Chapter Six: Miracle

Leave me alone, he wanted to say, to scream, to tattoo on his forehead, to write on a billboard outside the hospital, signed with his name at the bottom. It was his first thought, his only thought. To the doctors prodding at him. To his family clutching his fingers. To everyone, to everything, to himself.

His skin crawled. His body ached. His fingers itched to scratch at the spiders crawling across his arms, but they wouldn't move, no matter how much he willed them to. And the thoughts, the memories, the images flashing behind his eyelids tortured him, trapped him, locked him in a box and forced the key down his throat.

Leave me alone, please. But also, help me.

He opened his eyes. The world was different. Not all different — just here and there, he would notice something that wasn't there before. Carole's hair was more brown, Burt's forehead had more lines, Finn's eyes were darker, heavier.

He was different, too. Empty. Tired. So tired. Just lifting his hand took everything he had in him, but just yesterday he could do a triple backflip — no, not yesterday, Kurt reminded himself. Days ago. Weeks ago. However long it had been. And when he tried to speak, to scream, nothing came out. Nothing.

The world wasn't so different, but he was. There had been a time when Kurt Hummel was a master of words, a time when they were his only weapon. Now, he was weaponless, defenceless, vulnerable. His back was wide open, and there was a line-up behind him.

They always made him go first.

The doctors and nurses asked him lots of questions after he woke up. He didn't have answers to most of them, like how much pain he was in or if he could move his fingers; they were simple questions, but somehow he didn't have answers.

Hours later, after the doctors left, the harder questions came. His father sat on the edge of his hospital bed and asked him if he knew what day it was — he didn't answer, but that was answer enough. Burt pointed at the wall where a whiteboard hung, the date written on it in curly, decorative writing. Sure, that was okay. It had been days. How many, Kurt couldn't tell you.

Then, Finn asked him what he remembered from the night it happened. He wasn't surprised, really — Finn never quite knew what to say or when to say it. Kurt just tightened his lips, turned his face toward the wall, and tuned everything out: sounds, sights, feelings. All without closing his eyes.

Carole's question came next, the hardest of all. Did he need anything? He needed lots of things, like the ability to move without excruciating pain, to speak and be freed of the hell he was in. He needed to know what had happened to him, to know what was going to happen. But he settled for a drink of water because he'd been hydrated only by IVs for who knows how long and he'd been breathing from a tube down his throat. Carole left the room with a sad smile on her lips because she'd seen it all before — she was a nurse — but she'd clearly never seen it like this.

Kurt closed his eyes — only for a moment. Everyone had been telling him to rest, to sleep, but he'd been asleep for what felt like years and minutes at the same time. What was to say that he wouldn't just close his eyes and be unable to open them again? Despite their heaviness, he pried open his eyelids and focused on a bright spot, the vibrant blue of Finn's cast.

He frowned. Had that been there before? He certainly didn't remember it, but that didn't mean anything. Weakly extending a finger to the boy without lifting his arm from the dusty sheets, he caught his father's eye and raised an eyebrow. Burt sighed, "Finn? Your brother's asking..."

The boy's head shot up, and his fingers stopped fidgeting with the fraying ends of his blanket. "Yeah? What's up, Kurt?" he choked, caught off guard. Even just saying his name to him, not about him, not to his body…

The reply was slow. Kurt struggled with his hand and abandoned it, hoping his pointed gaze would convey the rest. Finn caught it and followed, finding his hand and sighing in realization.

"It happened today. Well, yesterday, I guess." Kurt blinked, and Finn chuckled. "You should see the other guy," he finished, fingers crossed behind his back. No way he was ever letting the other guy near Kurt again.

Kurt managed a pitiful smile. He wanted to offer a fist bump or a pat on the back, something, but that was out of the question. There went that manly bonding moment. Ah well.

Burt rubbed his temple. "I still can't believe you broke your thumb punching a kid's face."

"What do you mean? It's perfectly believable," Finn defended, attempting to cross his arms over his chest and, well, failing miserably. "Faces are hard. There are like, bones and stuff."

"And that's why you put the thumb inside the fist, Finn."

"How was I supposed to know that?" he sputtered, hugging his cast to his chest. "I'm the quarterback, not Mike Tyson." Was the quarterback. He didn't correct himself.

Burt demanded, "Haven't you seen any action movie? Ever?"

"Well, yeah, but in Die Hard they get guns, Burt. Guns. Yippie-ki-yay, Motherfucker!"

The older man rolled his eyes but held his tongue. Just let the kid smile for a minute, he would have argued. "Yeah, well, we don't always get guns in the real world. You need to learn how to defend yourself, or else you'll be a victim for the rest of your life."

The room fell silent as Kurt stiffened in his bed, the action triggering a searing pain down his ribcage. Teeth finding his lips, he bit down hard, and blood broke through the skin — it was because of the pain that his eyes welled up with tears, he said to himself, over and over. Because of the pain, not because of...

"Kurt, I-" Burt stammered, reaching for his son, "I didn't mean... I know it wasn't your fault that-"

Squeezing his eyes shut, Kurt spoke, quiet, breathy, broken, for the first time since he'd awoken. "Please," he whispered. "Just…" Go. The unspoken plea penetrated the room, punching the mechanic straight in the chest — fist closed, thumb outside.

"Kurt," he whispered. The boy turned his head to face the wall again, tears slipping down his cheeks. It strained his neck and tugged at the stitches along his scalp. He stayed like that until he heard footsteps, slow, resigned, quieting like one of Quinn's breathy decrescendos.

His bed dipped, and a familiar hand, twice the size of his, landed on him. "We're trying," Finn explained, patting his arm gently (albeit slightly awkwardly). "I know it's hard — for everyone — but we're all trying."

"I… know," he croaked, dryness in his throat overwhelming. Coughing, he wrenched a hand up to his throat, fire spitting in his chest. His brother, wincing, watched attentively, hand poised to hit the call button, only lowering when Kurt settled miserably back into his bed.

"Dr. Anderson said not to make you talk too much," Finn amended, helping the boy rearrange his blankets. "Maybe just mouth words. Or write them down… once your muscles get stronger."

Ok, Kurt mouthed, tensing his face to hold back angry tears. He wasn't sure which was worse — the tube that had been down his throat when he woke up, or the knot that replaced it now. Turning his gaze to the ceiling, he began counting the tiles, mouthing the numbers. One, two, three...

"Thirty-five," Finn announced, plopping back into his chair. At Kurt's prying squint, he elaborated, "The tiles. There are thirty-five... unless you count the big one the fan goes through as two. Then it's thirty-six."

Wow, Kurt mouthed, biting the inside of his cheek. It stung— he didn't stop. How did you...

"I... had some time. In here. I've counted those tiles a lot, bro." Hunched over, hands holding one of Kurt's, Finn stared meaningfully into his dull glasz eyes. "We need to talk."

Kurt swallowed around the knot in his throat, cringing at the burning in his ears.

"The nurses held off the police," Finn declared matter-of-factly. "Said you needed rest, that you'd only just woken up. You should've seen their faces... our faces. I hate to say it, bro, but we were starting to think..."

"Finn," Kurt rasped, eyes stinging. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, I said not to talk," he reprimanded with a watery grin. "God, I sound like mom. Kurt, don't... just don't say anything. Especially not that."

But what else could he say? Restricted to the word or two he could mouth at a time, deciding between that or the terrible pain that came with trying to speak? Not knowing if the damage was permanent if talking would just make it worse... Fine, he answered. You talk.

"Ok. Yeah, I can do that," decided Finn. "Wanna hear about the assignment Mr. Schue gave us this week?"

Always, Kurt mouthed.

"Honestly I thought it would be doom and gloom with... everything lately. But it wasn't — it was memories."

The boy was silent for a moment, watching the IV in his arm. Memories. About me?

"Not... exactly," Finn replied. "Schue never said it was about you. But I guess we all kind of assumed — I mean, he sang Mr. Cellophane, Kurt."

An uncontrollable smile spread across his lips at the Chicago title. It took him back, as though he could feel the stage lights hot on his skin, thrumming with adrenaline, confidence, knowing he was undeniable. For a moment, he forgot everything. Just a moment.

"I asked Rach to sing with me, but she said no — apparently she's doing a duet with Mercedes. Mercedes! That's either going to change the world or destroy it, I'm telling you."

When is yours? He asked slyly. Maybe a part of him — a big part — did wonder what kinds of memories Finn had of him. They'd long since gotten past the butting-heads stage of their relationship, and Kurt knew they loved each other like actual brothers, but that didn't mean he had forgotten.

Finn averted his eyes for a moment, clearing his throat. "Mine was yesterday."

… And?

"I- I sang that Beatles song, you know…" He trailed off, flushing under his brother's intense gaze.

Kurt paused for a moment, running through the possibilities. How many Beatles songs had they sung together? None for an assignment. A few, maybe, as they made their way through alternating playlists at family dinners — not once had a Beatles song shown up on Finn's, though.

Not on Finn's, but… oh. Kurt eyed his iPod on the side table. You mean, he mouthed, that one?

"Yeah," Finn nodded, biting his lip. It was only then that Kurt realized the extent that his family had been hurting, pained, desperate. It was only then that he began to burn inside out from guilt, like a match touching a slow-burning fire.

He caught his brother's eye, wanting to apologize again but holding his tongue. It must have been wonderful.

Finn grinned. "Please, it was… splendiferous."

That's so not a word.

"It is! I looked it up."

He rolled his eyes. Did anyone else sing something?

"Rach and 'Cedes were about to go yesterday when…" Finn stopped, absentmindedly toying with his cast, drawing Kurt's attention to the wound.

Kurt frowned. When you punched someone?

"Some assholes deserve a good punch," his brother resolved, tracing the cerulean cast with his good hand. He caught Kurt's eyes, saw the questions in them. He knew if he said his name, he would know for sure — right now, in that instant, he would know if the person who had done this to Kurt was...

Who? Kurt urged, darkness seeping into his features. He had an idea, but… he could see it already, that face crunching under his brother's fist, the delightful crack resounding through the air as he was knocked to the ground. He could see the face, every inch of it, every crevasse, every bit of evil in the eyes and depravity in the mouth, and yet he still wished it wasn't that face under Finn's assault because that would mean that all this time while he'd been here, that face had been out in the world instead of locked away or fighting to survive.

Standing up, Finn looked away again, squeezing his eyes shut, as though that rendered Kurt entirely inarticulate. "It's not my place to say if-"

"Finn," Kurt whispered, fingers twitching to grab his. Finn, pacing blindly, didn't see, and Kurt didn't ask.

"The nurses told us not to stress you out too much or you could get worse, but they also said you might never talk again and you're talking now and you seem like you're sane enough-"

"Finn," he exclaimed. The dark-haired boy's eyes flew open, panicked, but his lips kept moving.

"But the police are going to come eventually even if Dr. Anderson signs that form and then you're going to have to talk about it so maybe this is a good thing to prepare you for-"

"Karofsky," Kurt breathed. A beat passed in which the panic on his brother's face melted into dread, solidified into hatred and stayed that way. Shoving the words through his throat with all the force of his body, Kurt continued. "It was- him... yeah? You p-p-pu... hit him?"

Finn collapsed back into his chair. "It doesn't fucking matter if I punched that bastard."

"I... it..." Frustrated, Kurt weakly pushed a pillow off the side of the cot. "L-look at me."

Finn returned his gaze to Kurt guiltily, granting him the freedom to speak. "Sorry, bro."

Shaking his head, Kurt mouthed: What matters, Finn?

Jaw clenched. Fist tight. Finn looked like he was back in the second before he swung. "That he's still... that I can't..." He paused to grip the railings of the bed. "What matters is what he did to you. But Kurt, I don't know what that is. Neither do the police. And until we do, we can't do anything — I can't do anything, and I know you've had a hard time of it Kurt but when I found you-"

A hand seized his arm, and his blood ran cold. Kurt's pale, frozen white fingers wrapped around his wrist, warning. Finn didn't move, didn't look, didn't speak... not until the laboured breathing of his brother became too hard to ignore, and he gently took the hand in his and lowered it back to the bed. He didn't let go.

Kurt didn't have to say anything. He knew. And god damn it hurt.

"He doesn't want to see you guys. I'm sorry." Finn placed a consoling hand on his girlfriend's shoulder, but she shrugged it off sharply.

"What do you mean he doesn't want to see me?" Rachel echoed, fisting the neck of her Christmas sweater. The hurt in her voice dug deep into Finn's chest, and he sighed, shaking his head.

"Not just you, Rach. He's not in the mood for any visitors right now." He tapped his toes inside his shoe anxiously, glancing around the crowded ICU. It was Friday, about a day and a half since Kurt had woken up. It was also far too soon for the entire glee club to visit during lunch rehearsal.

"We understand," Mr. Schue replied, solemn smile struggling to stay on his lips. "It's been a hard time for him."

Santana snorted. "Understatement of the year." Mercedes glared at her, and she puts her hands up defensively. "What? I'm just saying, imagine waking up one day and it's been two weeks, the police want to know who beat the living crap out of you, and you can't even talk. Jesus."

"He can talk," Finn spat. "And he's gonna be fine, ok? He's gonna be fine. So just... stop."

Mr. Schue stepped between them. "Finn, we're going to head back if Kurt doesn't want to see us right now. But, um..." He came closer and patted the boy's shoulder. "You should get some rest. You look like you haven't slept in days."

"I'll try, Mr. Schue. Thanks." Finn turned to Rachel, who surged, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing tight.

"I don't want to go back, Finn," she whispered in his ear. "I want to stay with you. Please."

"Rach, I-" Cut off by Kurt's door opening, Finn turned to find Carole blocking the view into his brother's room. She beckoned him towards her.

"He changed his mind," she said quietly to her son, eyeing the glee club warily. "He wants to see them."

His eyebrows furrowed. "But he's still... did you say something to him, mom?"

"No!" she exclaimed, running a hand through her hair. "He was fiddling with his iPod and just changed his mind."

"Ok." Just as hesitant, he affirmed, "You sure about this?"

She shook her head. "He's sure."

"Alright," he conceded. "I'll bring them in." Finn turned back to his friends, and Carole placed an advising hand on his arm.

"Not all of them at once, sweets. Just Rachel and Mercedes for now." He nodded in relief and hastened back to his girlfriend's side.

"You and 'Cedes," he whispered in her ear, hand against the small of her back. "He misses you guys."

A tiny smile spread across her lips. "I miss him."

"Go inside, babe," he offered, nudging Rachel towards his mother. The girl stared at him, wide-eyed, as though she barely even believed the boy in question was inside. Finn grinned. "Go."

She slipped through the door, and Finn motioned towards Mercedes. "You too, 'Cedes." She followed, mirroring Rachel's expression, and she, too, disappeared. Finn made his way to their teacher, nodding politely at him.

"He changed his mind?" Schue questioned, watching the kids fondly.

Finn shrugged. "I guess so. Didn't want to overwhelm him, though. Sorry you came all this way."

"Don't be. We're talking about a miracle here, Finn. The least we could do was come visit." Clapping his shoulder, the teacher jutted his chin towards the door. "Go with them and make sure your brother's alright. I'll take the rest of 'em back to school and we'll sing some festive songs."

He snorted. "Maybe we should be rehearsing for sectionals. I mean, they're in less than two weeks and we don't even have a..." Eyes widening, he suddenly remembered. "Mr. Schue, Kurt was supposed to be our soloist."

"Yes, he was," he confirmed. "We're going to have to replace him, I'm afraid, unless-"

Finn shook his head. "The doctors haven't said anything, but Santana was right. He can barely speak, much less sing. And we... we don't know if..."

"He's gonna be fine," Mr. Schue echoed his words. "Give him time. For now, he just needs to focus on getting better. He's a miracle, remember?"

"Right," he agreed. "Miracle. Gotta be honest, it didn't look like a miracle when he woke up. It was... scary."

"I'm sure it was." He didn't say anything else, and somehow that was the most comforting thing he could do.

Finn cleared his throat. "I'm gonna go see how they're doing. Thank you, for everything." They nodded at one another, and Finn waved to the rest, retreating into the room.

Rachel and Mercedes were sat at Kurt's feet on either side, each holding one of his hands, and his iPod rested on his stomach. From the door, Finn watched the device rise and fall gently for a moment, knowing that it was Kurt who was making it happen all on his own. Maybe it was a stupid thing to be proud of, but all things considered, Finn had a right to be stupid proud. He joined them, sitting in his favourite chair by the bed while Carole sat on the petite sofa in the corner, observing.

"And then my mom decided to stay in Ohio for a while so she could get to know me better and so Quinn and Puck could know Beth. I was mad at first, but then she helped me with my audition for West Side Story." Rachel prattled on, but her gaze stayed locked on where her hand surrounded Kurt's. It wasn't hard to tell from the strain in her voice that she was on the verge of tears, but none of them spoke of it.

At the first break in Rachel's monologue, Mercedes chimed in. "Rachel, Kurt doesn't want to hear about your drama. None of us do."

She huffed, crossing one arm across her chest but realizing it looked ridiculous and lowering it. Rolling his eyes, Kurt squeezed her hand and tried to sit up.

"I d-don't mind," he struggled as Finn forced a pillow under his back. A few coughs punctuated his statement, and his cheeks burned red with humiliation. "Honest."

"Kurt," Carole chided subtly, reminding him not to talk. She knew it would make his cheeks burn brighter, but he would thank her in the long run. He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them, facing the ceiling — gravity stopped his tears from falling.

He caught Finn's gaze and stared meaningfully, as though he could implant his thoughts into his brother's mind. Their duet, Kurt mouthed, hoping he understood. Finn nodded.

"You guys were gonna sing your duet after mine remember? Before the whole..." he recalled. "How about you do it now? I know it's not in front of the whole club and Mr. Schue isn't here but-"

"Of course," Rachel agreed. She turned to Kurt. "I would ask if you have the instrumental, but that would be an insult."

Memories, he mouthed, a grin breaking his face in two. Of course I have it. Grabbing his iPod, he slid his thin fingers across the screen a few times before the wholly familiar tune came bounding from the tiny device.

Light radiated from the two girls as they stood, grasping onto each other as they sang. "Something has changed within me, something is not the same..."

True to the name of the assignment, memories rushed through Kurt's mind. The first time they sang Defying Gravity together — when they competed for the solo. Their first sleepover where they sang through the entirety of the soundtrack without stopping, apart from the 'intermission' (read: snack break) where they'd stumbled in their pyjamas into the kitchen. The five-hour car ride to see Wicked live in Chicago, and another five hours back, all spent singing until they'd all lost their voices completely.

"And you won't bring me down, bring me down!" Their voices split through the air, sending shivers down Kurt's spine with the final note — if only they sang duets more often, the world would be a better place. He beamed, clasping his hands together. No one said anything about the tears streaming down his cheeks.

"You guys are amazing," Finn said for him, pulling Rachel into his arms. Carole clapped emphatically against her thigh, holding her phone with one hand to capture the performance. Mercedes flipped her hair over her shoulder, laughing, and carefully wrapped an arm around Kurt.

"Hell yeah, we are!" she cheered, pumping her other fist in the air. "We rocked this damn hospital!"

"I'm inclined to agree," a voice interrupted from the doorway, breezy and amused. Clipboard under his arm, Dr. Anderson clapped earnestly for a moment before withdrawing his charts. He smiled conspiringly. "The nurses were thoroughly delighted, even the grumpy ones."

"This nurse was incredibly delighted," Carole teased, clicking her phone off. "Although my state of grumpiness is dependent on when Burt gets back with our coffee. Morning, doc."

He shot her a dazzling smile. "Mrs. Hummel."

Mercedes jabbed Kurt in the arm, feigning most of the action in light of the tube sticking from his inner elbow. "Why Kurt, you didn't mention your doctor was fine as hell. I've been picturing that dude who almost gave Rachel that nose job after Finn-"

"Mercedes," hissed the girl in question, pink in the cheeks. She shifted embarrassedly, jostled Kurt's sheets and made a fuss of fixing them, muttering under her breath, "I didn't go through with it..."

Finn rolled his eyes, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. "Dr. A, these are our friends. That's Mercedes and this is my girlfriend, Rachel." Alright, perhaps the girlfriend part was a bit strained... but the way the girls were staring at the doctor made Finn's stomach clench. "Girls, Dr. Anderson."

"Nice to meet you, ladies." The man chuckled, catching Finn's gaze meaningfully, and made a subtle show of toying with the band on his ring finger. Embarrassed, the boy hid his face in Rachel's hair.

"You and 'Cedes should head back to school," Finn advised. They nodded and each gave Kurt a sweet kiss to the cheek before leaving with Carole's promise to email them the video of their duet to show to Mr. Schue.

"Glee club, huh?" the doctor conversed politely. The two boys made little attempt to hide their fondness of the unpopular club.

Carole laughed heartily, waving her phone in the air. "Never miss an opportunity to put on a performance, these kids. Not that I'm complaining — never met a more talented bunch in my long life."

"I'm no stranger to the allure of show choir. My younger brother was the star of his in high school," Dr. Anderson replied, making his way to the head of Kurt's bed and glancing briefly at the monitor. Kurt nodded at him in greeting. The sight of the doctor both calmed and worried him — he was the last thing the boy could remember from... before. His steady demeanour, his healing hands. But there was a figure with him, a man who's voice was like a tidal wave of warmth. A man he hadn't seen since then, who he half-believed was a figment of his dying breath.

"Kurt... Kurt?" Carole's hand waved across his face, and he startled.

"Wh-wh-what?" he rasped, curling his toes. He did that sometimes when he wasn't sure if he was awake or asleep. The sensation comforted him, and his heart rate slowed on the monitor.

Carole bit her lip nervously as she addressed Dr. Anderson. "Could that be a bad sign? He wasn't responsive for a few seconds..."

"It's possible," he responded, clicking open his pen and jotting down a note. "But it's best not to jump to conclusions. You've been through a lot, Kurt. It's completely normal to be a bit shaken up."

Kurt settled back into his sheets, grateful that the doctor had thought to address him directly. Grasping onto that bit of dignity, he waited for Dr. Anderson to continue.

Flipping one last time through the clipboard, the man gave him a megawatt smile. "Everything looks great, all things considered. You're a fighter, kid. I'll be back in a couple of hours to check on you, but your nurse should be in and out if you need anything." He stuck his pen into his coat pocket. "As for talking, you should give it a fair chance. If it hurts too much, stop for a while and rest. Healing is a process — your body is doing what it can, but it needs your help."

"Ok," he breathed softly through his teeth, revelling in the brevity of the pain. "I'll tr…y."

As Dr. Anderson bid his farewell, another figure walked through the door — differently shaped, larger, with fonder memory attached. Wanting just to move on, Kurt caught his father's eye and opened his arms carefully, waiting, and their embrace was warm and familiar and maybe a little tearful, not that Kurt needed any more tears today or any other day.

Burt pulled away, picking up the coffee tray he'd discarded on the side table and handing a cup to Carole. "Sorry if it's cold. When I heard some beautiful voices from in here I had to wait and listen outside."

"You just missed the girls," his wife replied, sipping the lukewarm beverage contentedly.

"I caught them as they were leaving. Rachel told me something interesting."

"And t-that was?" Kurt questioned, searching the sheets for his iPod. Finn handed it to him, and he nodded in thanks.

"That you are the most thoughtful and most idiotic son I could ever wish for," Burt replied, taking Kurt's hand. "You threw the competition in sophomore year. For the solo."

"Y-yeah," he whispered, a soft smile on his face. There was no reason to be upset about it now — he'd made the right decision then. No solo was worth his father's pain.

"Why? You deserved it then, and you deserve it now!"

"I g-got it. Mr. Schue g-g-gave me… I d-don't need to sing for all th-th… to know I deserve it." Maybe once he would have had to, but now all he wanted was to sing again. For his father, for his friends, for himself. He rubbed his raw throat.

Their moment of silence was interrupted by a knock at the door. Muffled by the barrier, a musical voice called out, "Kurt? It's Rachel, I forgot my bag."

"Come in, dear," Carole replied, eyes skimming the floor for the spotted backpack she'd seen scattered in the doorway of her home too many times to count. Picking it up from the corner of the bedpost, she handed it to Rachel as she walked through the door.

"Thanks, Mrs. Hummel," Rachel beamed, digging through the front pocket. "I was half-way when I realized I'd forgotten it here and I got so scared! If my dads had called me and I hadn't answered, God, they'd be so scared for me! I'd better check if they-" She paused, fingers closing around nothing. "Huh, my phone isn't in here. I must've taken it out..."

Kurt smiled. "You t-took it out for the ph-pho…photo."

"Oh, yes!" She lifted a finger in the air dramatically as though recalling an event that hadn't been less than ten minutes ago. "No hospital visit is complete without a selfie. I think I left it…" Running her hand over the side table, she came up empty, frowning.

"Not there?" Finn asked, throwing an arm over her shoulder.

Shaking her head, she poked his chest gently. "No. Can you call me? I think I took it off silent…."

Finn rolled his eyes as he grabbed his jacket and unzipped the pocket. "Please, you never have it on silent."

"Every call is an important call when you're a star!" she defended, biting her lip anxiously. Kurt took her hand comfortingly, and she relaxed.

It was left unsaid the real reason she was afraid of losing her phone, but the look in her eyes as she clenched Kurt's hand spoke volumes itself. Finn unlocked his phone and announced, "Speed dialling a Miss Rachel Berry."

Loud and blaring, the ring tone filled the hospital room, the bubbly, melodious voice of a pop star. But it was not the voice that stopped Kurt — it was the song. A song that drowned him in memory so strong it was like it was happening at that moment, and once again he couldn't see but he could hear everything so clearly, so wholly.

The bubbly, melodious voice transformed, in his mind, into a honeyed baritone as the song played. You make me feel like I'm living a teenage dream...

Before, when the life had been seeping from his skin — a man with curly black hair and thin glasses falling off his nose had stood over him, held his head gently, whispered words that barely made sense. The same voice had sung to him centuries later, telling him to push all the bads things away and focus on the harmony of his song… that song.

What was his name? Name, name, name…

"Kurt!"

He opened his eyes — when had he closed them? — to several hands reaching out towards him. Carole, Finn, Burt, Rachel. No, none of those were the right name. He blinked, squinting at the overhead lights.

Hello. I'm…

Yes, he was so close. On the tip of his tongue, lips forming the letters. He felt the warmth against his skin. It wasn't long ago, maybe a few days. He could remember.

I'm… I'm…

Finn could have sworn Kurt's eyes became bluer.

I'm Blaine.

A/N: Sorry for the wait, but here's a little Klaine for the holidays :)

Songs referenced:

Mr. Cellophane from Chicago the Musical
I Want to Hold Your Hand by the Beatles
Defying Gravity from Wicked the Musical
Teenage Dream by Katy Perry