This was written around midnight. In under ten minutes. So there's a high chance it sucks. If you still want to read, be my guest...but you have been warned.
Kurt steadied himself in front of the mirror in the girl's bathroom, carefully parting the meticulously styled hair on the side of his head. Shit. He winced as he caught a glimpse of lines of drying blood from the impact of his head on the sharp edge of the locker door. He turned on the faucet and let the water flow over his fingers, which he then raised to his head, trying to gently wash away the blood that stuck to his hair. Unfortunately, the prodding of his fingers only served to re-open the cuts, and he pressed a paper towel against them, cursing under his breath. Damnit, Karofsky.
His phone buzzed with an incoming text suddenly. His fingers scrabbled to open it without knocking it into the sink, and he found himself praying it wasn't another threat like the ones that were becoming more and more frequent. He looked down at the glowing screen, and breathed out a sigh of relief. Thank god. It was just a message from Mercedes, informing him that he was late for glee. He tapped out a reply, promising to be at the choir room soon. He gave a last glance in the mirror, smoothing his hair down, once more covering the cuts, before shouldering his bag and heading down the hallway for Glee.
He had been standing at his locker, fixing his Dolce and Gabbana tie, when it happened. The set of footsteps coming up behind him should have warned him. But he hadn't noticed them, until their hands were on his shoulders, sending him slamming backwards into the edge of the locker door. His head rebounded off sickeningly and spots filled his vision momentarily. The two jocks were already far down the hallway, laughing and high-fiving.
"Sorry I was late, Mr. Schue," Kurt murmured, slipping into the choir room, hoping that his head had stopped bleeding since he left the bathroom.
The teacher waved him off with a swift movement of the hand. "It's fine, Kurt. Now-" He clapped his hands together, "I have a great song for you guys to sing thought out!"
"More Journey," Mercedes muttered to Tina.
"Nope." Mr Schue looked genuinely proud of himself. "Thriller!"
There was a general outburst of mixed feelings amongst the group of teenagers. Mike immediately jumped to his feet, cheering, and swept Tina into a tight hug, whereas Rachel frowned, contemplating the idea that the song involved no female lead for her to sing. Kurt groaned inwardly and slouched down in his seat, trying to ignore the painful throbbing of a headache that had started to creep up on him. Dancing. With a headache. Just perfect.
Mr. Schue smiled, but motioned for Mike and Tina to sit down. "Okay, okay, that's not all the news. I figured who better to teach the dancing then…our very own Mike Chang!"
Scattered applause broke out as Mike leaped down to the center of the room. "Everybody up!" He yelped excitedly, tapping his foot impatiently as people rose from their seats.
Kurt felt fatigue pulling down on him as he stumbled through the motions, and he kept blinking sporadically, attempting to free his mind from the numbing fog forcing itself upon him. His world spun slightly, and he stumbled into Tina, who gave a small shout as she caught both him and herself, keeping them from hitting the floor.
The music stopped. "Kurt? Tina? Are you okay?" Mr. Schue asked.
Tina nodded immediately, and much of the attention turned to Kurt. "Kurt?" Mr. Schue asked gently.
"Yes," Kurt proclaimed hurriedly, fixing his coat.
"You sure? You're looking a little off your game." Mr. Schue pressed.
"I'm fine." Kurt dismissed the attention with a wave of his hand.
The music began again, and Kurt attempted to focus his mind completely on the task. However, this attempt was marred by the feel of something wet on the back of his head. He glanced to make sure that no one was looking, then cautiously pressed a hand against where the cuts were. When he pulled it away, scarlet beads of blood danced on his fingertips. Shit. The blackness, which had been threatening him for so long, finally closed in on him, and he felt the side of his face collide with hard tiling before the blessed nothingness overtook him.
"Kurt!" The entire glee club turned around at Tina's scream and the loud thunk of a head connecting with the floor.
"All right guys, move back, give him some space." Mr. Schue implored, gently pushing back. "Kurt?" He murmured. "Kurt, can you hear me?" The teacher slid a hand under the boy's head, then pulled it back, and the Glee Club cringed collectively as they saw the rusty red substance staining his shirt where Kurt's head had lay.
"As the daughter of a well-respected doctor, I feel it is in my place to suggest we call for an ambulance if he doesn't wake up soon," Rachel announced, but her voice lacked its usual bravado.
"What happened?" Artie ventured to ask.
"It's like in football when people start sleeping standing up and then they fall over and freak out…" Brittany commented quietly, wrapping a blonde curl around her finger. Everybody looked to her.
"What did you say?" Asked Mr. Schue.
"I said, 'It's like in foot-"
"We got it, Britt, thanks," Quinn interjected, glancing meaningfully at the football players, who glanced among themselves.
"Concussion." It was Puck that supplied the answer. When the Glee club looked at him, he shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "It's what Brittany's talking about. It's what's probably wrong with Hummel."
"How would he get a concussion?" Santana asked critically.
A low moan rose from the crumpled form on the floor, and Kurt's eyes slowly blinked open. "Kurt?" Mr. Schue ventured. "How are you feeling?"
Kurt blinked, confusion evident in his green-blue eyes. "…tired…" He murmured, blinking rapidly.
"Like the football players," Brittany whispered.
"Puck?"
"Hm?" Puck looked up as Mr. Schue spoke his name.
"I'm guessing you know how to recognize a concussion?"
"Yeah…" Puck scratched the back of his head, then sighed. "Fine." He knelt beside the fallen teen, peering into his eyes. "Oh. Yeah. Hummel, dude, I wouldn't go to sleep if I were you."
"….but…mm…tired.." Kurt tried to protest, his words slurring as his eyes drifted shut again.
Puck snapped his fingers in front of the other boys face. "Wake up!"
Kurt struggled to open his eyes, eventually succeeding.
"How'd you get the cuts on your head?" The taller teen asked, desperately searching for a conversation to keep the other awake.
"…locker…"
Puck looked down at Kurt, bemused. "How do you cut open your head and get a concussion from a locker?"
"…you should…know…" Kurt's eyes fluttered shut again, and Puck wasted no time in snapping his fingers once more.
"Oh." Puck tried to brush away the feeling of lingering guilt. "But who did it this time?"
"….Karofsky…" The boy gave a shuddering groan and closed his eyes, his voice trailing off.
"Kurt?" Puck asked, shedding the use of the other's surname. "Kurt?"
The sirens in the distance grew louder, even as the uncomfortable, stressful silence of the choir room grew until an explosion of sound became inevitable. The sound came in the form of the paramedics bursting into the room, a flurry of activity happening around the fallen Glee Clubber.
"Puck?"
The teen turned to face his teacher. "Hm?"
"You want to ride in the ambulance with him?"
Puck shook his head. "Nah."
Mr. Schue gave him a look of disapproval, a look that showed his displeasure in Puck's apparent lack of interest in the welfare of his glee mate.
If only he knew. Puck gave a grim smile as he curled his hands into fists, stalking out of the choir room. Karofsky better pray to whatever barbaric deity he worshiped, because, juvie or no juvie, Noah Puckerman would be paying him a visit.