Finn made his way home, dragging his feet the entire way as he was trying to kill time. He wasn't quite up to having a faceoff with Kurt, and having to apologise since his stepbrother was way too stubborn to say sorry, especially when it concerned things like this. He even went as far to opt to stay behind after Glee club had ended to rehearse with Rachel, which made his girlfriend twice as radiant and kisses were all around (heck, she'd even let him bump her boob with his elbow, though that was probably an accident since he was just walking past her but all the same a boob is a boob). He tried to extend the session but, as per usual, Rachel saw right through his poor yet endearing efforts.

"You can't avoid Kurt forever you know," she said abruptly once he took to centre stage again. She hovered around the piano, feigning lack of interest by ghosting her fingertips along the keys, causing a note to at times murmur when she pressed too hard.

Finn turned to face her and then hastily looked away, his blotchy cheeks smoothing out to make his entire face look a shade of beetroot. "I dunno what you mean," he mumbled.

"Finn, I know you care about Kurt," Rachel continued despite his denial. "He's your brother, and you love playing the role of overprotective brother because you never had someone to look out for you." The nape of her neck prickled when he glimpsed at her again. "But maybe...maybe Kurt just wants to protect you too. You shouldn't take all this so personally."

Finn cast his eyes downward. "It just really, really pisses me off when he pushes me away. It's like he's saying I'm not good enough or something—I dunno but it just bugs me. I wasn't there for him when things got this bad last time. I don't want Sam or Puck or Mike or Artie or anyone to be the ones standing up this time. This time, I'm gonna do it right. I'm gonna be have his back no matter what like I promised."

Rachel smiled wryly. "You say you don't have a way with words, Finn Hudson...but if you said all you just said to me to Kurt...maybe he'll let you in."

Finn and Rachel had parted ways shortly after that, and she declined all his offers to walk her home, telling him firmly through a giggle to go home and talk to his stepbrother. It had started to get a little dark, which didn't bother him as much but all the same he bitterly wished he'd still had his car. He practiced what he was going to say to Kurt in his head at first, and gradually he began to say it under his breath to himself, even adding counter attacks in case he was interrupted. Finn earned a few concerned looks from people he passed so he resorted to just thinking about the apology speech. The house came into view and his mind was dunked, leaving it a clean slate when it arose again.

Finn felt a slight apprehension about going in, but blamed that on nerves. He stopped outside the front door, groping around for his keys in his pockets, and then pried open the front door. He expected a pool of light to slipper out from the living room but he was only greeted with further darkness. Finn frowned, helping himself inside.

"Kurt?" he called. His foot crunched on something, and for a millisecond he brightened, mind sprinting to: 'Snow! It can snow indoors!' though he took a rain check on that assumption and a worm of worry squired in his stomach uneasily. He flipped on the light and saw it wasn't snow at all; his foot had cracked the glass of a framed photograph of Kurt's school photo from a few years back.

"Aw man! I'm sorry dude!" Finn mumbled, partially to himself even though he was directing it to a Kurt he hadn't yet seen and just assumed he was in the room. "I'll get you a new frame." He lifted his foot and cautiously lifted it up, the fragments remaining sliding down and landing with a tinkling clink on the floor. Finn looked up, anticipating Kurt to be standing there, fuming and ready to explode. However, he saw something different.

There was no sign of Kurt, but Finn wasn't the only one to have broken something. The lamp his mom had brought with them from their old home had been knocked to the floor, no damage as such done apart from the bulb, whose roof had caved in. There was glass scattered over the floor by the door leading to the kitchen, and a red stain bloomed on the carpet. Finn's immediate thought was that Kurt had thrown a fit and had taken it out on the furniture, although that assumption was fleeting and briskly forgotten. The worm in his gut began to wriggle furiously.

"Kurt? Kurt, are you alright? What happened here?"

No response. Finn, for the sake of it, picked up the lamp from the floor and entered the kitchen, dodging the shards as best as he could. He peered into the room and saw nothing apart from a carton of apple juice left on the side, surely turning the drink inside lukewarm by now. He couldn't hear any movement anywhere, not a single creak of a floorboard or of a door, only his hard breathing as he turned and bolted up the stairs. Finn checked the bathroom, checked Burt and his mom's room (only quickly peeking after being scolded for years for going in her room and had learned better than to go snooping) and then stumbled back down into the living room again. He kind of knew Kurt would be in the bedroom, that's the one place he avoided because he didn't want to see. He was scared. Finn didn't know what he was going to see, and wasn't certain he wanted to. Terrible notions scratched the surface of his brain, and he had to repeatedly shake his head to rid himself of the thoughts.

Finn numbly took down the stairs, hands clutching the rail as he did so to steady himself. He urged himself to look and he blanched when he saw Kurt sitting upright in the corner of the room, staring with glazed eyes into space as if it transfixed him, as if he'd never seen this place before. The lighting was dim, but Finn could see Kurt's form trembling violently. Finn slowly approached his stepbrother, apologies and arguments cast aside abruptly like they never mattered in the first place. They didn't, not right now. Kurt mattered.

"Kurt..." Finn said softly, crouching down next to him, keeping his eyes down in awkwardness. "What's going on?" when he received no reply, he groaned. "C'mon talk to me man. Kurt—" he trailed off when he noticed a light glistening against his stepbrother's arm, and immediately Finn understood what it was.

Gently, he reached out and touched Kurt's forearm, earning a twitch of the skin under his hand. He extended it until it was stretched out to its full length, the palm facing upwards to the ceiling. In the centre of it, was a long deep wound like a small thin lipped mouth and it was still bleeding profusely, deep red skidding tiredly down his wrist. When Finn caught the droplet, it was cool to the touch. He felt a chill like a breeze pass over his skull through his eyes as he noticed a shard of glass embedded into Kurt's skin; he felt nauseous and wanted to be sick there and then. Restraining himself, he snatched his eyes away from the injury up at Kurt's inactive ones.

"Kurt," Finn swiped a tongue over his now unnaturally dry lips. "What happened?"

Kurt didn't react at first, but when Finn went to repeat himself, his face crumpled and his eyes shut as tears cascaded down his face. For a while not a single sound departed from him, until he inhaled and his breath sounded weak and wavered in the air like a freshly plucked string of a guitar. Rubbing his eyes with something that Finn recognised as an item of clothing, Kurt turned to him, his teeth chattering. Finn was shoved further into shock.

"F-F-Finn..." Kurt breathed. "I hurt..." he shut his eyes and his brows creased with inner anguish and physical agony. "I hurt everywhere..."

"Who did this to you, Kurt?" Finn knew the answer. He needn't have asked but he wanted to hear it from Kurt, he needed to clarify it, to hear it strike the air and deliver a painful blow to himself.

Kurt couldn't answer; he shook his head and brought his knees upwards with great struggle, putting his forehead against his kneecap. "I want my dad..." he whimpered. "I-I-I hurt so much."

Finn felt dizzy. "Okay dude...uhm...I should...should I take...yeah." he felt his stomach turn over like a pile of leaves being toppled by a strong wind, yet he powered through it and wrapped an arm around Kurt's back, the other holding the nook of the other's arm.

When Kurt stood, the pain stirred inside of him as it had been merely slumbering, and he winced, his knees giving out underneath him, dropping whatever he'd been holding onto the floor. Finn had to grasp swiftly what was going on and steadied his stepbrother, cursing all the while. It was then Finn realised Kurt was probably hurt way more than first anticipated and his blood was practically blistering his skin as it was burning so severely. Kurt leaned his back against the wall, the chill of it soothing the aches rooted in his lower back, and touched his abdomen lightly to ease the tenderness he found there.

"I'm gonna kill that bastard," Finn growled, carefully helping Kurt back down into a sitting position. Although he didn't specify whom he was referring, Kurt knew and for the first time ever, he truly believed Finn meant it.

Upstairs, the phone rang, unheard, unheeded. Blaine held it to his ear, waiting for someone to pick up. The phone just rang, and rang, and rang, and rang...

I'm sorry, the number you called is unavailable. Please leave a message after the beep.

Blaine put the phone down and squeezed his eyes shut, shielding them with his hand as he bowed his head, tears sliding from the corners down his face. In the background, Sinatra's voice rolled over Blaine.

This love of mine, goes on and on,

Though life is empty,

Since you have gone,

You're always on my mind,

Though out of sight,

It's lonesome through the day,

But oh the night,

I cry my heart out...

It's bound to break...

Since nothing matters...

Let it break,

I ask the sun and the moon,

The stars that shine...

What's to become of it?

This love of mine...

I cry my heart out,

It's bound to break,

Since nothing matters,

So let it break,

I ask the sun and the moon,

The stars that shine...

What's to become of it?

This love of mine...

This love of mine goes on...

000

Kurt was exhausted; it was as if all of his muscles had been stretched to their absolute limit and were trying to resort back to their original form. His throat was raw; as were his eyes...his entire body was as a matter of fact. He kept trying to doze, just to escape everything for a moment but either Finn patted his cheeks, mumbling something about concussions or a searing pain would flare, startling him awake. When Finn had left to get some tissues to clean him up, Kurt managed to just drift for a second. He regretted it instantly. Instead of escaping, he went right back to what was possibly the worst instant of his life.

Karofsky had been in hysterics once he'd managed to stop bringing his foot down on Kurt, and had stood there over him, panting heavily. He made a strange whining sound and ran both hands through his short hair, chest heaving and breath hitching as sobs started to overwhelm him. Kurt had just lain there, curled up on his living room floor with his temple rested on the carpet, feeling the hot swells of blood drip down his nose. His shoulder throbbed, his joints griped, his skin was sore. It felt like his flesh had been ripped off of him like a quilt, and his muscles had been snapped strand by strand away from his bone, leaving him a lifeless skeleton with the cold oxygen whispering through him chilling him to his core. Then everything had been reapplied, but was messier and some parts of him were missing, and he could only lie there and notice the gigantic gap lying within him. All he could focus on was what was gone, what had left him, and what had taken its place. He felt worthless and like he was nothing.

"You did this...he did thi—he..." Karofsky was speaking breathily to himself, sounding on the brink of a mental breakdown as he towered over the boy he'd just beaten to dust. "It's not mah—not my fault GODDAMMIT!" Dave suddenly thundered and brought his fist into the wall before sprinting away. Not a single threat was left behind, not a single warning for Kurt not to tell anyone. And Kurt knew it was because David Karofsky no longer cared.

Kurt had lain on the floor for what felt like hours, but when he checked the hands of the clock had just about twitched forwards. Life went on. He'd struggled to get to his feet for a while, trying to steady himself by pressing his hands to the wall only to sag back down onto his knees when the pain became too much for him to conceive. It was unbearable, the agony he had been feeling. He wondered how people could get into fights, knowing it was all going to hurt so badly if they swung their first at the wrong time or got distracted giving their opponent the opportune moment to strike. When Kurt had eventually managed to stand, he walked downstairs and had simply collapsed.

It was like a haven to him, his bedroom. It was the place his dad had stood up for him, where he would retreat to after an argument, where he'd feel absolutely free to say and do whatever he wanted without someone glaring at him or judging him. He felt comforted in the confines of that room, and just collapsed down on the floor. It took a while for him to notice a shape under his bed, and when he finally saw it, he stretched his arm out despite the hurt, and had brought it out into the gloomy light. It was a shirt. A simplistic, plain black v-neck shirt but Kurt felt a pang because he knew it wasn't his own. It was Blaine's; it was the one he was wearing when he'd come over on the Tuesday after changing out of his Dalton uniform. He must have carelessly discarded it whilst getting dressed on the night and it had been forgotten. Kurt instinctively pressed the material to his nose and gulped the scent of Blaine Anderson like it was water to a sore throat. The sweet aftershave Blaine always wore, one whose remains now acted as a sort of musk even when he hadn't applied a fresh amount, poured through Kurt like medicine.

Kurt still held it in his lap, staring at it with heavy lidded eyes as he awaited Finn's return. He thought about Blaine...

"You're perfect, Kurt. You're not nothing; you're not just what those jocks label you as. You...you move me...Kurt. And when I thought about Karofsky hurting you again, something inside me just snapped. I realised that if anything happened to you...I would be heartbroken..."

...and he started to weep all over again; weeping for himself, weeping out of pain, weeping out of shame, weeping out of guilt and remorse.

000

Blaine knew it was stereotypical thing to claim that shopping made him forget his worries for a short while and made him feel better, but it was absolutely true. After he had called the Hummel-Hudson household to no avail, he'd sat in his room with 'This Love of Mine' on a constant loop and it got to the point where he couldn't differentiate the start from the ending of the song. About an hour later, his mood had not improved and he found himself in a dark place. He simply put a stop to it by cutting Sinatra off mid-lyric and got himself changed out of his uniform and into something warm. He was going to the mall, just to distract himself and prevent the moroseness from getting into his bloodstream. Blaine just had in his earphones, picturing himself singing at Sectionals and receiving a standing ovation for his efforts as he nosed half-heartedly through the clothes on sale.

Blaine wasn't intending on buying anything, and just drifted from store to store, drowning out the world with song after song. The only movement out of routine was when he'd wrinkle his nose and skip one, thinking to delete that off of his playlist later though he never did. He had been so caught up in his thoughts that he found himself staring at the same shirt in GAP for over ten minutes at the least, and his lack of shifting had caught the attention of someone else.

"Can I help you?"

Blaine turned for his eyes to lock with a set of misty ones, and found the guy he was looking at very attractive with his wavy dirty blonde hair and tall stature. The man smiled, and Blaine analysed that he was an employee of the shop and weakly smiled, shaking his head in embarrassment.

"Um...no I'm just looking," he explained meekly.

The guy folded his arms. "It's my job to make sure you go home with something, you know. Otherwise I have to send you out."

"Oh, don't worry I'm just about to—"

"Unless, you come out of here with me to come get some coffee maybe?"

Blaine was hit on quite often...by the opposite sex...so he wasn't entirely naive or oblivious when it came to being hit on. If it had been the week previous, before those things with Kurt had happened (both good and bad), he would have been giddy with delight and his heart would be hiccupping in his chest. Those things with Kurt had happened nonetheless and he felt nothing change. The first thought that came to mind was that he wasn't Kurt. Blaine opened his mouth to politely decline, but not a lone word came out. Nothing was going on with Kurt anymore—was it? He'd turned him away. He'd made it pretty clear. And despite still feeling all he did, it wasn't going to do any good now, for Blaine or for Kurt. So instead, Blaine forced energy into his smile.

"I'd be delighted to help you keep your job," Blaine replied. "So when do you finish-"

"Jeremiah," the man said, mouth splitting into a very handsome grin. "And I get off in five minutes. Wait for me?"

Blaine nodded. "Of course." And Jeremiah had gone to the tills, serving the last customers of the day. Blaine waited in the shoe section as that was where he could sit down. He remembered how nervous and excited he'd been, waiting outside of Kurt's front door on the day of their first date though he hadn't exactly clarified that that was what it was. How he'd not even felt a shadow of disappointment when they wound up staying at home instead; just being close to Kurt was good enough. Blaine had been blatant then, hadn't known what he was feeling, what the other was feeling, what was going to happen. This time he wasn't pacing, he wasn't worried about being too early, he wasn't feeling...anything. But he didn't get up and leave. Why? Because it was going to take his mind off things and it was going to make things better and easier.

Jeremiah approached him, the hood of his fleece up and his headphones around his neck; Blaine got up.

"You ready?" Jeremiah asked brightly, a hue of pink on his cheeks. He was feeling the things Blaine had felt on the doorstep of the Hummel-Hudson household.

"Definitely," Blaine said, and the two of them left to go and get coffee.

000

Burt and Carole Hummel had been planning on going scuba-diving on the Thursday evening of their trip. He wasn't a strong swimmer, but he'd promised his wife he'd give it a try for her, which made her happy. He was waiting for her to get out of the shower when the phone had started to ring.

He answered it brightly. He hung up devastated.

000

Finn had hated waiting for a lot of things in his life; he was the kind of child who would sit up at night waiting for Christmas Day to come even though his mom had warned that Santa wouldn't leave presents if he was awake. He wasn't patient enough to manage waiting around to hear some news about Kurt. He'd gotten the calls out of the way; Burt first of course, explaining briefly what had happened and not dipping into the gory details. Then he'd called Rachel and asked if she could come up to the hospital to be there for him and Kurt, to which she said yes to straight away. Finally, he'd tried to call Blaine though couldn't remember the number as he hadn't seemed to have saved it in his contacts. He decided that it was probably for the best, not sure whether Kurt would want the Dalton student to know what had happened.

When the ambulance turned up, the paramedics asked him a lot of questions like did Kurt have any enemies, did he seem able to focus on anything, did he throw up, did he cough up blood etc. Bombarded by their inquiries, Finn just mumbled 'yes' and 'no', standing uncomfortably behind them like a watchful guardian as they blinked a light into Kurt's eyes and also asked him questions like what his name was and where the pain was located. And then Kurt was being taken away, supported by two of the men as they deemed the stretcher unnecessary. Finn trailed behind them, flushing when he saw neighbours had gathered outside to peek at who was being taken away to distract themselves from their own lives. Finn was able to ride in the ambulance, not sure whether he was supposed to hold Kurt's hand like in the movies, so just murmured soothing words to him instead. It was the best he could do.

000

Karofsky wanted to be loved. But not by the person he loved. It was the wrong person. He shouldn't love Kurt Hummel. He stormed up to his room, ignoring his parents when they called up to him, asking what the matter was. He locked his bedroom door behind him. Went into his en-suite bathroom and tore open the medicine cabinet, rummaging carelessly through the contents, not batting a lid when things fell out onto the tiled floor. He took up the aspirin and went back to his room to sit on his bed. David poured out the pills like snowdrops, a storm billowing to land on his sheets. He heard the muffled discussion exchanging between his mom and dad downstairs or outside the door now, he wasn't certain. He stared at his knuckles, the skin grazed with splotches of blood stinging there. He wasn't sure if the blood was even his own. Dave devoured pill after pill, gulping dry so his throat clenched in protest, making him feel sick. In his mind, he was hearing his own voice yelling the same word over and over and over again...

FAGGOT! FAGGOT! FAGGOT! FAGGOT! FAGGOT! FAGGOT! FAGGOT! FAGGOT!

000

Jeremiah was easy to talk to as well as transparently good-looking; Blaine should have felt lucky to have been asked out by this guy, but he didn't. He thought about Kurt the entire time. How when they'd get coffee he'd order a grande non-fat mocha and his pinky finger would be up as he held his scorching hot cup. When they were ordering, Kurt would stand so close to Blaine it was as if they were joined at the shoulder; Jeremiah was such a closet case it was unreal. With Kurt he wouldn't lower his voice if he mentioned anything about his sexuality; he'd say it in the same pitch as everything else he said. Jeremiah didn't really talk at all as they waited for their drinks, standing next to Blaine with his arms crossed and always looking straight ahead. When they'd sat down, he leaned back in his chair as far as he possibly could and would turn shuffle uncomfortably whenever someone looked at them curiously. He was paranoid, he assumed just because he was having a drink with another guy everyone was getting ready to paint picket signs.

Blaine wasn't really into someone who was so in the closet he'd pretend Blaine was just a friend in public and then as soon as they were alone, he would awkwardly brush his hand against his then snatching it away when someone came around the corner. Nonetheless, it was helping Blaine divert himself. He talked animatedly, about the Warblers and Sectionals and asked questions about Jeremiah like what music he was into, all the awkward getting-to-know-you talk. Jeremiah would respond enthusiastically for the most part, and when they turned a corner, seeing the street was empty, he unexpectedly leaned in...Blaine just as unexpectedly pulled away.

He knew immediately the reason. It was because he wasn't feeling anything. It would be like if Wes or David had suddenly gone in to kiss him. It seemed out of the blue even though they were kind of on a date. Blaine didn't like Jeremiah in that sense, and wouldn't be bothered if he didn't see him again the following day. It wasn't a crush, it wasn't anything. It was coffee with a good looking guy, to take his mind off of the one person he did have feelings for. Jeremiah was stung at being rebuffed and cast his eyes down, bringing his jaw forward and nodding as if he got it though he probably had no idea.

"I-I'm sorry, I dunno why I...why I did that..." Blaine murmured.

"I do...and I know you do too," Jeremiah said, looking at Blaine closely. "You don't like that I'm a closet case, right?"

It wasn't exactly right but it was part of the cause too in a way so Blaine just nodded. Jeremiah sighed heavily and stroked his chin distractedly.

"I'm just not—into being out and proud," he admitted. "I don't get why people have to make such a spectacle of themselves, like gay pride and stuff? Why single yourself out?"

Blaine shrugged. "Pride is a day when you can hold a hand with the person you love...in a crowd of people who have seen the same ignorance and bigotry that you have...and feel like you totally belong for once. It's not easy holding hands with someone of the same sex down the street in a crowd of heterosexual couples, and once every year you get a chance to leave that behind you."

Jeremiah considered this. "I haven't come out to anyone, you know..."

"You did today, you did to me," Blaine smiled faintly. "I'm sorry...I better be heading home. It's late."

Jeremiah nodded in understanding and raised his hand in a motionless wave prior to turning and walking away. Blaine watched after him. He pondered on whether he'd made a mistake, if he should have just kissed Jeremiah anyway. But he knew, deep down, he wouldn't be ready to do that with anyone for a while, out of the closet or otherwise. His heart was still set on Kurt.

000

"Finn Hudson? Mr. Hudson?"

Finn jolted from a murky dream to find a nurse with her mousy hair pulled back into a ponytail, her brown eyes practically oozing sympathy though he wasn't certain if it was genuine as she probably had to act that way to all of the family and friends of patients no matter the circumstance, big or small, broken arm or terminal illness. He rubbed his weary eyes with the heel of his hand, glancing around looking for Rachel, who had turned up twenty minutes or so after he'd called her. She wasn't there and he panicked slightly but the nurse explained.

"She's gone to get you and her something to eat."

Finn relaxed at that and blinked rapidly for a few moments to rid the hazy mist disturbing his vision. He flushed when he realised he must have looked comical at that point, but the nurse didn't even have to disguise a smile.

"Doctor Fitzgerald is nearly finished with the examination," she clarified softly. "Mr. Hummel will need to rest afterwards, and we want to keep him overnight at the least. The doctor will like to speak to you once we have Mr. Hummel in a room, and the police want you to answer some questions if that is alright?"

Finn said it was, and she left him, trading places with Rachel who returned with some sandwiches. She planted a tender kiss on his cheek and handed him one of the two, putting a can of coke between them to share. Usually the sandwich would be resorted to crumbs within a few seconds; however Finn couldn't even bring himself to chew. He was riddled with penitence (though he wasn't entirely sure what that meant) and just wanted to kick Karofsky's ass. He vowed to do so as soon as he was sure Kurt was okay, although Rachel would probably successfully prevent him from doing so.

Doctor Fitzgerald walked directly towards them five minutes later; he was a tall man with thinning dark brown, nearly black, hair and dark eyes to match with a prominent nose and a kind of high pitch to his voice. He was the kind of man Finn disliked on principal, the kind of guy who gave off the feeling that he assumed he was better than you. Putting that aside, Finn looked through all that and listened keenly, reaching out and grasping Rachel's hand.

"How is he?" Finn asked the all too cliché question, mentally squirming at his own predictability and how easily he fell into that role.

"He's resting," Doctor Fitzgerald said, bringing a chair across to sit closer to Finn and Rachel. "He's received a very violent beating, I would say judging from his injuries. The glass in his hand has been successfully removed and the wound stitched; he'll have to be careful not to reopen it as it heals. We found approximately two of his ribs have been cracked, though we can do nothing to fix that so we'll have to treat with simple pain killers as it holds no danger to his organs. Now, he will be black and blue for quite a while. He has a Type I AC separated shoulder; basically a sprain. He'll have to have his arm in a sling for a few weeks or so, and we'll prescribe him some anti-inflammatory medication to help. Mr. Hummel seems to be in a state of shock, which is expected considering what has happened, and I recommend he speak to a counsellor connected to the hospital until he feels he has entirely recovered. Now, Mr. Hudson, the police wish to speak to you about the attack and if you know who did it..."

"I think I know," Finn interrupted, blushing when the words burst from his mouth.

Doctor Fitzgerald held his hand up as Finn opened his mouth. "My business is medicine, the business of assault lies with the police I'm afraid. Officer Bradley and Cray are the ones you need to speak to. Once you've finished talking to them, you can go to Mr. Hummel's bedside." He smiled wryly with his mouth pressed together and got to his feet, leaving Finn and Rachel behind.

Rachel was looking at Finn. "Was it him, Finn? Are you sure? Maybe you—maybe it was someone else. There are other people around who would do this, you know." "I know who it was, Rach," Finn replied, yet he knew he wasn't a hundred percent certain. "It was Dave Karofsky."

TBC Thank you for reading, please review. I don't know much about hospitals in America (I live in the UK) but I'm saying that they called for an ambulance because they had no other means of transportation and they didn't know the extent of Kurt's injuries. I'm by no means a doctor, and I might be 100% wrong but hopefully that does not deter from the story too much. I highly recommend you listen to Frank Sinatra's 'This Love of Mine' as it is truly beautiful and matched with how Blaine was feeling, hence why I used it as the song he is listening to. The 'In the Wee Small Hours' is my favourite version and the one I would have Blaine listening to.