Author's Note: By popular demand... I've decided to continue this. Enjoy it and please let me know what you think!

The first uncertain moments were the hardest. Kurt and Blaine remained frozen, eyes locked, and silent as the world continued on like always. Kurt wasn't sure how long they had stayed that way; it couldn't have been more than a few seconds, but time stretched on and on and on until Cooper broke the silence with a teary, "Blaine, god, I'm so glad you're okay."

Okay.

Kurt thought of the word and all that it stood for and considered how rude it would be to scoff when Cooper was clearly in the middle of such a genuine wave of emotion.

He's the farthest thing from okay.

Blaine eyes were the only part of him to move as he looked between Kurt and Cooper with alarmed hesitation. Kurt could tell what that expression meant, though he wasn't sure exactly how to put it into words. And when Blaine tried to speak, both Cooper and Kurt rushed a, "Shhh, not now, later," into the unspoken conversation, hoping it would actually deter him from continuing. Burt returned with a doctor before Blaine could try to speak again and in a matter of seconds Kurt found himself on the other side of the door with Cooper and his father. He stared at the egress with dazed scorn as the doctor sealed him off from Blaine.

I should be in there right now. We all should be in there right now.

The sudden appearance of a hand on his shoulder roused Kurt from the intimidation tactics he'd been trying to apply to the door, and very soon afterwards he discovered himself being pulled—ever so gently—away, back into the waiting room. Sam sat there with Puck, grease stained wrappers in hand as they took breaks from their serious whispers to manage a nibble or two. The sight and smell of their food combined with the fact that his stomach had been clenched in unyielding knots for days was enough to make Kurt want to rush into the nearest bathroom and empty whatever foul, festering anxiety had refused to unhinge its claws from the lining of his belly. But he swallowed down the urge—thickly, with great effort—and chose to sit down a good three seats away from them. Cooper was immediately at his side and Kurt could tell he wanted to ask questions, wanted to talk and comment on what had just happened in the room, based on the way he fidgeted with his hands, interlacing his fingers and grinding his knuckles together. Kurt still wasn't sure he'd properly be able to attach actual spoken words to his thoughts. So when Cooper squirmed in his seat for the fourth time in the last minute and opened his mouth, Kurt stood up and walked away, feigning interest in a community bulletin board across the room.

He was surrounded by nothing but support, and all he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts. Needed to, actually, because everyone's opinions, all of their input, would simply add more to his confusion. Blaine was awake—Kurt hadn't thought that far ahead. He'd promised Blaine, in his unconscious state, that they would talk if he woke up, that he would lend Blaine his ears and undivided attention if only he would just wake up. And Kurt Hummel was a man of his word. All he had to do was figure out the right time for a conversation like that to happen. Blaine was fragile now, and Kurt's emotions were strewn and stretched too far apart on the spectrum to actually allow him to rationally sit through anything involving their relationship. That could wait, that would wait. For now, Blaine's recovery was all that would have to take precedence.

They'd been forced to wait two hours before the same doctor that Burt had brought back to Blaine's room strode over to their ever-growing group. All of New Directions and most of the Warblers had joined Kurt, Burt, Cooper and Carole in the waiting room. Some of them had broken off into smaller groups, casting worried glances over at Kurt when they assumed he hadn't been looking, and spoke in whispers that Kurt wanted to inform them weren't as quiet as they seemed to believe. But at the appearance of a white coat and stethoscope, everyone fell silent.

The doctor approached Cooper, asking if he could step aside for a moment. Cooper turned to Kurt, who had taken to chewing on his nails in order to occupy his lips from quivering, and nodded in the direction of the doctor. Kurt stood up wordlessly and approached them while Cooper turned to Burt and Carole, "You too, come on." They briefly exchanged a look, as if bracing each other for whatever news may lie ahead, and walked over to Cooper, Kurt and the doctor. Doctor Sayers, as Kurt noticed on her nametag, started talking as they continued on towards Blaine's room.

"I'm sure you all have a lot of questions, and I'll try my best to explain everything clearly," she began, a practiced smile in place and Kurt immediately had trouble deciding if he was going to like her or not.

"What sort of lasting damage will there be?" Carole asked in a quiet voice. She had her arm hooked through Burt's and walked closely to him, their steps evenly matched.

Rachel used to comment on that, about me and Blaine.

Kurt left half of his attention to watching their strides, so perfectly in sync given their height difference, while Doctor Sayers took a deep breath and stopped walking. Kurt almost interrupted her, was about to demand to know why they were stopping, until he looked up and realized they had already reached Blaine's room. He peeked in through a small window on the door and a chill raced fervently down his spine, reminding him of the plummeting slope of a certain boasted roller coaster that added fame to their home state, as he took in Blaine's frail form.

"We're not exactly sure. With brain injuries, it's... tricky. We can't really know the full extent of the damage right away, and even with some time there are things than can go wrong. We're already looking at another surgery now that the swelling has finally started to go down, but we need to run some further tests to assess the neurological damage that might have been done, then there's physical therapy—it's going to be a long road of recovery for him."

Kurt felt like he'd been submerged underwater by the time she stopped talking. Everything was muffled and sluggish and the same childish denial sprang forth, repeatedly knocking against his brain as though the mantra would somehow become true if he said it enough.

This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This. Isn't. Happening.

"Kurt?" Cooper's voice managed to wade through the fog surrounding Kurt's brain. "You look like you're going to faint—"

"M'fine," Kurt rushed out a reply and looked into Blaine's room again. "I'm going to go sit with him while you all talk."

He didn't wait for affirmation of his actions, didn't wait to see if he was even allowed back in, as he pushed the door open, slipping in quietly. As the door swung closed behind him, Kurt couldn't help but notice the transition from one world into the other. Just outside the room was his life, with friends and family and New York, but on this side of the door there was only the fragile remnants of a boy who still had his calloused hands gripped tightly around Kurt's heart. He took a seat beside the bed and Blaine's eyes fluttered open immediately. He turned to Kurt, the confusion etched clearly on his face, and Kurt's heart, his poor wounded heart, turned to lead and became lost in free fall.

"Shouldn't," Blaine began and closed his eyes again as though the pure idea of speaking took such a toll on his energy he couldn't even manage a simple question. "Shouldn't you—"

"Be in New York?" Kurt finished for him in a hurried whisper, wanting to put an end to the strain in Blaine's voice. "I came as soon as my dad called. I couldn't just—Blaine, I couldn't stay there and not have any idea if you were okay or not."

"Dad?" Blaine opened his eyes again, trying so hard to focus on Kurt and everything he needed to say, needed to ask. "Your dad?"

"Yeah, he—he's the one who found you. Don't you remember?" Kurt rested a hand over his heart, emotional pain discreetly blending into physical pain.

"Couldn't see. Blur," Blaine gritted his teeth and Kurt had to fight back tears.

"Don't talk anymore, just rest, okay?" He moved to sit on the edge of the bed and slid his hand into Blaine's, tracing a light blue vein on the back of his hand. But Blaine didn't listen.

"What... what did he... tell you?" Blaine slowed down and sped up so many times in the course of such a short question that it worried Kurt.

Rather than argue though, he decided it was probably a better idea to just answer whatever Blaine asked him as quickly as he could. "Not much, just that you... that you had gotten beaten up pretty bad." He hesitated, apprehending Blaine's reaction—he almost looked...

Relieved? What doesn't he want me to know?

"Blaine, do you know who attacked you?"

"Random," Blaine looked exhausted now. "Didn't know."

He shouldn't. He knew that he shouldn't. He should keep his mouth shut and let Blaine sleep. But the words came so quickly he couldn't snatch them up before they left. "What... happened, Blaine?"

Blaine's eyes slipped shut again and Kurt expected them to open after a few seconds like last time. But a few seconds had come and gone. Panic started to build up steadily until Kurt was inching closer to Blaine and squeezing his hand just a little tighter. "Blaine? Blaine," he cleared his throat and tried to stifle the anxiety attaching itself to each of his words.

"How long have I...?" Blaine said suddenly, fighting to keep his eyes open.

"About a week," Kurt laced his fingers with Blaine's. "You've been unconscious the whole time..."

"Head hurts," Blaine spoke through gritted teeth again. While Kurt was sure Blaine was tired and definitely in pain, he knew Blaine was also deflecting from having to explain who attacked him and what had happened.

"You should rest, okay?" Kurt whispered. Just as he was leaning over to kiss Blaine's cheek, Cooper, Carole, and Burt walked into the room. Kurt froze for only a second before straightening up, leaving Blaine's cheek bare except for a ghastly bruise distorting the colour. The expression on Blaine's face was almost unreadable, but if Kurt had to describe it he'd call it something close to "surprise." The intended kiss was purely habitual for Kurt, that's how he rationalized it. It had nothing to do with relationship status or the fact that he had no clue how to compartmentalize any of his feelings.

"Time to get going, Kurt," Burt's eyes were soft to match his tone. "Cooper and Blaine have some things they need to discuss with the doctor."

Kurt wanted to protest, but one glance at Cooper told him everything: not in front of Blaine. Kurt nodded and stood up, taking a step towards Cooper to hug him goodbye. As he slid his arms around the older of the Anderson brothers, Cooper spoke quietly in Kurt's ear, "I'll be in touch later, promise." Kurt gave Cooper a light pat on the back and nodded again as he pulled away. Burt draped an arm around his son's slumped shoulders and Kurt mumbled a meek, "See you tomorrow, Blaine," before allowing himself to be led out of the room.

"Do you want to say goodbye to all of your friends?" Carole placed a hand on Kurt's back and rubbed it slowly.

"Just want to go home," Kurt answered almost apathetically. He knew Carole and Burt had exchanged looks of concern based on the way both of their footsteps faltered for the slightest millisecond.

"Where do you want to stop for dinner on the way back, kiddo?" Burt asked.

"I'm not—dad, I'm going to be sick. Please, can we just—I just want—" Kurt wouldn't cry in front of them, nor the hospital staff or his friends, but it was getting harder and harder to keep it all at bay the longer he stayed there.

"Okay, buddy. We'll just head straight home," Burt conceded without posing further questioning.

Kurt was silent for the entire drive home, neither Burt, Carole, or Finn tried to elicit a single word from him. They kept the radio volume low; the spaces in the car not overtaken by the music were filled, instead, with the sound of four collective individuals breathing disquietude to each other. None of them needed words to portray this emotion.

As soon as Burt inched into the driveway Kurt was out of the car, walking quickly to the backyard. He heard three doors close quietly behind himself, but didn't turn to look back before disappearing around the corner of the house. It had been years since he scaled the tree house his father had built for him; he'd hidden in there for two days when his mother died, pushing plates of food Burt sent up to the ground for the animals to find, before his rumbling stomach had finally gotten the better of him and he dragged himself inside with puffy eyes and defeat scrawled all over his face. He knew that Burt wouldn't question his decision to hide there again now, knew that the process would probably repeat itself all over again except for one tiny detail: he'd be climbing down tomorrow to see Blaine.

Just to be safe he knocked his fist against the wooden floor three times, feeling very silly for giving in to the superstition of relying on wood to keep his loved one from further tragedy, and laid down flat on his back. In his pocket, his phone buzzed repeatedly—he hadn't even looked at it since he'd gotten home. He wrenched it out from between the tight denim to discover Isabelle was calling him. After a second's hesitation, he answered with an uncharacteristically apathetic, "Hello?"

"Oh thank—I've been so worried about you. I've been trying to get in touch with you for days... Is—are you alright, Kurt?" Just hearing her voice made Kurt wish he had bothered to touch base with her sooner.

"I—yeah, sorry, I've just been—it's been really..." Kurt slid his hand over his eyes. She couldn't see him crying, but he wouldn't doubt her ability to guess that it was exactly what he was doing now. "I'm so sorry, Isabelle. I haven't even looked at my phone since—I didn't mean to make you so worried."

"Kurt," she spoke soothingly. "Forget about me being worried. How's—is there any good news?"

He broke down as the question left her lips and traveled safely over the airwaves to reach his pounding ears. She was able to tell how bad things were just based on fifteen seconds of conversation with him, which just added even more to the reality of the situation for Kurt. He let out an ugly, guttural sound that passed as a sob and then the words came, rushed and hysterical, "Oh god, Isabelle, he's so—he looks so helpless. And until yesterday he was unconscious. I didn't think he'd—everyone was just giving up and I let myself believe he'd—that he'd—" He sobbed again, his consternation clamping itself onto his heart with such viciousness that he had to lay his hand over his chest. "And I don't know if I'm still mad at him, if I still should be, because this doesn't change what happened, but I feel so guilty and I don't know why. I shouldn't. I have nothing to feel guilty for, but just seeing him like that—knowing that someone was able to—" he gasped, choking out the words in choppy fragments; he had no idea how Isabelle was even keeping up, if she was. "To do that to him."

She hadn't interrupted him, not once. He rambled and rambled away, listing off every insecurity he'd been too afraid to admit aloud, every possibility he'd scolded himself for considering, and she listened without judgment and with ears wide open. Only when he finally ran out of breath and sat, panting into the phone, did she choose to open her mouth instead. "You still love him, sweetie."

The words hit him like a freight train and, rather than settle after the initial crash, every single car of that train piled up onto his entire body, crushing out any of the air he might have had left in his lungs. He was thankful to have been lying down, at least.

"That doesn't just... go away. No matter how much he hurt you. He made a mistake, he came to you and admitted to it, right?" She continued.

"Yeah," Kurt sniffled.

"He didn't have to. He could have kept it a secret. From what you've told me, he still cares deeply for you. You just... have to decide if you want to try to work through what happened between you two. And it doesn't have to be now. Actually, it shouldn't be now... but I think you've already decided that you'd regret shutting him out of your life forever."

"So what should I do?" Kurt clung to her words, the trepidation rising once she had paused. He needed advice, needed someone else's opinion rather than the brutal debate constantly waging on inside of his head, despite how much he'd been avoiding talking to anyone for the past week. He didn't need to see Isabelle's face right now—it was easier to ask for help when he could hide away, leaving only his frightened words for her to sift through.

"He needs you as a friend right now, and you need him as one too. At least until you sort through the intensity you're feeling. Just... take this slow, okay? I know it might seem impossible, but you'd be surprised how easy things might seem if you just let go of that stigma of relationships for a little while and remember why the two of you became involved in each others' lives in the first place."

"And if that doesn't work out?" Kurt was almost afraid to ask.

"Then you'll still be able to say that you tried, right? Sometimes that's all the closure you need—one more attempt before you consider closing the book for good. You were... so happy when we first met, Kurt. You gushed about him when you didn't know I was listening, and I just don't want you to regret not ever having tried to work through this together."

"Does being an adult ever get any easier?"

"Sometimes," she let out a quiet laugh. "But would it really be worth it if it was so easy?"

"I'm just so... tired of having to work for everything."

"It's what I love about you, Kurt. What I'm sure all of your friends love about you and even Blaine—you never give up on what you want, no matter how difficult it is or how out of reach it seems. You're so... determined. It's inspiring."

He sniffled again, bringing his hand away from his chest to drag it across his eyes. "How have things been over there?"

"How about we let you focus on one thing at a time, okay?" Her tone reminded Kurt of his mother, long since passed and very sorely missed at moments such as these, and he was grateful for it. He filed away a mental note to thank Carole as well for all of the times she spoke to him with the same motherly affection.

"Deal," he whispered and pressed his sleeve to his eyes, dabbing carefully at the raw skin. "I'll try to keep you updated more frequently though, I promise."

"Okay, Kurt. I'll talk to you again soon, I hope. And remember, when you start to feel overwhelmed... just breathe."

"I swear, I thought you were going to tell me to just have a kiki," he snorted into the phone, feeling the tiniest sliver of himself glide back into his body.

"Whatever zens you out, baby."

"Thanks, Isabelle," he turned his attention to the small, square cutout meant to act as a window. "I forgot how many stars there are at night out here."

"You've got billions to make wishes on then," she supplemented, sensing his longing to stay on the phone for a little longer.

"Only the first one you see," he protested, sending his wish straight up to it.

"So blink. Every time you open your eyes there's a new first star to see."

"Goodnight, Isabelle."

"Goodnight, Kurt."

They disconnected and he spent the next chunk of unmeasured time blinking at stars until his eyes watered and his father approached the base of the tree, announcing that he'd brought some blankets and pillows. Kurt said nothing as he climbed down and slid his arms around his father's torso, burying his face in Burt's chest, and let a series of sobs overtake him until his body gave way and he had to be carried inside.

More Kurt and Blaine interaction in the next chapter, I promise.