Kurt stared down in horror. He had just ruined a perfectly good pair of Marc Jacobs loafers, and seriously maimed Blaine's navy blue converse sneakers. He reached a shaking hand into his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped the vomit from his mouth and chin.

"I told you we shouldn't have gone on Mantis!" He moaned to Blaine, who was trying to shake the remnants of Kurt's lunch off of his shoes.

"And I told you not to eat that churro till after we rode this one." Blaine retorted halfheartedly. In truth he felt pretty bad for Kurt, who wasn't overly fond of roller coasters in the first place, and had now just done two of the things he hated the most-thrown up in public, and ruined a pair of shoes. "Look, let's get cleaned up, okay? We're standing in the middle of Cedar Point, with barf on our shoes. People are staring."

Kurt nodded, arms crossed against his stomach, still a little doubled over. "By all means then. Thank god I brought wet-wipes."

With that, the two boys hurried away to the nearest restrooms. Fortunately for Blaine, Kurt, and the Cedar Point custodial staff, it wasn't a long walk. When Blaine and Kurt walked in, a vile stench hit them. It was worse than being tossed into the fullest dumpster on a hot August day. Blaine winced, and Kurt cringed, before running to the trashcan and gagging again.

"Holy crap! It reeks in here." Blaine commented before turning his attention to Kurt, whose head was still over the trashcan. "Are you okay, babe?"

He was answered by some unearthly noises from his boyfriend, who was obviously throwing up again. Finally, Kurt emerged. "Are you talking to me, or the trashcan?" he muttered as he washed his face with the restroom's paper towels, crappy, weird-smelling water, and his travel-sized Cleansing Facial Wash from L'Occitane.

Blaine chuckled. "What do you think?" He peeled his shoes off quickly, trying to touch them as little as possible. "Pass the wetwipes?"

Kurt tossed the wet wipes across the room to Blaine, who caught them easily, surprised by Kurt's aim. "Woah, Kurt! Where'd you learn to throw like that? Your stint on the football team?"

Kurt shook his head. "No. Baseball. When I was ten my dad decided that I needed to spend my summer doing something other than playing Debutant Ball with my action figures and stealing issues of Vogue from the library. So, since my mom wasn't around to convince him otherwise, I was signed up for Little League. It was absolutely dreadful-lots of dust and spitting-but I learned to throw pretty fast. When you sound like a girl, you don't want to throw like one."

Blaine had to laugh as he pictured a young Kurt in a baseball uniform, pitching to some tough looking redneck kid. "Well, it worked."

Kurt nodded. "Yeah. I think it was my dad's last attempt to convince himself that I was straight. He gave up on that the day he saw me doing my hair in the dugout." Although he seemed a little rueful, Kurt let out a chuckle. "That was my first and last season of baseball. He let me go to theatre camp the next summer, though."

The two boys continued to chat as they cleaned off their shoes, Kurt bemoaning the state of his loafers, and Blaine asking why Kurt had brought shoe polish in the first place. ("It's an amusement park, Blaine! Not exactly synonymous with cleanliness. Did you look at those footpaths? Atrocious!") Their conversation seemed to take Kurt's mind off his stomach, although he did seem a bit dizzy.

"I know there's a toothbrush in here somewhere!" Kurt muttered as he rooted through his satchel, holding a travel-tube of whitening toothpaste between his teeth. "I could've sworn…"

This sent Blaine into another fit of bemused laughter. "Oh my god, Kurt Who brings dental hygiene products to Cedar Point?"

Kurt turned to Blaine, held up his bedazzled toothbrush, and winked. "The guy who wants to kiss his boyfriend during the fireworks show."

Blaine grinned at the mischievous look glinting in Kurt's blue eyes. "Do we have to wait that long?"

They gravitated towards each other, painfully unaware of the opening door. "Faggots!" A frighteningly gleeful voice interrupted their embrace. "Hey, Nick! Tom! Get in here and see this! These fags are freaking making out in here!"

Kurt and Blaine snapped apart from their innocent embrace, and became aware of the three beefy guys standing in the door way. They were obviously frat boys, probably from OSU. They looked like the type that majored in booze, football, sex, and fights. They also looked a little demented.

"Damn." Blaine whispered. Kurt couldn't have agreed more.

The three men advanced upon Blaine and Kurt. Kurt backed away, stiffening. Blaine steeped forward slightly. In his public high school career, he had learned a couple things about fights.

The beefiest guy threw the first punch, straight into Blaine's gut. Blaine grunted, but returned a blow to the man's broad left shoulder. This made him really mad. "Get 'em!" He declared to his cronies. He stepped back to rub his shoulder, letting his pals attack Blaine. Nobody noticed Kurt frozen in the corner, face screwed into the expression that meant tears were on their way.

Blaine got in a few good knocks before he was on the ground. His nose was bleeding, and he felt dizzy. He lay on the floor, trying to catch his breath, as the group's leader made his way over, and plopped his lardy self down on Blaine, bouncing up and down, chanting "Fag-got, fag-got, fag-got" over and over. Fury boiled in Kurt's chest he really hated that word.

"STOP!" The word leapt from Kurt's throat as he sent himself sailing at the boy on top of Blaine. He gave the homophobe a swift kick in the groin, using the foot that had landed McKinley several of its rare football wins. This time, he didn't even need 'Single Ladies'. Sputtering, he hollered for help, while one of the sidekicks-Tom?- sat at El Beefo's side. The other man was all over Kurt. With a high-pitchedc yell worthy of any soprano, Kurt dodged the fists long enough to blow the barely conscious Blaine a kiss before screwing open his tube of toothpaste, and squirting it in the offender's squinty eyes. "Never, ever, mess with my boyfriend." He said, leaning down to assist Blaine. "It's-it's okay. I've got you. I'm here."

Park security burst in. "Hands up!" They seemed to guess the situation, although the trio tried to explain otherwise.

"Those two little fags attacked us, man! We were defending ourselves." they yelled as handcuffs were clipped on. "You weren't here! This is bullshit!"

The cops weren't interested in the protests. One radioed an ambulance, while the two others started hauling the Frat Boys away. "We weren't there, but some dude in the doorway caught it all. He got video after calling the police. It'll make good evidence in your trial." By now the third cop was examining Blaine.

"Is he okay?" Kurt was trying valiantly not to cry. He had done well, he knew that. Blaine…Blaine would pull through. He had to.

The cop looked up at Kurt, assessing his face. "He's not great. He's got a couple broken ribs, and most likely a concussion. But your friend will be fine. You were brave, kid."

"Boyfriend." Kurt corrected, surprising himself. Blaine wasn't conscious enough to hear him, Kurt was sure of that, but he needed to hear himself say it.

The cop raised his eyebrows slightly, but nodded. "Medics are on their way. You can ride in the ambulance with him. We need to call his family-you got a phone number?"

Kurt rattled off Blaine's home phone number. He gathered up Blaine's shoes, and his own wet wipes and soap. The toothbrush had somehow ended up in a filthy urinal, so he ignored it. The medics lifted Blaine onto a stretcher, talking to one another in urgent, medical voices. One pretty female walked up to Kurt and nodded to the boy on the stretcher. "They told me what you did for your boyfriend. That's so cool…I know what it's like…if someone tried to get my girlfriend, I'd do the same thing. You were awesome."

Kurt blushed at the praise, and sighed in relief. Blaine was in good hands. "Thanks. That means a lot."

The woman continued "Go ahead and hop in. You can ride beside him. The doctors will want to look at you, too."

Kurt didn't need to be told twice. He limped into the ambulance, grabbed the seat closest to Blaine, and took his boyfriend's blood-coated hand. He pushed Blaine's hair off of his sweaty forehead, humming some Katy Perry just for Blaine, who still had a bizarre attachment to that girl. Suddenly, Blaine's eyes fluttered open.

"Kurt?"

Kurt was kneeling beside Blaine in an instant, cradling his boyfriend's head. "Blaine! I'm right here, don't worry. Are you okay? Where do you hurt?"

"We never got to go on Top Thrill Dragster…" with that, Blaine fainted again. Kurt hollered to alert the medics. The popped on an oxygen mask, and started running tests on Blaine.

"He's okay" the cool lesbian chick assured Kurt. "Maybe a little more brain trauma than we expected, but-"

"Brain trauma?"

She nodded nervously. "But nothing life threatening…I'm sure he'll be fine."

Kurt looked away. He didn't believe her.