Author's Note: Someone prompted "sick!blaine, I prefer angst" and this is what happened. Welp. Sorry, guys.
"You're sick again?" Blaine could hear the pout in Kurt's voice over the phone and his heart palpitated wildly, fluttering at the mental image of his boyfriend's pillowy lips. "You have the worst immune system!"
"I know, I know," Blaine agreed and coughed into his hand, loud and wet, quickly groaning in dramatic annoyance afterwards.
"That's...what? The eighth time in four months?" Kurt pondered aloud, stretching the words out as he recalled the instances with growing concern.
"Something like that," Blaine brushed it off with practiced nonchalance. "Did I miss anything important at school?"
"The casting list went up," Kurt trailed off, teasingly.
"And?" Blaine drew out the last letter of the word in eager, childlike anticipation.
"And," Kurt mimicked Blaine's pronunciation of the word, "You're Jean Valjean!"
"Really?!" Blaine's voice came dangerously close to Kurt's usual octave before he launched himself into a coughing fit. "Let's just hope I get over this cold before rehearsals start up," he wheezed and rubbed his chest.
"Have you gone to the doctor yet?" Kurt tried to keep the concern in his voice to a minimum.
"Yeah," Blaine coughed again, hard enough to leave his throat feeling raw and bloody. "The other times I got sick."
Cough! Cough!
"Maybe you should go again," Kurt suggested, hoping he wouldn't have to fight Blaine on the issue. "I could take you—"
Cough! COUGH!
Blaine's phone clattered to the floor, making Kurt cringe as the sound cracked through the receiver like a whip and assaulted his eardrum. Soon after—once the ringing in his ear had stopped—he heard retching and a wet splash before his boyfriend shuffled back to the phone and croaked out, "Kurt?"
"Yes, Blaine?"
"I think I need to go to the hospital," he stated calmly.
Kurt—on the other hand—wasn't quite as subtle when he screeched out, "What? Why?"
"Because I've just vomited blood," Blaine still spoke calmly and it was the lack of urgency in his voice that started to worry Kurt more than anything. "My dad isn't home, can you come get me?"
"Of course I can, I'll be right there!"
Blaine disconnected before Kurt could get another word in. Kurt quickly scrawled out a note for his dad—lines barely resembling the words they were meant to be—Taking Blaine to hospital, be home later, and raced to his car. He spent the entire drive over to Blaine's thinking dreadful thoughts and preparing himself for the absolute worst-case scenarios.
"I don't know if they'll let us all in at once," Kurt explained as he wandered down the hospital halls with most of the members of New Directions trailing behind him. Just two hours ago, he'd made the announcement during Glee club about Blaine's hospitalization the day before and—through unanimous decision—everyone decided that visiting him was far more important than prepping for the next competition. Tina and Mike spoke to each other in hushed whispers, farther back from the rest of the group with Artie wheeling along before them.
"What's wrong with him?" Puck asked as he—for reasons unknown to all—peered into every room they passed.
"I don't know," Kurt conceded, "I couldn't find anything out yesterday through the hospital. If they told Blaine anything, he didn't pass it along to me."
"What about his parents?" Quinn inquired and watched Puck out of the corner of her eye for a passing moment.
"His mom passed away when he was younger," Kurt rounded a corner, his voice quiet. "He doesn't like to talk about it though. And his dad," he frowned suddenly, "Actually, I didn't see his dad at all yesterday. And I was here until visiting hours were over."
"From what he's told me, they don't really get along," Rachel interjected. She clung to Finn's hand, holding herself up as straight as her back would allow as they walked. "But I mean, that's no excuse. Maybe he was here earlier in the day when we were at school?"
"Maybe…" Kurt came to a halt outside of room 221A. "Maybe we should go in pairs—"
"Screw that," Puck announced and started herding everyone into the room. "Anderson, look who's here to see you!"
Blaine pushed himself upright, leaning back against a pile of pillows that matched his pale complexion. A bright smile overtook his face as each of his friends took a vacant spot around his bed. "Whose idea was this?" he scanned the mixture of worried and nervous faces until his eyes fell on Kurt.
"Don't look at me," Kurt held his hands up. "Finn suggested it and everyone took to saying, 'I was going to suggest that!' all at once."
"You guys," Blaine simpered and—had it not been for his sickly pallor—probably would have been blushing.
"So, uh, it's not anything...contagious, is it?" Sam cut in.
"Sam!" Mercedes reached out and pushed his shoulder.
"Like you didn't expose yourself to filth every day," Santana snorted. "You probably had more of a chance of catching something in that grimy—"
"What's this word mean?" Brittany's bubbly perpetual confusion killed any momentum Sam and Santana's argument might have had. In her hand was a clipboard and she stared down at it, her brows furrowed in concentration, as her finger held the place of the word she was struggling with.
"Let me see that," Kurt wedged himself between Brittany and Santana.
"Possible Mmm—Mun—" Brittany started and then stopped, looking to Santana helplessly. Kurt's face dropped, however, as he read over the three words: Possible Munchausen's Syndrome.
"What word, Britt?" Santana held her girlfriend's helpless gaze for a moment before turning her attention to the clipboard. Kurt swiped it away from Brittany before Santana could get a decent look at it, earning him startled and perplexed looks from everyone in the room.
"Guys, can you—I'd like to have a minute alone with Blaine," Kurt hugged the chart close to his chest and Blaine looked up at him from the bed with curious eyes.
"Uhh, sure, Kurt," Finn studied his step-brother's distressed features. "We'll wait outside, right everyone?"
Sam looked to Brittany; Brittany to Santana; Santana to Puck; Puck to Quinn; Quinn to Rachel; Rachel to Tina; Tina to Mike; Mike to Artie; Artie to Mercedes and then all eyes fell on Finn in silent, curious protest. "Right, everyone?" Finn repeated with more force before holding the door open for everyone to leave.
"Is it that bad? Is he going to die? Was that what the word meant?" Brittany asked sadly and only received Santana's hand upon her shoulder as consolation.
When the room was finally empty Kurt turned to Blaine, and let his defenses fall, crumpling before him, "You did this to yourself?"
"What?" Blaine tried to sound shocked, which—in turn—forced him to come off as over the top in his surprise.
"You made yourself sick?" Kurt still clung to the clipboard as though it would emit the answers he needed; the closer his skin was to the object of truth the easier it would be to sink in, or so he rationalised.
"You think I want to be sick, Kurt?" Blaine raised his voice, but even Kurt could see that there was more panic attached to his words than honest aggression.
"I think that, maybe," he hesitated, holding Blaine's gaze, "You don't want to get better."
"That's—why would I—" Blaine's voice cracked, "Kurt." Kurt set the clipboard down on the bed and crossed an arm over his chest, bringing his other hand to rest over his mouth as he stared at Blaine. "Kurt," Blaine pleaded and reached his arms out to him.
"How many times have you been to the hospital in the past year, Blaine?" he lowered his hand slightly to keep himself from accidentally stifling his question beneath his fingers.
"I don't know," Blaine still kept his arms stretched out to Kurt. "A few, I don't know."
"Fifteen, it says fifteen on that," Kurt nodded at the clipboard. "Nevermind the fact that I didn't know about any of them, and we've been dating for the past six months, Blaine."
"Kurt, please—"
"I think I need to go home, Blaine," he interrupted with quiet urgency.
"No, Kurt, please stay. Don't—"
"I'll call your dad again and leave a message that you're still here," Kurt turned around to leave, biting down on his knuckles.
"He doesn't care what happens to me!" Blaine yelled desperately and dropped his arms. "He hasn't since my—" he coughed loudly and the sudden onslaught of tears made Kurt turn around. "Since my mom died," Blaine added in a strained whisper.
"And so you make yourself sick for what? His attention?" Kurt asked incredulously.
Blaine said nothing at first and they spent the next few seconds in stretched silence; Blaine's hiccups, coughs, and sniffles were the only sounds filling the room. Finally, he gave Kurt the slightest of nods—just barely dipping his head down in affirmation—and said, "It used to work. At first, when I was younger. I never did it on purpose in the beginning, but when I was sick…he remembered that he had a son."
"And now?" Kurt knew he was venturing into dangerous territory here, regardless of Blaine's answer.
"And now I've ended up in the hospital fifteen times and he's only been with me the first two or three," Blaine sniffled loudly. "I'm not—you're looking at me like I'm crazy. I'm not crazy—"
"You're sick," Kurt replied softly.
"I'm sick," Blaine repeated, and rubbed his eyes.
Kurt continued to stare at Blaine, reminding himself that he needed to choose his words carefully. "I notice you, Blaine," he started out slowly, trembling voice matching his trembling knees threatening to buckle and send him face first onto the linoleum. "I'm no replacement for your dad, but I notice you," Kurt forced himself to keep his distance, worrying he might feed into Blaine's "patient-in-need-of-care" fantasy by offering consolation and understanding. "But this stops. Now."
Blaine nodded slowly before quietly asking, in his creaky broken tone of voice, "You're not even going to hug me though, Kurt?" His eyes were irritated, his cheeks stained rouge and, of course, all Kurt wanted to do was gather Blaine up in his arms and press kisses onto his skin claiming each one worked like medicine but—
"No," Kurt stated firmly. "Not until you're better and out of here. I don't want you associating being sick with extra attention from me anymore."
"Are you still going to leave?" Blaine looked like a wounded puppy and Kurt's heart lurched every time he caught sight of his boyfriend.
"I'll stay for a few more minutes with everyone then I'm going to leave with them," he took a few steps towards the door and paused with his hand on the cold, steel handle. "How did you—when you threw up—"
"Been taking a bunch of Advil the past few weeks," Blaine mumbled, looking away in shame. "Too much of it can cause stomach bleeding."
Kurt nodded, burying his horror deep beneath a solemn face, and opened the door to signal everyone else come back inside. "Few more minutes then we all leave? Blaine's pretty tired," Kurt addressed everyone. They all agreed in some form, nodding or answering "yes, yes of course" as they filed into the room past him. Once everyone had made their way inside Kurt glanced over at Blaine—who was already putting on a happy face for all of his friends—and thought dauntingly about the long road to recovery ahead of them.