Well, it's been a really long time, but there's this chapter, and I've written most of the next chapter, which will be the last one.

Disclaimer: I don't own the song "The Light" by Sara Bareilles, although I have slow-danced to it multiple times.


"And if you say 'I'll be alright,'
I'm gonna trust you, babe,
I'm gonna look in your eyes.
And if you say, 'It'll be alright,'
I'll follow you into the light."

Chapter IV: The Light

Kurt

Miss Pillsbury opens the gun and I smell the gunpowder. Then I get angry.

"Why didn't anyone check the prop?" I yell.

"I-I don't know," Miss Pillsbury shrugs.

"How could you not know? You guys are in charge of the props!" I yell.

"I put the football team in charge of props," says Coach Beiste..

"Oh my gosh," I say. I remember Karofsky's ridiculous threat and storm out of the room. Rachel puts her hands on my shoulder and I shake her off before storming out. I know how to exit a room better than Rachel Berry, don't doubt it.


"I can't believe you!" I walked up to Karofsky, ready to swing.

"Sure you want to hit me, Hummel? I'll put you in the hospital."

"You mean like how you put Blaine in the hospital?" hell hath no fury like a fashionista scorned.

"Whoa," Karofsky has the nerve to put his hands up. "What are you talking about, Hummel?"

"Blaine's stage gun was loaded with real gunpowder, and I know the football team was responsible for the props," I say. I'm actually kind of proud of my sleuthing skills.

Karofsky looks confused. "What? I thought gunpowder was what people put in cannons."

I'm speechless. Does Karofsky really not know what gunpowder is? And wait, I'm supposed to be threatening. "You have today, Karofsky," I tell him. "You have today to convince me you didn't do anything, or I'll tell Coach Beiste."

"There's nothing to tell," Karofsky shrugs. "Your little fair-your boyfriend probably did it himself."

Okay, all this blood-draining-out-of-my-face-thing is doing nothing for my moisturizing routine. "What are you talking about?"

"Haven't you heard him? He's always talking about how upset you are that you didn't get the role and whether or not he could fake getting sick," Karofsky says this so casually, I am horrified. How long have I been making Blaine upset? Oh my Gaga, I have to go to the hospital! I turn around and run from the locker room like a bat out of hell.

Come to think of it, that's not really a bad metaphor.


Blaine

The official diagnosis? I have a button in my lung. And it's an ugly shade of brown. It's not even a pretty pink one! Above me, I hear a snort. Apparently, I just said that out loud.

"Mother, if you're recording my coming-out-of-morphine babble, you better hide the tape somewhere I can easily reach and burn it."

"Oh, you'll have to catch me first," Mother says, putting down the camera. Just then, Kurt comes storms into the room and Mother almost—but not quite—drops and breaks the camera. Damn.

"How could you do that to yourself?" he's very, very angry.

"Do what to myself?"I'm confused.

"Load the gun with gunpowder!" Kurt wailed. "You've hurt yourself!"

"I didn't do that," I say, completely confused. "Why on Earth would I ever do that?"

"Because you wanted to give me the role. Blaine, I'm incredibly flattered, but you didn't have to go do this!"

My brain is foggy and not completely functioning, but I know that I didn't do what Kurt's accusing me of. "Kurt, I didn't touch the stage gun, I swear."

Kurt starts crying. "Then I don't know who did," he sounds very sad.

"Why was there gunpowder anyway?"Mother sounds incredibly angry. "Don't the teachers know how dangerous that is?"

I shrug and white-hot pain lances through my torso, clearing the last of the morphine-induced haze out of my brain. I must make some kind of noise, because Kurt looks distressed, and Mother reaches for the red button to give me more morphine. I put my hand over it to stop her.

"Don't be so masochistic, Blaine," Mother chides me.

"I want my brain working," I say. "Someone sabotaged me. Who's to say they won't do that to Kurt too?" I look at Kurt anxiously after I speak, just to make sure he's still there.

"Oh, come on," Kurt snorts. "I'm not going to fall apart just because you weren't looking at me for a second."

I look away and tears are in my eyes before I know what's going on. "Sorry," I croak. "I won't look at you anymore."

Kurt draws me into his arms. "Blaine, that's not what I meant," he chides me, "but if your mother's watching me, I should be safe, and maybe we can catch the culprit together."

Mother looks thoughtful and more or less happy. "You know," she says thoughtfully, "that might just work."


Rachel

"He's still not here?"

"Rachel, his boyfriend's in the hospital," Mercedes says before walking away, upset.

Kurt is being so unprofessional! One of the buttons on my costume has fallen off, and he's only worried about someone who's not in the play! He's the lead! He should be worrying about his lines and his voice.

Oh, where is that button?

"Is something wrong?" Blaine's mother comes in and asks.

"I'm missing a button off my dress," I tell her. I emphasize the importance of this with my emphatic hand gestures and expressive facial expressions.

"Alright," she says agreeably. "What does this button look like?"

I show her a picture, and her eyes widen. "Oh no," she groans. "Rachel, your button fell in Kurt's prop gun."

"What? Oh, no, I take far too good care of my props for that to happen," I tell her confidently. "It can't be my button."

Miss Rush pulls out a bag. I can see that inside is a piece of crumpled white plastic that's flecked with gold. "Oh my gosh," I say. "That's my button, and it's covered in…" I bring my hand closer to it, "blood."

"Blaine's blood," Miss Rush says softly. "He bled so much, I had to give him some of mine, and even then, it was almost too late."

My eyes snap up to meet hers. "You mean, he almost died?"

She turns away. "You were careless," she says as she leaves. "I hope you start considering people other than yourself at some point, otherwise your life is going to be very lonely," she says.

Hmph! What does she know? She doesn't have my talent. With my talent, people will soon be begging for a chance to prove themselves worthy of my friendship and falling at my feet. Still, as I put the baggie with the button bullet down on my make-up desk, an unwelcome thought creeps into my head: I hope they don't fall down bleeding.


The next chapter will be the last one, guys. Blurt will find out about the button, Kurt will freak the hell out, and everyone forgives each other by opening night number two.