock on his bedroom door just as he's in the process of buttoning his shirt up, and he turns in time to see Sam poke his head through the door. He's already donning his uniform, looking as handsome as ever, and he smiles gently at Blaine as he lets himself in and closes the door behind him.

"You're not ready yet?"

Blaine bites his lip and turns back to face his mirror, staring down at his hands as he continues trying to button his shirt, but they're shaking and the damage to his brain still makes it hard to delicate tasks like this, and Sam's hands are closing over his before he can even admit defeat.

"Don't worry yourself. Here, let me do it."

"I can button up my own shirt," Blaine insists, but Sam's hand simply move his own out of the way, his fingers moving swiftly over the buttons and doing Blaine's shirt up to the top.

He smooths Blaine's collar down and tugs at the hem of his shirt to straighten out the crinkles, gently folding his sleeves up and buttoning the cuffs. Blaine lets him, a helpless expression on his face, and when Sam catches the look, he sighs.

"It'll get easier, man. I promise."

"It doesn't seem like it. I mean, look at you. You're as good as new, and I'm still … I'm still a mess. I can't even button up a fucking shirt."

Sam gives him a sympathetic smile and grabs Blaine's tie off the end of the bed, moving behind Blaine and draping the material over the neck. Using the mirror as his guide, Sam ties the tie for him, chanting a rhyme under his breath that Blaine suspects helps him remember how to do it.

He straightens out the knot and makes sure it's not too tight, smiling at Blaine before he reaches behind him and grabs the blazer. He grasps it in both hands and helps Blaine get each of his arms into it, letting him shrug it onto his shoulders. Before Blaine can even consider buttoning it up himself, Sam's arms wind around him, fingers pushing one of the buttons through the hole and leaving it like that.

He keeps his arms there, wrapped around his waist, and he rests his chin on Blaine's shoulder, smiling at him through the reflection.

"You ready?"

"Sam, I'm terrified. What- what if they don't like me? What if they're homophobic? Just because the school doesn't tolerate bullying doesn't mean the students won't try. What if they reject me because I'm not like them? I can't do this, fuck, I really can't do this. I'm so- I'm so not ready."

He can feel himself shaking and his injured leg is starting to hurt, but Sam's arms tighten around his waist, letting him lean back against his chest for support as he makes calming noises in his ear.

"They're going to love you, okay? You're crazy awesome and they'd have to be blind not to see it."

"But-"

"But nothing, dude. They're gonna love you, and you've gotta believe it."

"… I can't believe it."

"You have to. And even if they don't love you, they can't do jack shit about it, remember? They'll get suspended if they even look at you the wrong way. I'll be there with you every step of the way, man. I've got your back."

Blaine sniffles and turns in Sam's arms, and Sam brings a hand up to his shoulder, running the backs of his fingers over Blaine's collar for a moment before hesitantly cupping the back of his neck.

"They're gonna love you," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, before he ducks his head and presses his lips against Blaine's. Blaine sucks in a sharp breath and instantly curls his fingers into the lapels of Sam's blazer, pulling him closer.

His eyes are wide when Sam pulls back, and when Sam smiles, he can't help but give a small smile in return.

"You ready now?" Sam asks.

"I … yeah. Yeah, I'm ready."

"Awesome."

FIN.
Feedback is appreciated.