A/N: AHMAHGAH. . Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I have no excuse. Well, I have no GOOD excuse. I could easily come up with a crappy one. Anyway, this chapter isn't sad so the joke at the end will be slightly less funny and slightly more offensive. My reasoning makes sense, doesn't it? (PS - Don't you just love Darren Criss' face? I do. When Blaine had that big epiphany in the last episode his face was being uber cute.) As always, this story doesn't follow Glee's timeline. On with the show!
"Good morning, Sunshine." Carole's face was floating in front of Kurt's eyes. Bright light was streaming from behind her, circling her like a halo.
"Whuh?" Kurt grumbled, ever-so-eloquently.
"Dude," Finn's voice came from Kurt's right somewhere, "you're so stupid."
"Seriously, Kurt," Burt's voice came from the other direction, "I can't leave you unsupervised for one minute without you doing something stupid."
"What did I do?" Kurt moaned, shielding his eyes with his arm. A cast hit his forehead. "Wait, what?" He said, fully awake now. He looked up at his arm. It was in a plaster cast. "Oh. Well, shit."
"Language," Burt's voice scolded.
"You fell down the stairs and broke your arm, Honey," Carole told Kurt.
Kurt blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision. He was in a room - probably a hospital room - and Carole, Burt and Finn were all there. A large window was behind Carole, letting in obnoxious amounts of sunlight. "Morning?" Kurt muttered, "Morning?" His brain was knocking against his skull as if trying to remind him of something. Something important. "Blaine!"
"Whoa, whoa, there!" Burt said as he tried to keep Kurt from jumping out of bed, "Blaine's fine. He's awake. Just relax."
"I want to see him!" Kurt shouted, struggling against Burt's hold on him. A two-minute struggle of flailing limbs and grunted swears ensued; Burt finally acceded when Kurt bit his forearm. Hard. Kurt bolted out of the room without another word, barefoot, his hospital gown fluttering epically behind him.
Kurt's eyes didn't know where he was going, but his feet sure did. They led him through empty halls, past startled-looking bystanders and through automatic glass doors. One set of doors didn't open quite fast enough, and Kurt smacked into it like a bug on a windshield. He shook himself and, as soon as the doors were fully open, continued running.
The hospital was filled with boring doors, each identical to the last, yet somehow Kurt managed to recognize the one he had been staring at the night before. He flung it open like a madman.
xxxx
Blaine refused to go back to sleep after first waking up. He was acting like a restless newborn, so excited by the world around him and just wanting to jump into it. But Dr. North (not to mention Betty) wouldn't let Blaine move even a little bit. When he shifted to fluff his pillow, Betty jumped and shouted, "No!"
I haven't felt this restricted since I broke my arm. I just want to get up and DO something.
… I want to go to Denny's and have hash browns. Denny's hash browns are the best.
There was pain, but Blaine could ignore it fairly easily. Dr. North was right, the worst Blaine felt was bored. He was also perpetually hungry in the first few hours after waking. He got corn flakes fairly quickly after he asked for them, but every hour since, he'd been having strange, breakfast-related cravings. He also really wanted coffee, but Betty wouldn't let him have any because she wanted him to go back to sleep.
Maybe I'm pregnant. Maybe these are pregnancy cravings. You're not allowed to drink coffee when you're pregnant, right? I bet if I asked for alcohol they would say no, too. Oh man, I'm pregnant. Probably with an alien baby. They're probably going to make a movie about me and my alien baby. I hope James Cameron doesn't direct it. That would suck.
The hours crawled by like snails on a speedway. Bonnie quickly fell asleep on the little settee provided in Blaine's room, but Betty stayed up in the chair next to the bed, drinking coffee and reading magazines. Every ten minutes or so, she would ask Blaine if he needed anything. The only things he asked for were assorted breakfast foods and for the blinds to be opened. Blaine watched the sunrise as his brain stumbled aimlessly like a drunk elephant at the circus.
I wonder what a good name for an alien baby would be. How about Hamish? Hmm, too human.
Blaine's eyes alternated from looking out the window to looking at the clock on the wall. He tried several times to use his telepathic powers to move the clock hands, but it hadn't worked yet.
Oh! I know! I'll name him Jedi. I've never heard of a human named Jedi before.
Soon, the sun was completely up and the dull, grey dawn had turned into a beautiful winter morning. The sunlight was taunting Blaine the way it did when he was a kid and was bed-ridden from the flu but just wanted to go outside and play.
Or maybe Benjamin. Mom would like it if my alien baby had a name that started with B.
Just as Blaine was pondering this, the door slammed open and there was Kurt, hair mussed, cheeks red and panting heavily.
"Kurt?" Blaine said, happily surprised. "Wait, Kurt? Why do you have a cast? What happ-"
Blaine's words were cut short by Kurt, who had stormed over to Blaine and smacked him on the back of the head. "Ow!" Blaine exclaimed.
"How dare you! Do you have any idea the hell you put us through?" Kurt started shouting, "I sat on a gross hospital floor for you! I stayed up all night and, believe me, hospital coffee is NOT good!"
Blaine stared at Kurt in slightly-amused shock.
"And your mother! Dear lord, your mother! I can only imagine the pain she's gone through!"
"Um," Betty said from her seat, interrupting Kurt's ravings, "I'm just going to, umm, go," She mumbled. She hoisted the sleeping Bonnie into her arms and backed out of the room.
The short interruption seemed to have relieved Kurt of his built-up steam, and he fell silent, sinking into the seat just vacated by Betty. His round, doe eyes turned toward Blaine. "I'm sorry," He whispered.
Blaine stared at Kurt, confused.
"I'm sorry," Kurt repeated, louder this time.
"What - why?"
"I asked you to go to the aquarium with me." Kurt said, looking down into his lap.
Blaine's muddled mind snapped into place. "Kurt," He said sternly, "look at me, Kurt."
Kurt raised his eyes to meet Blaine's again.
"Did you put ice on the road?" Blaine asked rhetorically, his eyes narrowing and his lips tightening.
Kurt just looked at him blankly.
"Exactly. So why the hell are you apologizing?"
A lone tear rolled down Kurt's cheek.
Blaine reached over and placed his hand on Kurt's knee.
"I though you were going to die," Kurt murmured.
"Never," Blaine whispered, smiling.
The tension between them was so sweet and comfortable, a complete paradox.
"What a weak car," Kurt changed the subject, "It must've been lighter than a sardine tin. Next time buy, like, a Hummer or something."
"I'd prefer a Hummel," Blaine muttered under his breath.
"What?"
"What?"
"Did you say something?"
"Not even a little bit." Blaine smiled wide like a mischievous child. "Don't diss the car. If it was American-made I probably would've died."
"True," Kurt agreed. After a short pause, Kurt's face lit up and he said, "Oh!" and rushed out of the room without an explanation.
Blaine was completely dumbfounded until, forty minutes later, Kurt returned with two giant coffees and a pack of Chocolate Werther's. They sat together, drank together and laughed together all day. Kurt told Blaine how he broke his arm (blushing of embarrassment the entire time) and everything that happened while Blaine had been unconscious. Blaine taught Kurt how to play blackjack and Kurt taught Blaine how to tie a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue. By mid-afternoon, three empty packs of Werther's and an empty jar of cherries were in the garbage can and each boy had had two more overpriced, sugar-laden coffee drinks. Blaine was in the middle of writing dirty lyrics on Kurt's cast with a bright purple pen when Kurt turned to him and said:
"Blaine?"
"Yeah?" Blaine answered, too focused to look up from his writing.
"I... I think I'm in love with you."
The purple pen hit the floor with a resounding clatter.
xxxx
A/N: What do you call a black doctor? A doctor, you racist!
AHMAHGAH. A few months ago, an acquaintance of mine broke his arm and I wrote some pretty dirty lyrics on his cast. They were mostly from Bo Burnham's "Oh Bo." Google that shit. The lyrics are as dirty as white horses in the mud.
I have two-ish more chapters and then this little story will be done. Then I will probably proceed to write a cornucopia of Klaine fics. Look forward to it. Don't forget to review! It makes me oh so happy :)