Blaine was rather enjoying a regular evening in his dorm. He and Wes and David were lounging about, working on various tasks; David had his history notes spread out all over the floor (with the occasional taped to the wall), Wes was humming, burrowed in his own stack of sheet music (Eric Hutchinson's Rock&Roll in their now possible 9 part harmony, thanks to Kurt's countertenor range), and Blaine was sitting on his bed, scrolling mindlessly through a review on his computer for his Philosophy class's Metaphysics Test (AKA The Grade Killer). His phone was sitting beside him, oddly silent all night. Well, not silent. He was still texting various other friends. There just so happened to be a void of texts from a certain someone that would have usually been hanging with them had it not been a Saturday, and this certain someone decided to go home to spend the weekend with his family and friends.
But other than that it was totally normal.
Actually, it was worrying Blaine a bit. Normally Kurt was always texting him, even if it was just to say Finn's wearing plaid. Again. Kill me now. Not that he was too worried. After all, Kurt was allowed to be too busy with his family and friends to remember to text him. It wasn't like it was his business. They were just friends, after all. And that's all they were ever going to be.
Yup. Him and Kurt. BFFL.
It was alright for Blaine, as Kurt's BFFL, to notice how perfect Kurt's hair was. Or how flawlessly pale his skin was. Or how cute he could be when he was flustered or stressed. Or how those skinny jeans seemed to fit him just right…
Alright, so maybe, just maybe, he had a tiny little more-than-friend-crush on Kurt. And maybe one day Kurt would feel the same. Blaine could hold out hope. Besides, he wasn't going to pressure him. He'd been in a relationship like that and it did not end well. So he'd keep dropping hints, even thought Wes and David kept telling him to, and I quote, "Either jump his bones, get your tongue in his throat, or tell him how you feel. Just anything to stop that creepy googley eyed look whenever you see him or look at your phone."
Their words, not his.
Blaine glanced down at his phone again and pursed his lips. Still nothing. Maybe Kurt's phone died?
The thought made him double check the battery power on his own phone. His pursed lips turned into a scowl at the blinking red battery sign in the top corner of the screen. Groaning a sigh, he slipped his laptop onto the bed and was searching for a place to step onto the floor that wasn't one of David's notes when his phone went off. The sudden activity of it startled Blaine, nearly causing it to vibrate out of his hand. He managed to fumble with it until he could get a look a caller ID.
Unknown Number
Frowning in confusion, he clicked the Talk button.
"Hello?"
"Blaine?"
His heart leaped to his throat. Kurt! A part of him wanted to demand what had taken him so long to get a hold of him and why he was calling him instead of texting like they normally did and why he sounded funny. But that would be unnecessarily overprotective. So instead he settled with a casual,
"What's up, Kurt? Everything all right?"
At the mention of the countertenor's name, Wes and David's head's snapped up and they shared a knowing grin. Which they then shared with Blaine. Who crumpled up one of the notes on the floor and went to throw it at one of them. But he stopped when he heard Kurt's next statement.
"I'm at Lima Memorial."
Blaine nearly dropped the phone again. Kurt was in the hospital? He thought Kurt had sounded strange, but he'd just put it down to something, well, less violent. His imagination went rampant. What if he got into an accident? Or worse, what if Karofsky got a hold of him? What if that Neanderthal was just waiting for Kurt to head back into town so he could—
"I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Blaine—"
There was a loud beeping sound and the line cut. Blaine cursed and checked the screen, only to see it black and, after frantically hitting the turn on button multiple times, see it stay black. With a wordless cry of frustration he threw the phone back onto his bed and made a beeline for his jacket. David and Wes' matching grins vanished, replaced by matching looks of worry.
"Blaine," Wes said slowly. "Is everything al—"
"Kurt's in the hospital," Blaine interrupted, tearing through his closet for his boots. Of course, the one time he actually decides to clean up his room, including putting all of his outdoor clothing in his closet, he manages to have no idea where he put anything. "I need to get to Lima Memorial right now. I don't know what's wrong, but he sounded all strangled and tired and and I need to make sure he's alright because if something is seriously wrong I'm going to—"
"Slow down, Blaine," Wes commanded as he grabbed Blaine by the shoulders and led him away from the now chaotic closet while David resumed the search for him, only moving much more methodical. "I have my keys. David is going to find your shoes. Then we are going to drive to Lima. Before you have a mental break down."
Blaine wasn't really listening. But he did nod and did his best to breath with a little more control before he hyperventilated.
Kurt was in the hospital. Kurt was in the hospital. The boy he most definitely had a crush, or maybe more, on was lying in the hospital, injured, maybe even—
Nope. Not going to think of that. Not going to think of that. Blaine ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the disgusting thickness of gel that came away with it. He absentmindedly wiped it on the back of David's blazer as his friend finally found his shoes and handed them to him. Blaine was hopping out of the door already with only one boot half on. He was already at the front door when Wes and David came running up behind him. The boys were off the school grounds and hurling towards Lima in minutes, ignoring the subfreezing temperatures of the car. David put on the radio, probably trying to distract Blaine from thinking too wildly. But it was way too late for that. Blaine's imagination had taken his mind by storm.
Or, rather, one thought had taken hold over all others and was replaying itself over and over in his mind, each in a different scenario. At first it was at the mall. Then it was while Kurt was on his way back from Mercedes'. Then it was back at McKinley. Sometimes there was nothing but fists. Sometimes baseball bats. Other times there were knives. Worst of times there was… Blaine shuddered and pushed the very idea of the thought out of his mind. But always started with a flash of a red and white letterman jacket and ended with a broken, beautiful boy.
He lost track of time, but it felt like forever and a day before they pulled into the hospital parking lot. The car wasn't even at a full stop before Blaine hastily fumbled with his seatbelt and leaped out the door, not running exactly, but he kept his pace brisk. He breezed in through the doors, Wes and David hot on his heels, and strode up to the woman at the front desk.
"Which room is Kurt Hummel in?" He did his best to keep his tone polite, but judging by the bewildered and confused way she looked at him it must not have come across.
"We're friends of his," David added as the woman clicked away at her computer, casting a glance at Blaine every few seconds.
"He's on the second floor. Room 214," she told him. "But you should know—"
Blaine was already gone with a "Thanks" tossed over his shoulder. He skipped the elevator and headed straight for the stairs, taking them two at a time and practically slamming through the second floor door. He trotted down the hall, counting the room numbers as he went.
210…211…212…213…214!
He paused only a moment to catch his breath and adjust his blazer. He pulled on his worried face, steeled his mind against any possible gruesome and terrifying sight that might greet him, and was ready to either bombard a person with questions or gently pull them from Kurt (if he was awake). That way, if he was prepared, he would be less likely to do something wrong. Like cry. Or get so wobbly legged that he fell. With these thoughts set so firmly in his mind, he strode through the door. And, since he was totally prepared for a worst case scenario, his mind completely blanked at the sight before him.
The first thing he noticed was Finn (whom he recognized from a picture Kurt had shown him). The giant skyscraper of a teenager was sitting cramped in a chair next to the hospital bed, looking over at him with a thoroughly shocked and confused expression. The second thing he saw was Kurt.
Where he was ready to see an IV in the boy's arm and hear the steady beeping of a heart monitor, he was shocked by seeing nothing but a single bruise around his eye and a cast around his arm. No life support. No unconsciousness. Just those blue eyes he'd grown to know so well staring at him, an amused smirk twisting his lips.
"I told you," he rasped to Finn, who just leaned back in the chair and folded his arms over his chest with a lopsided grin.
Blaine opened and closed his mouth a few times, giving enough time for Wes and David to come strolling up behind him.
"This is why you wait for the hospital people to finish talking, Blaine," Wes told him as if he were a toddler, clapping a hand on his shoulder. He propelled his speechless, confused, and extremely relieved friend further into the room. David grabbed the second chair and pulled it up next to Finn, introducing the three Warblers.
"What happened to your hair, Blaine?" Kurt wondered, staring strangely him. Now even more confused, Blaine shuffled to the attached bathroom to look into the mirror. Only to see a flailing black octopus with way more than eight arms trying to eat his head. Blaine gaped. He must have accidentally reshaped it while frantically running his fingers through his hair. Stupid habits…
He went back out into the main room, having tried (and failed) to tame the hungry sea anemone that dared call itself hair and having gained back his voice.
"I seem to have restyled it while wondering why in the world you were in the hospital," he said slowly. Kurt rolled his eyes.
"I tried to tell you I was fine," he reminded the lead Warbler. "But you were the one who hung up on me."
"Actually, my phone did that all by itself," Blaine corrected, leaning against the wall a the end of the hospital bed. "So, before I have some sort of heart failure, why don't you start at the beginning."
"Well," Kurt began, shifting his casted arm. "We—Finn, Puck, and I— were driving home from Rachel's house, who had gotten together New Directions for a sort of mini reunion, when we drove past this big hill. Finn decided that it would be a great idea for us to go sledding. Puck was all for it, even though I mentioned to those two numbskulls that we didn't have sleds. They just grabbed some empty pizza boxes from someone's trash and went for it, probably just trying to prove me wrong. I, of course, decided to wait in the car for them, seeing as they have the attention span of two month old puppies. I figured they'd go down twice, get bored, and want to go home and watch the game or play Call of Duty, or something. Besides, I was not sitting on a disgusting old pizza box in my new jeans and jacket.
"I was in the car for maybe ten minutes, minding my own business, when suddenly those two idiots open my door and manhandled me out. Normally I would have been able to worm my way out and reach the safety of my truck but that crazy exercise schedule Coach Beiste has them on has gotten them freakishly fit. So the next thing I can remember is them dropping me onto one of those revolting old grease sponges and shoving me down the hill. Apparently, I hit a tree. I broke my arm, hurt my throat, got a mild concussion, and I got a giant black eye that's going to take all of my cover up to hide. I called you to tell the Dean that I might have not been back on Monday because the doctors are keeping me here for a few days to make sure my throat's going to be alright."
He glared at his step-brother, who looked away innocently. By now Blaine was massaging the bridge of his nose and Wes and David were shaking their heads.
"That was really dangerous, Finn," Blaine told him quietly. "People die from sledding into trees. It sounds weird, but it's true. You need to be more careful or else someone might get seriously hurt. And Kurt? Next time abandon ship."
There was an awkward pause. Finn looked like he was about to say something when another teenage boy appeared in the doorway, this one sporting a mohawk. The three Warblers had heard enough about Puck and his "badass mohawk" to not have needed a picture reference.
Puck glanced at Finn and Kurt before taking the time to critically examine the Dalton boys. David shifted uncomfortably at the stare and Wes, while simply staring back, would later admit that the guy had freaked him out. When his eyes came to rest on Blaine, he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door frame.
"So Kurt," He asked the injured boy without taking his eyes off of the visibly stressed one. "He your boyfriend?"
