Yes I know I haven't updated Hush Little Baby in YONKS. I apologise! I new chapter is half written and I'm trying really hard to churn the rest of it out but it's proving difficult! =(
And another WIP? Am I crazy? Yes.
I hereby DISCLAIM this document of any of its recognisable characters.
"Yes, Dad, I'm on my way home now," sighed Blaine with a fond smile. "Warblers rehearsal ran a bit late."
"Are you driving?" asked the disembodied voice.
"Yes, but I have you on speaker phone," said Blaine. "Don't worry."
"Just checking!" sang the voice.
"Whatever," laughed Blaine. "I'll see you soon, bye!" He let go of the steering wheel with one hand to hang up the phone that was sitting in the holder on the dashboard. With the same movement of his hand he switched on the radio, grinning to himself as it came to life with a song he knew.
He sang along, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the beat as he made his way home. After a moment of thought he swiftly turned into a small grocery shop to pick something up for pudding, knowing it would bring a smile to his dad's face to have something sweet after dinner. He parked his car in the unlit car park, hopping out and locking it before making his way to the small shop, humming under his breath as he went.
Scanning the isles his eyes landed on a treacle tart, his father's favourite. He picked it up with a triumphant grin and made his way to the till. With the pudding hanging from his hand in a plastic bag he made his way out.
Walking back across the car park he wondered to himself why there weren't any lights, it was pretty scary, especially with those looming bushes at the side. Bushes that had something pale in them, just visible through the dim light coming from the shop's window.
Blaine stopped suddenly, heart hammering in his chest. That looked suspiciously like an arm. A human arm.
Blaine felt bile rise in his throat.
He was all ready and prepared to ring the police, not wanting to go over to discover a dead body. But a thought struck him, what if it wasn't a dead person? Rather just an injured person?
The good heart in Blaine could not let this potentially hurt person go without further inspection. He hurriedly threw the plastic bag onto the back seat of his car and shut the door. He then took tentative steps closer to the bush, eyes wide and fists ready in case of an attack.
As he got closer he saw that it was indeed a human arm, an arm that was wrapped around the legs of someone laying in the foetal position, just about hidden from view by the bushes. Blaine edged closer, now squinting in order to take in as much as possible in the dim light.
"E-excuse me?" called out Blaine softly, but the figure did not respond. Blaine could see the tremors running through the body, and sighed in relief when he realised they were still alive. He could now see that it was the body of a boy, or more of a teenager he should say, a very thin boy in ragged clothing that was not suitable for the chilly November air.
Blaine was now close enough to crouch beside the boy and inspect his face.
It was also thin. Thin and pale with dirt smudged cheeks and limp hair falling across the forehead. His eyes were closed and his breaths were ragged and uneven.
"Excuse me?" repeated Blaine, hesitantly reaching out to touch the boy's shoulder. The boy twitched, head turning away from Blaine as though braced for something. "I'm not going to hurt you," said Blaine clearly but gently.
The boy didn't move again, although his fingers seemed to grip tighter to his old jeans.
"I'm going to help you," said Blaine, slightly louder but not aggressive, he needed the boy to understand. He saw the boy's lips move, a very quiet choked noise coming out. He leant in closer, listening carefully.
"...Help." The word was uttered with such desperation that Blaine felt his heart sink and splinter.
"Yes," Blaine said the word with determination. "Yes, I'll help you."
Blaine fumbled in his coat pocket for his phone that he had thought to take with him when he had left the car. With shaking fingers he dialled the emergency number, his other hand keeping a secure hold on the boy's shoulder.
The lady on the other end of the phone call asked him which service he required.
"Ambulance, please," replied Blaine, attempting to keep his voice calm and clear as he recited the location of the car park and condition of the boy. His father was a doctor and so Blaine vaguely knew the most important things to focus on.
"Yes, he's breathing," said Blaine in reply to her questions. He was told not to try to move him in case anything was broken before the call was ended and all Blaine had to do now was wait.
"You'll be alright," soothed Blaine, stroking the boy's collarbone with his thumb. "Help is on its way."
"...Help..." the boy whispered, barely audible.
"Can you tell me your name?" asked Blaine, leaning forwards to gently coo the words. "I'm Blaine."
The boy opened his mouth, but any words were covered with a shuddering gasp. Not knowing how else to help, Blaine sang softly, ever-so-gently tucking the boy's golden brown hair behind his ear. He continued to sing until the ambulance arrived, backing away as the paramedics took over, hauling out a stretcher and other bits and pieces of equipment.
"You're the one who found him?" asked one of the paramedics brusquely, turning to Blaine.
"Yes," said Blaine, watching as the boy weakly tried to push at the hands of the paramedics with utter terror etched into his face. "But I don't know how he got here, or who he is."
"Right," she nodded, frowning. "Thank you for calling."
"Wait," said Blaine as she turned away. "Can I come too? I need to make sure he's okay."
"Are you eighteen?"
"No, but-"
"Sorry, kid," she sighed. "I'm afraid I can't allow that."
"Please," begged Blaine. "I'm Dr. Anderson's son."
It's all about who you know, thought Blaine wryly as he was allowed to sit in the passenger seat, smiling politely at the driver. The sirens were loud but the vehicle travelled quickly and smoothly through the traffic, coming to a smooth stop outside the hospital.
Blaine was asked to wait in the waiting room until they were allowed to relay any information of the other boy's condition. He watched the green-clad paramedics unload the boy from the ambulance, all hooked up to wires and oxygen masks, and push him through a pair of double doors and out of sight.
Blaine sank into one of the hard chairs with a sigh and pulled his phone from his pocket.
"Hey, Dad," he greeted.
"What's up? Are you stuck in traffic?"
"No, listen..." he hesitated, "Could you come to the hospital?"
"Are you okay?" asked his dad immediately.
"I'm fine," reassured Blaine. He explained the situation to his father, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Right. I'm on my way."
"Thanks, Dad," breathed Blaine. "Love you."
"Love you too." And he hung up.
Blaine held his phone in both his hands and drooped his head forwards. He hoped his dad would get there soon.
"Blaine!" called his dad, rushing in with a gust of cold air and sitting down next to his son. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," he repeated with a tight smile. "I'm just...worried." He turned to look at his father with wide eyes. "He was so scared. I just...I dunno..."
"You did the right thing," said his dad quietly, wrapping an arm around Blaine's shoulders. "I'll go talk with the nurses and see if I can find out what's going on."
"Thanks, Dad," he whispered, watching his father stand and purposefully stride to the reception, slipping into 'Dr. Anderson' mode. He was a handsome man with the same dark curling hair as his son and cheekbones and a jawline that Blaine terribly hoped he would develop as he got older.
Between his father's general charm and also his position at the hospital Blaine was certain he would get the information he wanted.
"Well?" asked Blaine as his father returned, but did not sit down.
"He's currently having tests, and then they will probably take him to the intensive care unit," he explained. "But no one knows who he is, he won't say anything. They don't know if he can't or-"
"He can," interrupted Blaine. "When I found him he kept saying 'Help'."
"Hmm, perhaps you can get him to talk," suggested his dad. "At least, that excuse might allow me to let you see him."
"Please, dad," said Blaine pitifully. "I just wanna make sure he's okay."
"I'll do my best," said his dad earnestly. "I'm going to go and talk to the doctors on shift now."
"Okay," nodded Blaine and he was again left to wait in the plain waiting room, occupied with people just as quiet as him.
It took a long time and Blaine's butt cheeks were starting to go numb from the plastic chair, but he was finally allowed into the IC unit to see the boy. His father stopped him outside the room as they applied hand sanitiser to their palms, rubbing it thoroughly between their fingers.
"Listen, Blaine," he started with a deep breath. "The boy, he's really not okay."
Blaine nodded to show he understood.
"From what the other doctors have told me his tests show serious signs of malnutrition, abuse and...he's blind and partially deaf."
"Oh my..." breathed Blaine. "That's horrible, abuse?"
"Probably," replied his dad with a grim look. "It's lucky you found him, Blaine. I'm not sure how much longer he would have survived out there."
Blaine sucked a breath in. The impact of his actions suddenly hitting him.
"Can...can I see him now?"
"Sure," said his dad, opening the door and letting Blaine go through before him.
The IC unit was a large, square room with sections cut off with pale green curtains and a handful of nurses and doctors milling about between the many beds, most of which were hidden from view by the curtains.
Blaine's father put a hand on his shoulder and lead him to the end to a bed that claimed to be number '8', the number printed in black on the end of the bed.
The boy looked very different from when Blaine had first discovered him. The dirt smudging his face was gone, only to reveal a long bruise across his left cheek. His eyes were still close and a multitude of wires were poked into the frail body, a feeder tube taped under his nose.
"He's just coming round from his last dose of painkillers," the nurse informed Blaine's dad, a high authority even without his uniform. "He should wake up soon, but we may have to dose him again if he starts panicking."
"Thank you, Kiara." Blaine's dad nodded politely and smiled at the young girl. "We'll call if we need you."
"Thank you, Doctor." She smiled in return before shooting one last glance at the sleeping boy before leaving, closing the curtains behind her.
"How deaf is 'partially deaf'?" asked Blaine, referring to his father's previous words.
"As far as can be told at this moment; completely deaf in his right ear and hard of hearing in his left," replied his dad, sitting on one of the chairs provided at the side of the bed. "It's not certain how accurate that is at the moment, though."
Blaine nodded and took the other seat on the opposite side of the bed.
"Do you think he can hear us?"
"Probably not yet, but when he wakes," said his dad.
Blaine reached out hesitantly, gently stroking a finger down the back of the boy's pale hand. The hand twitched slightly and Blaine looked up sharply at his father who simply nodded and smiled. Blaine trailed his finger down the boy's hand again, watching his face. He started slightly when the eyes of the boy opened blearily, a stunning sky blue that held a certain unnatural paleness to them.
"Hey," said Blaine softly, shifting closer to the boy's ear which luckily happened to be his left. "I'm Blaine, do you remember me?" Blaine continued to very gently caress the boy's hand in what he hoped was a reassuring presence. The boy shifted his head very slightly so that his ear was angled more towards Blaine and his hand twitched again, but made no effort to move away.
"Can you hear me?" asked Blaine, moving his hand so it completely covered the boy's, as though to warm the cold fingers with his own.
The boy moved his mouth slightly, sucking in a breath before breathing out, "Help..."
"Yes," said Blaine shifting closer to ensure the boy heard his words. "That's why you're here. They'll help you, I promise."
"Promise," the boy's voice was feeble and weak.
"I promise," repeated Blaine, now moving his hand so it was underneath the boy's, cradling it. Blaine's heart nearly jumped out his chest as the boy's fingers moved slowly and unsteadily to curl around Blaine's hand in a light hold.
Blaine looked up to beam at his father, who was looking back with a look of affection for his son. He hadn't intervened, trusting Blaine and watching his careful actions with a certain sense of pride.
The boy turned his head towards Blaine and closed his eyes again, exhaling softly as his fingers around Blaine's hands went slack so they were simply resting, his face somehow more peaceful than before.