Title: A Day Like Any Other
Author: an-alternate-world
Rating: T
Characters/Pairing: Blaine Anderson, Sebastian Smythe
Word Count: 8,950
Summary: It was a day that started like any other, and yet it was a day that everything in the past changed, and when the future began to be re-written. A mirrored story told from two opposing perspectives.
Warnings/Spoilers: This is a story I've had in the works for over a year (a few hundred words) and thoroughly rewrote in the past two days (almost nine thousand). It revolves around S04E18 (Shooting Star) and references a whole lot of angst-riddled times prior to that episode.
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with Glee, FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.

This could loosely be read within the same universe as 'Not A Bad Thing' due to a reference in that story about this episode which I've greatly expanded upon here. You don't have to have read that story first, but I'd be thrilled if you checked it out afterwards because you haven't already and I'm really proud of it!

It had started as any other day.

He'd groped around for the alarm to stop the obnoxious noise, trying to savour a few more minutes in the warmth of his bed as the dream slipped through his fingers like sand. When he'd finally stumbled free of the blanket's grip, he'd blindly stood in the shower and scrubbed away the sweat and grime before pulling on his uniform. He'd eaten a ham and cheese toasty followed by two strawberry Poptarts with a large mug of coffee, before kissing his mother on the cheek as he'd left for school.

He'd sat through first period Literature with Tina, subtly discussing set lists for Sectionals in a notebook while a movie played in the background. He'd quickly realised that this year had focused on the classics, of which he was well-versed thanks to Cooper having a tendency to crushing the relevancy of Twain and Shakespeare, Austen and Fitzgerald. Instead of being turned off the authors his brother loathed, it had only increased his interest and thus spawned his love for classic movies too. The past few weeks had been looking at modern adaptations and interpretations of what they'd already studied, many of which he'd previously seen during movie nights with Kurt. Tuning it out hurt much less.

The bell had rung and there'd been a crush of people as he'd walked the corridors. He met Sam on the way in and began explaining his ideas for Sectionals while Schue walked in a few minutes later with Coach Beiste. They hadn't been sitting for long when it had happened.

The first echoing bang was so sudden, so unexpected, that he thought he'd misheard and it was just a poorly handled locker slamming shut. Everyone had jumped, there had been a distant scream, but the overwhelming feeling had been complete disbelief of what they'd heard.

When a second bang had followed, when you could hear people running and screaming in the corridors, when they all began to scurry from their seats to find somewhere to hide and Schue was saying something that no one could focus on, his breathing had stopped, his heart had lodged somewhere in his throat, and he'd been hauled towards the wall of the choir room by Sam.

He had no idea what to expect from the day.

It had started as any other day.

He'd woken to the obnoxious buzzing of his phone against the bedside table and scowled at the sun barely peeking onto the world as he'd headed outside for an early run. It helped clear the lingering cobwebs of sleep away as he thought about his classes for the day and reminded himself what he'd learned previously, what the homework material had been. He'd scrubbed away the sweat and grime in the shower, rinsing out his hair, before pulling on his uniform and trying to artfully arrange his brunette locks. He'd eaten blueberry pancakes with orange juice and then gone back for poached eggs and bacon with a mug of coffee once Nick, Jeff and Trent had slumped into their seats with tired smiles and blurry eyes.

He'd sat through first period Calculus with Anthony, subtly arranging lacrosse plays with his co-captain in a second notebook while Mister Roberts rambled on at the front of the room, occasionally gesturing to the blackboard. He'd quickly learned Roberts had a habit of long-winded tangents about his wife and two daughters rather than anything to do with calculus and had taught himself the textbook months ago. The past week had been revising tangent lines, which he'd thought incredibly ironic considering Roberts' occasional lines of interest within his irrelevant tangents.

He'd been in second period Music for all of fifteen minutes when Nick's phone chimed. Miss Song – a name he'd thought was a joke until he'd met the diminutive Asian lady from Korea that knew more music than he ever knew existed – had scowled and tapped her baton against the table in front of her. Nick had pulled an apologetic face and ignored it.

When Jeff's beeped less than two minutes later, followed by Trent's obnoxious operatic custom tone, and Sebastian realised his phone was vibrating in his pocket and then the rest of the class were pulling out their phones with varying musical notes, Miss Song threw up her hands and snapped something in Korean that probably was a curse against their entire family tree.

His eyes had scanned over the words and he was almost certain his breathing had stopped, his heart had lodged somewhere in his throat, and he'd been hauled out of his seat by Nick, Jeff and Trent before he'd even fully processed the message.

He had no idea what to expect from the day.

At first, it was like no one dared to breathe.

No one wanted to draw attention to themselves, to where they hid, in case someone was stalking the corridors searching for a target. It had barely been five minutes since the door was shut and he'd helped Artie from his chair to the floor and attempted – vainly – to move a piano that was far heavier than he'd expected.

It had barely been five minutes but already the paranoia had set in. He voiced his uncertainty, his fear, because what if it wasn't a gun and all he was left with was hoping and praying that they'd all misheard and the racing footsteps that had occurred were just confused panic but it really was all okay? He'd been hushed into silence and instead felt an increasing urge to be sick on the floor.

Instead, he'd curled into a ball, hidden by the piano on one side and hoping that he was in the blind spot of the doors on either side of the choir room. He'd huddled up as tight as possible, fretting that his bright red Cheerios uniform made him an extreme target since he was pretty sure it was glowing in the dark at this point. He didn't have a bow tie to fiddle with, he wasn't in clothes that made him feel comfortable or safe, and perhaps that was why he'd dropped his phone because his hands had been trembling so badly. The ensuing clatter had led to another round of hasty, terrified "Shhhhh!" sounds from around the choir room. When they heard running footsteps in the corridor, the jiggling metal of door handles, he was fairly certain than any remaining logic was squeezed from his mind.

He wasn't sure who he was going to text anyway. All he could think was that McKinley had graduated from slushie cups to guns, that the misfit Glee Club were the targets of some approaching attack and the gay senior class president was such an affront to some maniac that he was the pinnacle of their list. It wouldn't be the first time he'd feared for his life and the more he thought about it, the more he began to panic. His breathing was fast and shallow, silent tears dribbling unchecked down his cheeks, as memories he'd attempted to bury threaded into his consciousness and his heart seized in his chest, phantom pains in each healed bone radiating outwards as a consequence of his cramped posture.

At first, it was like no one dared to breathe.

No one wanted to voice their fears as Jeff drove, the only one who was managing to maintain some semblance of calm for reasons he couldn't even begin to fathom. Trent's hands had been shaking so badly that he'd barely been able to hold his phone to his ear as he'd called David and Nick hadn't been much better when he'd called Wes, his eyes watering as he'd moved away from Jeff's car to lean against another.

Now that they were on the road, he knew Thad, Jon and Sean were in a car behind them. No one offered much in the way of information, of which there wasn't much, but it was also true that no one knew when it would be over and what sort of state Blaine might be in when it ended. No one knew who he'd seek out for comfort and no one knew who might just overwhelm him.

And all that hinged on the fact he was actually okay. They all knew what sort of school McKinley was like to the New Direction kids and especially the gay ones.

He'd become increasingly blind and deaf to the stilted conversations occurring around him as Trent and Nick searched for information and shared it with Jeff. He was mostly only conscious of the way his fingers trembled as he stared down at his phone and willed it to light up with a text message. He just needed one to say that Blaine was okay, that none of this was real and they were all mistaken. He'd been halfway through dialling familiar digits, still uncertain about whether he should call or text, before he began second-guessing himself and worrying that maybe Blaine's phone wasn't on silent, maybe it would give him away, maybe it would put him in danger, maybe trying to comfort himself could have the worst sorts of consequences to the boy on the other end.

He'd cramped into the backseat of Jeff's car only because Nick kept a hand pressed to his knee and he didn't trust Thad's driving. Yet the hand barely kept him grounded as he struggled to focus on his breathing, counting inhalations and exhalations and watching trees and signposts whiz past. Every time Trent's phone beeped, they hoped it held some sort of update but mostly it was someone else looking for information that none of them had.

He refused to allow himself the privilege of crying and letting the panic take over.

One of the worst parts about the entire ordeal was not really having anyone capable of offering the comfort he craved.

Sam was probably his most immediate option, because he knew the blond was strong and tall, his shoulders broad and his grip firm. He'd always felt safe in Sam's arms and he'd increasingly begun to trust Sam – maybe even hero worship him a little – after his disastrous break-up. Sam had helped him pick up the pieces and encourage him to find himself in the choir room rather than simply being someone who had a boyfriend in the club too.

Unfortunately, Sam was in his own world of panic because Brittany was God only knew where and Schue had refused to let him leave.

He could hear the slight whistle to Artie's wheezy breathing and for a while he realised his racing breathing was worse than anyone else he could hear and he needed to try to slow it down before he hyperventilated to the point of passing out. He could see the faint glow of phone screens around the room and guessed that others were messaging family and friends, seeking out information as well as trying to communicate it. He'd heard Marley sobbing over her mom and wondered whether his own mom knew. His phone had been eerily silent, held so tight between quivering fingers that he feared he'd splinter the plastic and pierce his skin.

Part of him wanted to message Kurt, to plead for a final shot at forgiveness over cheating – just in case – but then he wasn't sure whether Kurt knew what was happening and he didn't want to create panic in someone several states over. He also worried about what would happen if he got out of this alive and had said something that could reconcile or destroy them further later on. It was an uncertain situation and the last thing he thought he needed was more uncertainty.

He thought about messaging his parents and Cooper, to express his love for them despite how many times they'd failed him, but then he wasn't sure how to phrase anything he felt without it being overly mushy or potentially distressing. The relationship with his father still had a tendency to be strained at times, awkward pauses when there was a mention about a colleague's daughter or Obama's latest push for marriage rights. His mother could quite possibly be freaking out even worse than him if she knew and Cooper… He still had so much emotional distance with Cooper that he was at a complete loss about what to say to his brother.

He thought about messaging former McKinley friends, like Rachel or Finn, Santana or Quinn, Puck or Mercedes. He ended up in the same conundrum about not knowing what to say, not wanting to sound maudlin or despairing because he knew what the old New Directions members were like – he'd send one message and it would get forwarded a dozen times and everyone would start panicking. Sometimes, he thought, it was better to not know the extent of the hysteria within the choir room in case it caused greater problems beyond its walls. Perhaps others had already sent messages anyway, like Tina or Sam or Artie.

He thought about messaging former Dalton friends, like Wes and Nick and Sebastian. He missed Wes at Harvard, the distance between Ohio and Boston stretching longer than the circumference of the Earth sometimes. Transferring had reduced his contact with Nick too, although they still texted every few days. Since Sebastian's apology, he'd been trying to repair things for almost a year. He was fairly certain a hesitant friendship had formed in the aftermath of his break up when he'd swallowed coffee alongside vile, negative thoughts. He knew Sebastian still saw his as a prize but he also knew Sebastian's smirks were a disguise for a heart that truly cared, in some capacity, about his wellbeing. The Warbler wouldn't have kept meeting and texting and calling if they didn't have a friendship.

Yet he talked himself out of that too because maybe no one at Dalton knew. They should all be in classes right now and he didn't want to get Sebastian or Nick into trouble from strict teachers enforcing a phone policy. He wasn't sure about Wes' class schedule but he wasn't sure teachers at Harvard would be any less forgiving if a phone erupted in the middle of a lecture.

His hands clutched at the back of his neck as he pressed his face to his knees and rocked back and forth with a steadily building frenzy of panicked emotions.

One of the worst parts about the entire ordeal was not really having anyone capable of offering the comfort he craved.

Nick's hand against his knee was his most immediate option, the thing keeping him from bouncing right out of his seat in the car, but it wasn't nearly what he needed – whatever that even was – because he could tell the other boy was barely managing to stay hinged to his sanity. Whatever his friendship was with Blaine, he knew it didn't run as long and deep as what he had with Nick. It had taken him a while to stop being jealous of the other brunette, only starting to accept them when he began to understand how Nick had supported Blaine through his transition to Dalton, watching his physical scars heal while assisting the healing of psychological scars.

Yet now, in a crisis situation like this, they were both verging on wrecks with very little option of comforting each other or accepting comfort from others.

He could have called his father in an attempt to demand information, because surely a state's attorney would know something about vague, inconsistent reports of shots fired in a public high school but maybe his father was incredibly busy dealing with the emergency and the last thing he wanted was to distract him when it could save lives. He also hadn't ever talked about Blaine to his father and wasn't sure that a lie about caring about a school in their state, not so far from his own, that they had competed against repeatedly, was likely to be riddled with any less holes than the McKinley hallways.

He could have messaged his mother in desperation but what was she going to do from France anyway? She might call him, soothe him momentarily with calm French to distract him from more immediate concerns, but he could just as easily whisper French to himself and discover it was useless in consoling him. How could he explain that a school he'd never gone to contained people he may actually care about, a boy he might actually-

His hands ran through his hair again and again and again as he offered prayers and penance, as if it would somehow change the fate that may have already been dealt.

The worst part was having no idea about what was happening.

Artie has held out his phone a few times with typed sentences offering any information he'd learned from Twitter and CNN. Kitty had texted several links as well, but the details were still so hazy, so minimal, because there was so much disbelief that it was happening. There hadn't been any more shots but no one knew who the gunman was. No one knew who the gunman might have shot already. No one knew where the gunman was.

No one knew what to do.

He heard whispered confessions between Kitty and Marley, watched the blonde Cheerio crawl along the floor to collapse into Unique and Ryder's arms. He felt increasingly crushed by Sam's panic over Brittany, his attraction withering into nothing because clearly Sam was hellbent on his feelings for the other blond. He felt like crying when he saw the wild panic in Sam's eyes as Schue covered his mouth and pushed him back to the ground and he could recognise that in himself, the wild panic that made him feel he needed a hand across his own mouth to stop the terrified screams that could alert the gunman to where they were.

The worst part was having no idea about what was happening.

Occasionally Trent relayed the latest update from Twitter or CNN, reading out tweets from students at McKinley and, rarely, from students within New Directions. His heart hammered in his chest as he hoped against hope that there would be some mention of who was in certain classrooms – of one particular person who was safe – but he couldn't help wondering something darker and sinister. What if the shooter was another student? What if they had access to the same technology, could see who was where and start picking them off one by one? He began to understand the careful phrasing of each tweet and yet it was infuriating because still no one knew who the gunman was. No one seemed to know who, if anyone, had been shot already. No one knew where the gunman was or if more shots had been fired.

They arrived in Lima and were forced to abandon their car on a street already filled with parked cars all over the road, anxious parents and siblings and friends and the media and God only knew who else rushing as close to the police cordon as possible. They were still several blocks away from the school and it wasn't nearly close enough for him to be able to breathe any easier. In fact, each step became harder, as if the road turned into quicksand and was increasingly determined to suck him into a black void of pitch and tar and concrete or whatever it was they put into roads.

Nick's arm wrapped around his back, guiding him between a scattered minefield of cars as Jeff and Trent's fingers flew across their phone keyboards. They joined the massed crowd straining at the police barricades and Thad, Jon and Sean weren't far behind. It was probably only Nick's arm that truly kept him upright, his knees frequently threatening to buckle and his head spinning from the lack of oxygen reaching his brain.

Several times he realised his temperature was spiking, becoming so hot that sweat dripped down his spine and pooled in the small of his back. He became aware of how his shoulders trembled under the heat weighing on his chest or the unpleasant tingling in his fingers and thighs. Oddly, it felt as though his heart contained his breakfast and it was determined to be seen again. Then, at random intervals, the heat would be swept away by an iciness that curled within his stomach, that chilled his ankles and wrists, that seared down his throat and froze the breath in his lungs, silently choking him before flames erupted and thawed it all out.

And the cycle would start all over again.

It was only when Jeff glanced at him that he suddenly had the assistance of three boys to help him away from the crowd so he could collapse into a seated position on the pavement. Nick loosened his tie and Jeff took off the blazer and it was only because too many people were hovering over him that he didn't curl into a ball and rock back and forth slowly like he'd done as a little boy. It had been the only way he'd been able to keep calm when he could hear the crash of crockery while his parents screamed at each other downstairs and right now, he thought it might be the only way he could stay calm while his anxiety over Blaine's welfare screamed inside his ears.

Time did weird things when you were panicking.

Amidst his inner turmoil, he could remember the fear he'd held for his life after his arm had been broken, after his knee had been shattered, after his liver had begun to bleed into his abdomen, after his throat had been crushed, after his skull had been fractured, after he'd drifted in and out of consciousness for what could have been days. He could remember feeling as though he'd been lying in the dark for a week and it was only later, when he'd been able to comprehend what had happened, that he learned it was barely more than half an hour from when he'd been abandoned in a pool of his own blood to when he was found by a teacher. He owed Mister Jenkins his life, even if the teacher had actually been on a walk around the perimeter of the school to ensure no one was hooking up in the dark shadows of the school buildings.

This time around, his heart and mind couldn't decide if he was in immediate danger or not. He wasn't bleeding on school property all over again – yet, an internal voice offered unhelpfully – but there was someone was in the general vicinity with a gun. It didn't take a genius to know that one bullet could be far more effective to finally ending his life than the pipes and baseball bats and steel-capped boots he'd endured years ago.

The combined state of hyper alertness and wracking terror made time shift and warp out of shape, where there were no longer sixty seconds in a minute but thousands of infinitesimal moments that dragged on forever. The metronome wasn't really keeping time but instead mocking all of them with how it ticked out of sequence and tocked so loud that it echoed within his soul. It meant that every beat and skipped beat of his heart thudded too loudly in his ears until he was no longer certain what he could really hear within or outside the choir room walls, was no longer sure whether he could hear footsteps that might be the gunman approaching and ready to take them all out.

Artie decided he wanted to start filming something. He brandished his phone around but Blaine was too stunned, too sick, to even think about responding. He tucked his head into his knees because he was pretty sure that if he opened his mouth to speak, he'd just end up throwing up on camera. How anyone could pretend to be composed while filming farewell messages to loved ones was utterly beyond him.

Time did weird things when you were panicking.

Amidst his inner turmoil, he could remember the multitude of regrets he had about his behaviour. Many of them had led him to this particular point. He regretted alienating his father after the divorce and preferring to stay in France with his mom. He regretted transferring to a school and getting involved in the show choir, where he met a great group of truly honest guys that he was wholly unprepared for after the backstabbing of young men in France. There was a very small part of him that regretted ever meeting Blaine, meeting a boy who had completely turned his life upside down with sweet shy smiles and plump rosy cheeks and entrancing golden eyes. He regretted reaching out and touching his hand with something that was meant to have been innocent, drawing Blaine into something that Sebastian hadn't known he wouldn't be able to stop until it was too late.

Yet he knew it wasn't really true. He didn't regret meeting Blaine. He couldn't regret that.

Instead, he regretted that he hadn't fought Hummel harder for Blaine's heart before Blaine had broken it with his own poor decisions. He regretted not protecting Blaine better from himself, to the point that he'd stooped so low as to toss a slushie at anyone. The worst part was that he had injured Blaine and it remained completely unforgivable to him. He regretted his tendency to speak before he thought about the words passing his lips which had contributed to another boy's suicide attempt. He regretted witnessing the steely anger in Blaine's eyes as he'd tried to apologise for all his wrongs, sincerely broken on the inside and outside as he saw how honey eyes no longer held open warmth and enthusiasm but were instead narrowed in anger and distrust. He regretted that his actions had led to him missing out on having his senior leadership positions, instead having to share everything with co-captains. While Anthony was great, Clarington had been less fantastic and he regretted his capitulation to Clarington's drug schedule and the ridiculous scheme to steal an old trophy and lure Blaine into their fold again – a scheme that had failed and left Blaine at a school where he'd been broken down and now, was hiding from an unknown shooter potentially stalking the halls looking to murder other students.

Most of all, he regretted not holding the boy close to him more often, taking the chance to whisper his feelings against gelled hair, tanned neck, curved ear, full lips.

Time had an odd ability to make the last few years seem like fractions of a second compared to the eons he'd been waiting for more information, for a text, for a sign that the whole crisis was over. Every shout by a displeased crowd member drew his head up in the hopes it was students leaving the school gates and heading for safety. Every cry twisted his heart as he hoped it wasn't bad news and more shots had been fired. Every gripped hand or desperate hug reminded him of exactly what he wanted but couldn't get because the half he needed was trapped somewhere in the school with a shooter causing damage, destruction, distress, and, possibly, death.

There came a time when he couldn't stand it anymore.

Wracked by terror, unsure if he was going to survive, Blaine stabbed at the screen of his phone to compose a message to anyone and everyone that existed beyond the walls of the choir room. He could still hear Sam's harsh breathing as he waited – they all waited – for Schue to return.

The door opened and he held his breath, his eyes squeezing shut, expecting to hear gunshots crack through the air, screams of his friends as they ducked for cover and-

But it was only Schue and Brittany and Hannah in her Cheerios outfit and a sophomore he thought was called Ray and when he looked up, he saw Sam wrap the blonde girl into a tight hug and something broke inside him, maybe his crush because Sam was 100% committed to his feelings for Brittany and Blaine could no longer pretend there'd ever be anything other than friendship between them – which wasn't a bad thing, it was just a difficult one to swallow..

He sent the text and barely a minute later, everyone heard the echoing call of "All clear!" No one believed it was true because what if that was the gunman? What if the gunman was trying to lure them out with the false sense of security before taking them out as they exited classrooms? It wasn't until a second, a third, a fourth shout, until Schue turned on the lights, that people began to move and embrace each other and some of the adrenaline turned into uncontrollable shaking as they tried to hold on simply to stay upright, simply to avoid falling to the floor in a mess of tears.

His phone had exploded with messages by the time they'd ended the group hug, as if everyone had been holding their breath and waiting for him to reach out first.

The first person he called was his mother.

There came a time when he couldn't stand it anymore.

He'd wrestled with Nick and Jeff and Jon and Sean's strong arms trying to pull him back, trying to make him sit down again. He'd seen people running towards the barricade from the other side and though he recognised none of them, he could recognise trashy and unfashionable public school clothes when he saw it. He wasn't sure where these students were being evacuated from but he thought that maybe there could be a moment of confusion where he could run into the school and find Blaine and ensure he was alive and okay and-

His phone beeped, sudden and harsh and loud, as did the phones of Nick and Jeff and Trent and Thad and Jon, and when he looked at the screen, he nearly dropped it.

BLAINE
I'm okay, but I just want you to thank you for the impact you've had on my life.

He couldn't decide whether he was grateful or not, because whether Blaine was somewhere truly safe was impossible to know. He could hear that Nick and Jeff had received the same message and supposed he couldn't fault Blaine for sending out a mass text rather than individualised ones, despite a small twinge of jealousy. Under pressure and stress, he could only imagine how hard it was to type what he had and he supposed he had to be grateful for what he had.

A cry went up among the crowd, too loud to be anything other than relief. Some of the people dissipated as they surged forward, tipping over the barricade, pushing past police who had stood aside, to wrap up loved ones that were streaming down the street from the direction of the school.

"It's over?" Jeff said uncertainly but Sebastian was already taking advantage of the movement of the masses and was on his feet, pushing through and with the crowds in search of one person and one person only.

He saw Cohen-Chang in a green overcoat with her arms around a male, brunette Cheerio with an ass he'd recognise anywhere near the bright yellow buses and sharply changed direction. He knew the moment she'd seen him over Blaine's shoulder because something flickered in her eyes – surprise? uncertainty? – before he was there and had a hand pressed to Blaine's trembling shoulder, reassuring himself that the boy was indeed alive and safe and okay.

As soon as they'd begun rushing from the school doors, he'd searched for Tina. She'd detoured to her locker to put her Literature folder away and even if the school had been cleared of someone dangerous and they could leave, it didn't mean that somewhere, maybe, was someone in a pool of their own blood. The corridors were filled with debris – dropped books and pencils, crushed folders under the stampede of panicked feet that had made a retreat into safe classrooms – but he'd been caught in the surge of people until air, fresh air that didn't taste like terror, had eked down his throat and he'd started looking around for an orange dress and green coat and dark hair and-

"Blaineydays!"

He turned his head and saw her, shoving at anyone who got into his way until he had his arms wrapped around her shoulders, her shaking frame tucked into his own. He could feel her arms wind around his waist and it kept him standing as they cried into each other's shoulders, heaving half-sobs that still ached and might continue to ache for hours. He felt abnormally cold, even when he realised the sun was kissing his arms, and wasn't sure if he had frozen solid into this position of holding his closest friend and whether he would ever thaw out.

As he clutched at her, thinking he might die if he let go, he felt her spine straighten and automatically adjusted himself. He thought little of it until an unexpected hand grasped his shoulder. It was large and warm, shaking almost as badly as his, and he thought maybe it was Sam or Finn or, absurdly, Burt Hummel.

"Killer?"

Something he didn't know, didn't recognise, unravelled in his chest, something that had him loosening his grip on Tina to throw his arms around Sebastian's waist and press his face into a chest that was broad and solid and protective as he'd needed from Sam for the past hours.

Strong arms curled around him, trembling but no less secure. "I've got you, B," Sebastian whispered against his ear, a hand cradling the back of his neck and another resting against his lower spine, and for the first time in hours, he felt safe.

The other guys caught up with them eventually, mostly because Jeff and Jon were tall enough to see him across the crowd. He hadn't been willing to let Blaine go, too anxious to steady the male's breathing and heart rate that he'd felt through his thin cheerleading shirt, too determined to draw him away from the terror in his past he suspected had made Blaine all the more afraid now. He had a hold on Blaine that was every bit protective, every bit possessive, as he offered an uncharacteristic display of comfort and tenderness keeping the shorter boy pressed into his side.

Blaine had offered brief hugs to each of his former teammates, scrubbing at his eyes and offering a weak smile to their worried questions before he'd tucked himself under Sebastian's arm like he'd always belonged there, like it was second nature to have Sebastian's arm across his shoulders. There was something amused in Nick and Jeff's expression, something Sebastian didn't like, but they held their tongues as Blaine clung to him in a way that perhaps he'd hoped for but never let himself dream would happen.

Students, parents, siblings, friends, gradually moved away from the parking lot of the school, from the surrounding streets, as they returned to safer environments. Blaine hadn't let him go after he'd finished hugging the other Warblers and Sebastian wasn't prepared to loosen his grip.

Blaine tugged on his shirt, lower lip caught between his teeth uncertainly. He lowered his head for the boy to murmur into his ear, "Can you take me home?"

He offered an honest smile, barely avoiding kissing Blaine's temple as he drew the male closer to him, as he nodded and shooed the other guys away. He had no idea how he'd get back to Dalton later but that was the least of his concerns. He'd walk ten thousand miles if it meant Blaine wanted him for company.

He took Blaine's keys and drove carefully, slowly, in the unfamiliar car through unfamiliar streets while Blaine offered quiet directions. Occasionally he reached over to brush his fingers against Blaine's wrist, trying to ensure the shorter male with a tall life history didn't fall into something that Sebastian couldn't rescue him from. Once they'd arrived, he allowed Blaine's hand to guide him inside the house, making sure he never let go of the contact as they abandoned shoes and headed for the living room.

"Are you hungry?" Sebastian asked as Blaine sat on the couch, his hands visibly trembling.

Blaine shook his head and Sebastian pressed his lips together in a worried frown. Comforting someone could be all about trusting your instincts, but Sebastian had learned a long time ago that his instincts sucked. Uncertain, he sat on the couch and opened his arms.

"Come here," he said, as gently as he could. Blaine gave a sob that cracked somewhere in the middle and hurriedly pressed his face against Sebastian's chest. The crying chilled him to the bone yet the opportunity to hold Blaine warmed something even deeper. He adjusted his body until Blaine was reclined against him, their legs tangled together. "You're safe, Killer," he whispered, cradling the back of Blaine's neck again because Sebastian could remember how safe he used to feel when his mom did that when he was little. His other hand settled on Blaine's back, fingers drifting in aimless patterns over the bright red and white polyester blend that was sinfully stretched across his torso and around his biceps.

He listened to Blaine's breathing, he focused on Blaine's trembling, and for the first time in…ever, he realised he didn't need to speak to fill in a silence. He realised he didn't want to. He realised that holding Blaine was enough and maybe being the one Blaine had accepted to take care of him had made him too mind-boggled to consider trying to speak. His thumb dragged over the knob of Blaine's spine up to the nape of his neck and slowly – so slowly he thought he might have been imagining it – he felt the body against him lose some of the tension.

"I was so… I was scared," Blaine admitted eventually, his voice raspy from the tears and, maybe, from the fear that had ravaged his mind, body and soul for hours.

Sebastian lowered his chin to the top of Blaine's hair, smoothing his other hand over Blaine's back in an effort to be comforting. "You had every right to be," he reassured, knowing he'd been scared standing on the outside of it all. He couldn't even imagine how terrifying it must have been to be within the school. He wasn't even sure he was capable of admitting how scared he had been.

Blaine relaxed further into his arms, as if the validation of his terror made him lose some of the guilt over how he'd felt. His cheek pressed into Sebastian's chest and Sebastian hoped his heart wasn't skipping as many beats as he suspected. "Why were you there?"

"Clarington texted the Warblers asking if McKinley was the school you went to," Sebastian said, breathing as slowly as he could so Blaine had something to try matching. "He'd seen reports of gunshots. We all booked it out of school to get to Lima as fast as possible."

Blaine hummed softly, his fingers settling against the curve of Sebastian's waist, bunching up his school shirt. It was a sensitive place, one that sent little thrills along his skin even though it was inappropriate. He focused instead on wondering where his tie and blazer had ended up. "Won't you get in trouble for leaving school?"

Sebastian shrugged. Getting into trouble was the furthest thing on his mind. Actually, he hadn't even thought about what might have happened at Dalton until now. He could vaguely recall Miss Song's indignant face as he'd been bundled out of class. It felt like it had happened a decade ago. "If they don't consider the extenuating circumstances of why so many of us ran out of class, then they're assholes."

Blaine smothered a breathy laugh and Sebastian dared to let his fingertips on Blaine's neck drift higher, scratching at the ends of gelled curls. A roughly released breath ruffled the cotton of his shirt as Blaine's weight sank into him and he fought back a smile at how easily he could unspool this precious boy's anxiety.

"Thank you for being there," Blaine whispered and for a moment, Sebastian thought he'd imagined it. For a moment, he wondered if he was allowed to press his lips to Blaine's skin, to offer an entirely different distraction from the fear he'd felt – except he suspected he may have to add a poor reaction to his long list of regrets. "It was… I hadn't expected it but-"

"It's okay," Sebastian said, cutting him off as he pressed his nose into the hard helmet of hair. It was the closest he could get to brushing a kiss against the curls as his whole body thrummed with a warmth around his heart that he hadn't known he was capable of feeling. He knew that getting coffee with Blaine for months, watching his eyes lighten from the pain of cheating, had never been as rewarding as this. His dark thoughts towards Hummel, after Blaine had slept with him again a month ago, seemed to have evaporated because he had Blaine's whole and unadulterated gratitude.

Blaine's weight settled completely against him and a comfortable silence encompassed them. He'd never really understood the idea of contentment, how you could just be without any sort of pressure to do or say something. He'd never known he could lie so still that he'd be able to feel the tattoo of Blaine's heartbeat through his shirt drumming against his own chest. He'd never realised he was capable of holding a guy – a hot guy he'd liked for well over a year – and not pop a boner or attempt to get under the guy's skin with heated kisses. He'd never believed he could feel so comfortable in the presence of someone else, so comfortable in comforting and protecting another person.

He felt the weight in Blaine's body increase as the boy drifted into an uneasy sleep and began to watch the way the shadows moved around the room as the sunlight filtered through the blinds. He kept a careful watch on Blaine's breathing, trying to ensure he didn't have any horrible nightmares, and allowed himself to relax with the knowledge that Blaine was safe with him and he had no intention of letting go.

It was Blaine who woke first, when the hum of the garage door opening disturbed his relatively peaceful slumber. His shoulders felt stiff and he belatedly realised he was pressed against someone. He was so groggy that it took him nearly a minute of almost panicking that he'd slept with someone again before he recalled the crushing fear of the morning and remembered Sebastian – Sebastian, of all people – holding him so gently for so long that his anxiety had been soothed to the point of allowing an emotionally exhausted sleep to overcome him. He felt warm and thoroughly protected in Sebastian's arms and it seemed a terrible shame to remove himself from it, but he wasn't sure his parents would be pleased by him being curled up against another boy even under the terrifying circumstances of this morning.

He shook Sebastian awake as he sat up, rubbing a hand across his eyes and stilling for a moment when the world spun around him and blood drained from his head. Sebastian twitched at the movement, his hands closing around empty air, and Blaine couldn't help but watch the dark green eyes flutter open, witness the moment of blurriness before his lips curved into a smile that was honest and bordered on sweet. It made something fizz in Blaine's belly, something so innocent and genuine that it felt like a sacred sight he wasn't meant to have witnessed.

"I think my mom's home," he explained, listening for the clatter of her heels as she unpacked the car. Within a couple of minutes, he heard the creak of the door that joined the garage and the rush of footsteps. He was already off the couch by the time she rushed to him with her arms outstretched.

"I never liked you going to that public school," she muttered against his ear, patting him and petting him as if expecting to find a bullet wound he hadn't known about. It reminded him of the twinges of pain he'd felt earlier, but he didn't dare mention that and make her even more upset. The attack was still something most of his family preferred not to acknowledge.

"I'm okay, mom," he mumbled, feeling embarrassed as she squeezed him tight when he knew Sebastian wasn't far away. He could understand her concern and need to protect her son because he'd had it before, in the days after he'd woken in the hospital, but her hug wasn't filled with the same warmth that existed simply in the intimate, confident way Sebastian's hands curved to hold him close.

She huffed and scowled and cradled his cheeks, staring into his eyes as if she could see into the deep recesses of his soul that he pretended didn't exist. He was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable under her gaze when a throat cleared behind them.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," Sebastian said with an extended hand, a picture of politeness that nearly made Blaine raise his eyebrows, instantly suspicious over what the hell he was doing and where this little encounter might go. "I'm a friend of Blaine's from Dalton. Sebastian Smythe."

His mom clucked her tongue as she looked from Blaine to Sebastian and he wondered if they looked as sleep-rumpled as he felt. Had Sebastian's shirt left fabric creases on his cheeks? Was Sebastian's face slightly flushed from the way they'd fallen asleep together? In his worry, he missed his mother shaking Sebastian's hand briefly, but he definitely didn't miss her words.

"My baby boy should have stayed at that school with you."

"Mom," Blaine hissed, mortified that Sebastian had heard her refer to him as her baby boy. He was going to college awfully soon! He wasn't a baby anymore.

Sebastian's lips curled into an amused grin and Blaine just knew that something with a double meaning was going to spill forth. Enough coffee dates and late-night calls had improved his detection of incoming innuendos. "Believe me, Mrs Anderson, I would have much preferred he stayed at Dalton too."

Blaine might have smacked him in the chest if it wasn't for his mother patting Sebastian's shoulder like he was a positively wonderful young man simply because he valued Blaine's safety as much as his mom. It was an odd sight considering his mom was shorter than he was, and Sebastian already towered over him. He felt as though his mother needed to stand on her tiptoes if she ever intended to try reaching for the top of Sebastian's head.

His mother left to make some tea, casting a knowing look at Blaine as she left that let him feeling uncomfortable for reasons he wasn't sure about. It wasn't as if he'd done anything with Sebastian. The other boy had had slipped his hands into his pockets, a picture of composed casualness that Blaine recognised as a carefully composed veneer that he wasn't capable of seeing through.

"She doesn't know who I am, does she?" Sebastian asked, his head inclined and his eyes studying Blaine's face closer than he thought he'd ever been examined before by those green eyes.

He frowned, distracted by the intensity in Sebastian's stare, and it took him a few moments before he made the connection with what Sebastian was asking. He glanced over his shoulder towards the kitchen to ensure his mother wasn't hovering in a doorway in the hopes she might catch them kissing – his cheeks flushed at the thought – and when he turned back, offered a small shake of his head, lowering his eyes nervously.

"I never wanted her to know how I'd been hurt. She's always seen the Warblers like heroes that helped save me. She's so fond of Wes and Nick and Jeff and she absolutely hated that I left for McKinley and Kurt. Informing her that I'd been hurt by those guys… It would have been a disaster."

The edge of Sebastian's mouth was downturned as his eyes drifted over Blaine's head, perhaps towards the doorway of the kitchen that Blaine had looked at for his mother. He wasn't sure if she was standing there or not and he didn't want to tear his gaze away from assessing Sebastian's face. "I really am sorry for that," Sebastian said, his voice hesitant as he looked again at Blaine. The depths of his pain over the incident was probably visible from space.

"I know," he said, stepping towards Sebastian, fingers pressing into his chest and around his body to embrace the taller male in a gentle hug. "I've forgiven you, Bastian. You really need to forgive yourself."

"Maybe one day," Sebastian breathed against his ear, the warmth of his exhale tickling his skin and making him shudder. One of Sebastian's arms wrapped against his back, a hand on the dip of his spine holding their bodies together, and they stood like that for several minutes. Blaine wasn't sure who was offering comfort and who was accepting it, but it was still nice. He liked hugging Sebastian. He liked listening to the soothing cadence of his heartbeat.

"I should probably go now that your mom is home," Sebastian murmured eventually, untangling Blaine's arms from around his body and awkwardly stepping back. The foot of space between them suddenly felt wider than a galaxy and Blaine tried not to feel cold. "You know you can always call or text me, right?"

"I know," he said with a nod, fidgeting with the hem of his Cheerios shirt. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that he didn't want Sebastian to leave, he didn't want to lose the comfort of someone that felt so easy and comfortable to be around. He bit his lip and glanced down at his feet. "Um… Should I call you a cab?"

Sebastian shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck in a sign Blaine knew was the Warbler being uncomfortable. He wasn't sure why. "I got a text from Nick. They've been hanging out at the Lima Bean for hours waiting for me."

"Oh." Blaine nodded, slightly sad that he hadn't considered inviting the other boys to his house. He hadn't really thought about it. Standing under Sebastian's arm outside the school, shielded by his strength and protection, he'd only wanted Sebastian to be with him. He'd craved the ease of his touch more than anyone's. He wasn't sure he understood why. He wasn't sure if he wanted to understand why, either.

Blaine's mother entered with two mugs of tea and Sebastian moved away to make a call to Nick. Having his mom around made them seem like they were deliberately maintaining a distance between them that ultimately looked suspicious, like they'd been doing something before his mom had gotten home that they needed to hide. Yet it was with her presence that it seemed as though they no longer understood the boundaries that existed around their friendship and were clumsy with where to stand and how to be normal. Were they more than just 'friends'? Maybe. Blaine suspected there had always been something a little more between them. Were they less than lovers? He blushed at the thought because they'd certainly done nothing more than hold onto each other in the aftermath of something too frightening to consider.

His mother tried to engage each of them in conversation while they waited for Nick but they mostly just kept glancing at each other over their tea. Sebastian's expression was unreadable and Blaine couldn't help fidgeting with the handle of his mug until the Warbler got a text alerting him to the presence of their friends. He followed Sebastian to the door at his mother's insistence, offering a wave to Nick, Jeff and Trent who were clearly watching him nervously from the car. He could see the transformation in their expressions as they broke into grins and waved back.

"Thank you," Blaine said again as Sebastian moved to walk out the door, his fingers catching Sebastian's elbow lightly to make him turn one last time, to see his face once again and try to understand what swirled in those green eyes above him.

Sebastian offered a smile, another one that was genuine and too sacred for Blaine to see. His fingertips reached out to tuck a curl behind his ear before smoothing fleetingly along his neck in a way that made Blaine's stomach almost definitely flip over in his abdomen. "I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else, Killer."

The warmth of Sebastian's touch on his skin lingered long after he had left, long after Blaine had sat with his mother's arms looped loosely around his waist and his mug of tea was empty, long after his father had gotten home and hugged him tight for the first time in years, long after he'd eaten dinner and showered and crawled into bed.

Only then did he think to look at his phone, reading through the dozens of texts from Cooper and Kurt and Rachel and Finn and Puck and Mercedes and Sugar and Wes and David and knowing that none of their words, none of these people, seemed to make him feel quite as light and free as having Sebastian's touch burning a trail along his skin.

He wasn't sure he understood why.

~FIN~

Note - As previously mentioned, if you haven't checked out 'Not A Bad Thing', I think it would totally be worth your while. Thank you for reading.