Kurt sat, waiting, in the choir room. Mr. Shue was going to walk in any moment and begin Glee club, and Blaine was nowhere to be found. He bit his lip and glanced around, noting everyone who was there. Rachel argued loudly with Finn, while Brittany and Santana spoke with hushed voices. Mercedes laughed at something Puckerman said and Quinn rolled her eyes. Silently, Kurt took out his phone to check for any new messages. His inbox was empty.
He knew Blaine had left grounds for lunch with Wes and a few other Warblers, promising to be back soon. He had asked Kurt to come along, but he had politely declined, wishing to stay with Mercedes. A thought in the back of his mind was begging for his attention. What if something happened? Nonsense, he would have called... unless it was really bad.
Kurt brushed the thoughts away, not wanting to think of this. Luckily, Mr. Shue walked in at that moment, keeping his attention from thoughts of Blaine. Heading straight for the board in the back, Mr. Shue grabbed a marker and wrote a sloppy word onto it.
"Heart," he read alloud, "that is the key of which great musicians sing their songs. If it comes from the heart, more people are likely to relate."
"What if every song I sing comes from the heart?" Rachel interrupted loudly, lips pursed.
"I'm sure you'll find one that will work for this week," Mr. Shue replied with the voice he often used with Rachel.
Suddenly, Ms. Pillsbury peeked in from the doorway. Her face was grim and a sadness filled her eyes as she looked at Kurt.
"Emma," Mr. Shue said, blinking at her, "what's wrong?"
"Oh, uhm," she stumbled through her words, "the hospital called for, uhm, for Kurt."
His classmates looked at him as he stared blankly at the red headed woman. His mind wouldn't register what she was saying. The hospital. He never had good experiences with hospitals. Was it his father again? The sense of de ja vu shot through him.
"It's Blaine," Ms. Pillsbury told him quietly.
In minutes, his father came to take him to the hospital. They drove in silence, Kurt's chest pounding with his anxiety. What seemed like forever, they reached their destination, Kurt running out of the car and into the dimly lit emergency room. Biting his lip, he walked to the receptionist's desk. She had blonde curls cascading over her kind, freckled face.
"Blaine Anderson?" Kurt mumbled.
She gave him a sympathetic look, which couldn't be good, and opened a little book on her desk. Her manicured finger moved along a list of names until she found the one she was looking for. This whole ordeal seemed to take years to Kurt, who's heart was about to break through his chest.
"Room 394," she told him, a southern drawl weaving through her words.
He nodded and headed in the direction she pointed, resisting the urge to run. When he neared the number 394, he spotted Wes outside the door and jogged to meet him. Before he could speak, he noticed Wes' face. A large bandage was across his forehead and small scratches littered his cheeks. Kurt looked at him, stomach turning.
"Kurt," Wes shook his head and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"What happened? What's wrong? How did this," Kurt gestured to Wes' face, "happen?"
"A car hit us as we were driving back from lunch," he explained, "Blaine took the brunt of it."
Kurt's eyes widened and he pushed the door open, leaving Wes behind him. His heart fell at the sight he saw. In a bed, Blaine lay tattered and broken, his eyes closed. Deep cuts lined his face along with several bandages. His arm and leg were wrapped in casts and his chest moved up and down infrequently, which the heart monitor mirrored by beeping slower than normal. Kurt felt his eyes grow wet and struggled not to shed tears.
He took a small step closer, biting his lip. Suddenly, Blaine's eyes opened to look at Kurt. A small smile spread across his cut lips.
"Hi," Blaine mumbled, his voice hoarse.
Kurt gave him a soft smile and walked closer, peering down at him. Even through it all, Blaine managed to sum up a smile for his boyfriend.
"How are you?" Kurt asked quietly, pulled a chair up to his bed.
"Fine," Blaine replied quickly, making Kurt's eyes narrow. Blaine gave him a weak, sheepish look.
Kurt sighed, but reached for Blaine's un-casted hand. He shook his head for a moment, but didn't say anything. He just listened to the beep of the heart monitor and watched Blaine carefully. After a moment, Blaine made a pained face and the heart monitor sped up. Kurt's eyes widened, and he glanced from his boyfriend to the monitor and back again.
"Blaine?" Kurt whimpered.
He started to get up to get a nurse, but Blaine's fingers tightened around Kurt's hand. They looked at each other and Kurt realized how much he really loved him, the boy dying in the hospital bed. He stayed in his seat, the tears finally leaving his eyes.
"I love you, Kurt," Blaine mumbled quietly, his eyes shiney, as if he would cry too.
Kurt leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to his wounded cheek, the heart monitor faltering, then finally giving out a long, painful noise. He stayed there for a moment, but the sight got too painfull for him to bear. He left, his heart broken, tears flowing freely. It felt as if someone just took out a part of him and smashed it under a hammar in front of his very eyes.
The next day...
Kurt stood in front of the Glee club, waiting for the piano player to begin. Everyone was looking at him solemnly. He sucked in a breath as the notes begin to play.
Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There's always one reason
To feel not good enough
And it's hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memory seeps from my veins
Let me be empty
And weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight
In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there
So tired of the straight line
And everywhere you turn
There's vultures and thieves at your back
And the storm keeps on twisting
You keep on building the lie
That you make up for all that you lack
It don't make no difference
Escaping one last time
It's easier to believe in this sweet madness oh
This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees
In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here
A lone tear fell from his eye, his heart aching. One by one, the Glee club wrapped their arms around him, wishing they knew the right words of comfort. Suddenly, in his pocket, Kurt's phone vibrated. Pulling it out he clicked the message. His eyes widened.
Blaine Anderson:
12:45 p.m.
COURAGE.