A/N: I'm sorry. It's half past nine and I want to write sad things.
Prologue
It wasn't unexpected for Blaine to die anymore. The diagnosis came too late and he didn't want to have to go through chemotherapy that wasn't going to work. It was unexpected, though, for him to die when he did.
Two nights after they won Nationals, one night until they were going home, Blaine had a seizure in his sleep. He was honestly just tired; he didn't think to change before sleeping. Nobody was there to loosen the tight bow tie around his neck, and he was asphyxiated in the night.
It was, needless to say, a shock for Kurt when he rolled over in the morning to see Blaine's too pale face and blue tinted lips. Kurt had hoped through his anguished fear that maybe, just maybe, Blaine would be resuscitated. He was too upset to notice the grimace that made clear rigor mortis had set in. Blaine Anderson was headed into the west.
Kurt's anguished scream woke up the boys. Mike was the first to realise that something was terribly wrong, and he was the one to send a half asleep Rory to wake Mr. Schue up at seven in the morning.
After the paramedics were called and the white sheet was placed over Blaine's body, Kurt called Burt. Kurt was numb. The grief had set in, but his body was rejecting it, leaving him with an empty shell and a broken heart.
The numb stage didn't last long; the girls had been told, and they'd entrusted Tina with the job of seeing how Kurt was holding up. And then Kurt cried. Not tears that he'd cried when he was getting bullied; these tears were the broken ones.
These were the tears that he'd cried when his mother had died.
