A/N: Written for a prompt on the glee_angst_meme.
Blaine wasn't sure how the situation deteriorated so quickly.
He was jogging across the quad to get to his calculus class when his arm was suddenly jerked to the side and he was manhandled until his back was shoved against one of the larger oak trees along the paved pathway.
He blinked blankly for a few seconds before his eyes locked on to the two and a half inch diameter baseball bat dangling under his nose and lifted to see the kid he and Kurt confronted a few weeks ago. He slowly became aware of the other's (Karofsky?) rapid speech and the intensity of the glare directed at him. The other was agitated—obviously—saying things like keep your faggoty self away from the Hummel kid, which made absolutely no sense to Blaine, and if he told anyone about what happened between him and Hummel, he'd mess him up. This Blaine could understand, was able to distinguish the raw fear hovering beneath the anger and bravado the taller teen was trying to exude, and Blaine thinks he's been at Dalton too long. Because Dalton Academy was its own form of Utopia and gradually over the years had become a safe haven where Blaine felt comfortable enough to just be himself. A place where he could have civil conversations with people who listened openly and did not throw slurs or fists because of who he preferred to sleep with behind his bedroom doors.
It led to Blaine saying things like "You're not alone, Dave. These are confusing times for everyone and if you would like to talk to someone—me, your school's counselor—we can do that" and believe—actually believe—that there was a chance Karofsky would listen to him rather than acknowledge that the other was one small nudge from careening over the edge.
It took only a split second for Blaine to remember that reality wasn't Dalton, but by then he was crouched on the ground, pain radiating from his left arm as he choked on his breath.
Things got a little hazy after that.
There was shouting and a lot of movement and Blaine couldn't breathe because his arm just got smashed by a fucking baseball bat and it fucking hurt and he didn't think he'd have to do this again.
When a hand fell on his shoulder he instinctively flinched away from the contact, ignored how much it hurt as he scrabbled backwards until his back was against bark and said "Nn-no, don't—please stop. I can't—"
"Blaine."
Blaine forced his eyes open, saw Wes kneeling in front of him with his arms outstretched, but not touching him, and looking more worried than the time he had forgotten his girlfriend's birthday. Blaine's chest continued to heave, his body seemingly unable to draw in enough breath and the edges of his vision began to turn grey.
"Blaine, man, calm down, all right? You're okay—you're safe. We got the bastard away from you."
When Blaine managed to process the words, his eyes shifted away from Wes and noted the crowd of classmates around him all looking equally concerned and angry and Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, the fingers of his right hand digging into grass and dirt as he clenched them into a fist. He inhaled a single, shuddering breath in an attempt to calm down. It took ten more breaths and Wes' hand over his before he could.
"Blaine?"
"My arm's broken," he finally said with a level of certainty that caused Wes' eyes to harden and the grip on his good hand to tighten.
"We've called the cops," Wes assured him. "An ambulance is on its way too."
Blaine laughed. It was guttural and raw and it made more than one person uncomfortable. "I'm such an idiot," he said because he was. How arrogant was he to believe he was capable to convince an extremely closeted and volatile jock that it was okay to be gay? He was just a kid. A kid who had run away from his problems and fooled himself into thinking he could help Kurt because in retrospect there were so many things he could have done that he didn't (and now regretted) and why not have Kurt do what he couldn't? Kurt was so much stronger than Blaine. Deep down Blaine was still that thirteen year old kid who hid in his bedroom, scribbling everything he couldn't say into a black bound notebook and wishing things could be different.
"The only idiot I see is that ass Karl, Jake, and Matt pounded into the ground before hauling to Principal Anderson's office," Wes spat out, shaking his head in fury. "Fucking hell, how'd he even get in here?"
"The last time I checked," Blaine drew out slowly, "Kurt didn't have much trouble getting on to the school grounds and considering how bad a spy he was, I'm assuming our security isn't all that up to par." The lengthy explanation left him a bit breathless, and Blaine didn't (wouldn't) say anything else even when Wes asked if he knew who the psycho was. He could feel the shock beginning to wear away and the intense throbbing in his arm brought a wave of nausea that had him swallowing convulsively.
"Whoa there," Wes said as Blaine slumped forward and into the other, unable to hold his weight up anymore with his right arm.
"I can't do this again, Wes," Blaine stated hollowly into the other's shoulder so only Wes could hear. Wes' lips thinned as he supported his friend's weight against his chest and heard the sirens in the distance.
"You won't have to," Wes said, one arm wrapped securely around Blaine's waist while the palm of his other arm rested solidly behind the other's neck. "We've got you."
Blaine swallowed past the growing lump in his throat and nodded his head once in acknowledgment, wanting to believe him and finding he was unable to think of any reason why he couldn't.
A/N: Continued in "Let Sleeping Dogs Lie"