Author's Note: The idea for this one came to me so suddenly, so intensely, that I couldn't ignore it. This is going to be a multi-chapter fic. At the end of this I'll put another note explaining a little bit about the format I have planned. Please review if you like what you see!

CCCCCRRRRAAAAACCCCKKKK!

The sound cut through the shouting, slow and tumultuous. His arm hung limply at his side, useless in providing protection for his face. He quickly recapped the evening's chain of events and wondered how it had come to this. Trying to pinpoint the exact moment in time when something had changed proved futile and he conceded to the fist connecting with his right side.

"Umph," he groaned as his knees buckled. He considered feigning either death or unconsciousness. Anything to get this to stop, to get him to stop. His weight became too much to bear and he finally collapsed. He hid his face against the wood floor and breathed in dust. Instinctively, his eyelids clamped shut and he was certain his attacker would take notice of his degree of helplessness, show a little mercy and ease off.

He didn't.

A shiny black dress shoe buried itself in his ribs before it relocated to his stomach. He bit back a yelp and breathed in more dust. It had never gotten this bad before. Maybe a shove here or there, a slap to the face once or twice, mainly a raised voice and venomous degradation… but never this. Never total loss of control. Never pure malicious intent.

Murderous intent.

'Is that was this is? Am I going to die?' his thoughts waded through murky sludge in his fuzzy brain. 'I'm going to die, he's going to kill me.'

He felt paralyzed. His wounded arm stung to the point of numbness, something he figured must be attributed to some defensive action on his body's behalf. His brain deciding, "Don't you worry, I won't let you feel a thing." His eyes flitted open, something he hadn't been able to control. He was no stranger to the reflex, never able to keep his eyes closed unless sleep had whisked him away. The luxury of painlessness was too short lived, a silly fantasy he allowed himself to indulge in before the same dress shoe, one of a pair he'd actually purchased for his attacker as a birthday present, acquainted itself with his left temple.

This time, he cried out. Loud and sudden and full of agony. For a fleeting second he imagined stars dancing across his vision, but they were quickly overtaken by the insides of his eyelids. He would have no problem keeping them shut now.

It wasn't always like this.

He wasn't always like this.

Somewhere down the line though, this is what he had become. Something wet and warm trickled down his cheek; he couldn't discern whether the liquid was blood or a tear until it reached his mouth and he tasted metal. Blood. He was bleeding. It had never gotten to the point of bloodshed before.

'How much is there, I wonder,' even his mental vocalization sounded hoarse and uneasy. Was it possible for your thoughts to stutter?

'Am I going deaf now too or is he gone?'

His eyes felt too heavy, his chest too tight and his body too stiff. He had no way of knowing for sure, but there definitely appeared to be a gentle air overtaking the room now. He swallowed hard and listened but all he could hear was his rapid heartbeat, oh-so-loudly in his ears.

Thumpthumpthumpthump!

It rattled against his ribcage, as desperately as the rest of his entire being, for an escape. One he knew he couldn't provide for himself right now.

'No, you silly thing. Stay put,' he mentally chided his aggressive heart.

A faint vibration tickled his right thigh. He initially chalked it up to probable nerve damage, truthfully understanding nothing about the subject at all, until a brief moment of clarity reminded him, 'Cell phone. That's where you keep your cell phone.' The light vibration crawled up his torso, something he was certain he must have been imagining, and spread to the fingertips of his uninjured hand. 'Pick it up. Get it. Get help.'

The task felt impossible. Perhaps after a nap.

Only a few seconds, what could it hurt?

'You idiot, pick it up right now. Don't fall asleep, stay awake.'

By some miracle his hand acted on its own accord and he grunted as he fought to extract the phone from his tight pocket. Somewhere in between convincing himself to take out his phone and actually going through the motions of it his eyes had been forced open. To his relief he discovered, yes, he was very much alone after all. And though his vision was blurred he could vaguely make out the name and only a snippet of the text messages on his screen.

From: Kurt Hummel(8:49 p.m.)
Blaine Warbler, you are SO late. Where are you?

His grip on the suddenly-too-heavy piece of technology betrayed him and it clattered to the ground. The distance of the fall wasn't much but the collision sent shockwaves through the throbbing gash on his temple and straight into his sensory nerve center. His head had never known such pain before. His body though… that was another story.

Bile began a slow trek up his throat and he knew he didn't have much time before he would end up getting sick all over himself. His phone vibrated and crawled across the floor, as Kurt was, no doubt, continuing to send messages. He imagined each message was filled with more annoyance than the last, along with silly, empty threats of refusal to provide biscottis and coffee.

'Pick up your phone and text him. Come on, pick it up again. Do it.'

He haphazardly flung his hand over his phone, leaving it on the ground while he tried to steady his trembling hands long enough to slide his finger across the "unlock" bar and hastily type a message. There was nothing hasty about his actions though. It was as though he was moving through water, unable to force himself to go any faster while rip tides threatened to consume him and carry him out to sea. After what felt like an eternity he was able to fumble across the small touch screen keyboard and send his desperate plea. He'd never been more thankful for autocorrect than right now.

To: Kurt Hummel (8:57 p.m.)
Help me

'That's not good enough, he needs to know where to find you.'

To: Kurt Hummel (9:00 p.m.)
Apt. Hurry

He didn't have time to debate whether or not Kurt would understand his abbreviation for apartment, whether he would actually understand the urgency behind such carefully crafted messages.

'Hurry, please hurry…'

He could feel the phone vibrations against the floor, working their way towards him and nesting in his bones.

One pulse.

Two pulses.

Three…

Kurt was calling him and he wouldn't have to slide the "unlock" button this time. He dragged his finger over the green "Answer" button and Kurt's frantic voice sounded off so loudly that he didn't even try for the "Speaker" button.

"This isn't funny, Blaine! You can't just cancel on me like a normal person? You always have to make such a dramatic show of everything. You probably forgot about our plans because you were too busy fucking—"

Blaine exhaled sharply into the microphone, inhaled and repeated the action before a small sob breached his lips.

"Blaine…? Blaine, are you crying? What's going on?" Kurt's tone changed entirely, his anger quickly deflating into unwavering concern laced with panic.

"H-help…" Blaine had barely heard his own voice and guessed Kurt probably couldn't. But his mouth must have been close enough to the gadget to deliver the one word he managed to put the majority of his remaining energy into because immediately after—

"I'll be right there. Stay on the phone with me, I'll be right there."

Blaine could practically see Kurt's flushed cheeks as he relayed the message breathlessly. Blaine had no intentions of disconnecting. In fact, he had no intentions of keeping his eyes open any longer. Speaking had drained him; his curls were sticky with blood and he felt the same sanguine liquid drying on his face, constraining the skin beneath a flaky barrier. He was tired, too tired, and every muscle ached just a little bit more in his fatigued state.

"Blaine, are you still there? Blaine?"

Kurt's voice seemed distant when his eyes had shut once again. Distant and muffled. Everything began to fade away; everything except the dull, throbbing reminders of tonight's series of events.

"Fuck! Come on, Blaine answer me! Blaine! Fuck, move out of the fucking way— godDAMNIT. Blaine— LEARN HOW TO DRIVE, ASSHOLE! Blaine... Blaine…. Blaine, please…"

Kurt's words meshed together until they were only indiscernible syllables and consonants; Blaine drifted off into unconsciousness but not before one final thought made a meek appearance:

'Is this what dying feels like?'

So, starting with the next chapter, I'll be explaining the chain of events leading up to what happened here. Hope you guys enjoy it so far and please, please, please leave some feedback on your way out!