A/N: A few people requested that I continue Reality Check, so here it is. I'm uncertain if this is what people expected, so C&C is welcome (even if it is to tell me that continuing this was a horrible idea).

Wes rode with Blaine to the hospital.

The EMT had suggested that an adult ride with him instead in the event an immediate decision had to be made at St. John's (Blaine's parents were out of the country), but Blaine refused to let go of Wes' hand. Seeing his patient growing agitated, Mark, the EMT, didn't push the matter any further.

The ride was fairly quiet. The only breaks in the silence being when Mark inquired to Blaine's comfort and in response Blaine would either shake his head yes or no.

Blaine hadn't actually said a word since his murmured confession to Wes and the Asian would have been worried if he hadn't seen Blaine like this before.

It happened occasionally during freshman year, less so the following year, and was now a non-issue. Although if asked, Blaine would advocate that it wasn't an issue at all, but no one ever asked Blaine. Well, until Wes did.

It was hard not to, being Blaine's roommate and all. It wasn't as if Wes was incapable of respecting a person's privacy, but the random instances of unnatural silence was stressing him out. Blaine wasn't the most talkative person back then, but even when he wasn't speaking you knew he was there. Whether he was tapping his pencil or his foot, or writing furiously in his black notebook, his presence was always felt. To completely shut down—because there was no other way Wes could describe it—for hours on end freaked Wes out and he wanted to know if there was anything he could do—if there was something he should be doing. There wasn't though. Nothing but to just let it run its course because

"Sometimes, it's just too much," Blaine said eyes focused briefly on his hands before lifting to meet his roommate's attentive stare. "It's like—like I'm too full and I need time to filter it all. I know it's weird and I'm sorry, but it doesn't last very long. A single day. Tops. I…I can change rooms if you want."

Wes remembered staring at Blaine for a few beats before giving him a noogie that he hoped would wipe the absurd idea out of the other's head. Blaine was such a hobbit back then: below average height, quiet, but spoke up when he had something to say, and fiercely loyal. He still was, in fact.

It's what made Wes so angry because who would hurt a hobbit (Dark Lords excluded)?

A tug on his hand pulled Wes out of his thoughts and he glanced up to see Blaine watching him. He could see the question in the other's eyes but merely shook his head and offered a reassuring smile instead. The corners of Blaine's lips twitched in what Wes assumed were a poor attempt at a smile before Blaine returned to staring out the back of the ambulance.

If Wes held Blaine's hand more tightly after that, it was only because Blaine did too.

oOo

They were told he had a non-displaced fracture, which was a less serious break than they had initially thought and would only require a cast spanning from his shoulder to his knuckles. Other than that, Blaine hadn't sustained any permanent damage.

"Do you have any questions?"

Dr. Elizabeth Charles redirected her attention from the X-ray film to Blaine who sat atop of one of the ER beds, his left arm splinted and held securely to his chest by a sling. Wes sat in a chair beside him.

"How long will the cast be on?" Wes asked when it didn't seem like Blaine would.

"You're young so you have that in your favor. The cast shouldn't be on longer than eight weeks."

Wes exhaled a long breath. That would put them right around Sectionals, which caused a wave of anxiety to surface, and it was not because he was worried that Blaine wouldn't be recovered by then. In fact, it wasn't difficult to imagine Blaine pushing himself to ensure that he was ready for the competition. Blaine had a single-mindedness that at times rivaled that of a shopaholic on Black Friday. Wes had seen it on multiple occasions throughout the years, especially when glee club was involved. Although good for the Warblers, it also reminded him of the time Blaine had stayed up for three days straight to finish an arrangement to a song they were going to perform at a senior's center. Having a student pass out during the middle of the performance was not exactly uplifting and the resulting concussion was in no way 'totally awesome' no matter how hard Blaine insisted.

"If you don't have any other questions, I'll page the technician to have your cast fitted now."

Wes looked to Blaine who just shook his head no. Dr. Charles nodded once before pulling out a small pad of paper from her breast pocket and jotted something down before tearing out the sheet. "I've prescribed a mild painkiller for you," she said as she handed it to Blaine. "Take one a day with food—two if you're really hurting. Drowsiness is a common side effect, but I don't think I need to tell you not to drive."

Wes knew she was trying to draw a smile out of the teen and at any other time his friend would have happily obliged. Considering everything that had happened today though he wasn't surprised when Blaine just kept his head down. Unfazed, she merely clasped Blaine's right shoulder and squeezed it briefly.

"I hope you feel better soon, Blaine. The tech should be here shortly, so please relax while you wait." She shifted her attention to Wes and asked, "Do you need the number of a car service for when you're finished here?"

Wes shook his head. "A friend of ours let me know that one of our teachers is in the waiting area and will be taking us back to the academy."

Dr. Charles nodded. "All right." Before she left she pressed a small card into Blaine's hand.

Dr. Ann Curtis, Trauma Counselor was written on the business card. "I'm sure your school has a very capable counselor," Dr. Charles said, "but if you would like to speak with someone else, please call Ann. She's a good friend of mine and specializes in individuals who have experienced traumas like you have."

Blaine could only stare at the card and didn't notice when his doctor finally left. His attention was eventually drawn away from it when Wes began to relate something Mr. Peterson had said this morning in his honors English class that he and the entire class thought hilarious. Blaine settled back against the hospital bed, watched as Wes gestured animatedly and allowed a faint smile to spread across his face. All the while he dug the corners of the card into the palm of his hand, using the steady pressure to anchor his thoughts firmly in the present and away from things past.

oOo

Blaine stared up at his dorm room ceiling aware that if he didn't snap out of it soon his friends were going to hold some sort of intervention. He had only just convinced Wes to go grab some dinner and the other conceded after Blaine promised to eat whatever he brought back to the room.

It was the first time in hours that Blaine was left alone and quite honestly, he really needed the space. After leaving the ER, he was met with not only Mr. Miller, his guidance counselor, but also the police. They had wanted a statement. Fortunately, Mr. Miller was able to put them off for a day at least seeing as how Blaine could barely put two words together at the moment.

Although he was only functioning at half mast, Blaine could tell that the overall consensus was that he would press charges against Karofsky. Truthfully, though, he wasn't sure what he was going to do. He didn't think Karofsky planned on hitting him no matter if he came to Dalton with a baseball bat. He was just panicked, scared and Blaine wasn't sure if he wanted to make it worse for him considering he was already having a hard time dealing with the possibility that he may be gay. This wasn't like before. Blaine couldn't just ruin someone's life like that without knowing all the facts. Maybe he really was an idiot.

Regardless, he knew how everyone would react if he voiced his current thoughts out loud and because he wasn't up to arguing about it now, he just went along with his counselor's explanation that he was tired and would make the trip down to the police station later this week.

The ride back to Dalton was similar to the one to St. John's: quiet. Wes had sat with Blaine in the back seat of the academy van and after relating that his parents were notified and offering several reassurances to his safety, Mr. Miller didn't subject them to any additional small talk, merely turned the radio on to a soft rock station. Blaine spent the entire ride with his forehead pressed against glass, staring out the passenger window without any real focus. He just wanted to go home. Unfortunately, his parents were in Italy, so Dalton would have to do for now.

Blaine expelled a tired sigh, sweeping his eyes away from the ceiling and to the alarm clock on his bedside table. Wes would be back soon and Blaine wasn't sure if he could keep his promise of eating anything he brought back. His friend meant well, like all his friends (David had sandwiched him in pillows afraid he'd roll over and jar his arm. It was a thoughtful gesture but left Blaine with zero maneuverability), but it was getting a little overbearing.

He felt his phone vibrate and glanced down at the device expecting it to be one of the Warblers checking in on him, but instead saw that it was Kurt.

In glee. Schuester just gave Tina a solo and Rachel is having a fit. You should hear the verbal diarrhea coming out of her mouth. It would put Chelsea Handler to shame.

An involuntary smile spread across Blaine's face, and he found himself typing back a response.

Now, now. Play nice. Rachel is just passionate for the arts.

It didn't take long before he received a reply.

She's SOMETHING all right.

Then:

How has your day been?

Blaine stared at the question feeling his smile melt away. It was awful actually. One of his worst, but he didn't write that. Instead he dropped his phone back on to his bed and closed his eyes.

He could picture the freak out Kurt would have when he found out what had happened because Blaine wasn't deluded enough to believe that this wouldn't get back to McKinley. Blaine didn't need that right now though—couldn't deal with Kurt right now because if he thought about it—like really, really thought about it—he couldn't stop the train of thought that pointed out the fact that if he had never met Kurt, then this wouldn't have happened.

It was a terrible and misdirected thought, but Blaine was having it nonetheless, was having trouble thinking rationally about everything at the moment. So he decided he wouldn't. He wouldn't think or talk about it. And if it meant he was hiding, he didn't care. For today, at least, Blaine wanted everything to just stop.

Tomorrow. He would deal with everything tomorrow.