Author's Note: I really like this chapter...hop on board this ship and hold on tight haha! Thanks to LeoChris for beta reading! Please take a minute to let me know what you think. I do not own Glee nor the characters involved. This story does not necessarily reflect the sexuality/relationship of Rory Flanagan and Sam Evans (we can only dream) or the actors who portray them. Enjoy! :)

...

They were driving. Rory sat anxiously behind the wheel and kept demanding to know if Sam was comfortable; was he too cold? Did he want the radio on?

After settling on a radio station, Rory aimed the vents at Sam and turned up the heating. In the warm silence, Sam was slowly lulled into an easy doze. He felt safe under Rory's watch…

"Sam?" Rory whispered vulnerably. There was no answer, save for the blond's gentle snoring. "Sam, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt."

Sam made a sleepy smile, which Rory returned fondly. "I'll protect you, Sam. They won't come after you again."

…

Sam felt a light hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently awake. He muttered sleepily, "What?"

"We're here, Sam," Rory said, "You have to wake up. Oh, thank god the bleeding's stopped."

The blond struggled to open his eyes and fumbled with his seatbelt. Rory reached over and unbuckled it.

"Do you think you can walk, Sam?"

Sam nodded slowly. He sat up a little straighter and then gasped, wincing in pain. "Oh god…"

"I'm coming," Rory whispered. He unbuckled his own seatbelt and got out of the car, flitting around to the other side and opening Sam's door.

"I'm fine," Sam affirmed.

Rory rolled his eyes and, in a single quick motion, scooped Sam up into his arms. "I've got you."

Nudging the door closed with his foot, Rory marched up the front steps to the Pierces' front door. The windows of the modest house were dark.

Rory prodded the doorbell with his elbow, still cradling Sam comfortably against his chest.

A light flicked on inside the house and Sam sucked in a breath, "They'll see me."

"Shh," Rory said. After a moment, the front door swung open revealing a pajama-clad Brittany.

"What's up?" She asked as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

"I'm taking Sam down to my room," Rory replied, stepping into the house. "Go back to bed."

Shutting the front door behind them, Brittany shrugged and grinned. "Okay."

She turned to start up the stairs, but Rory called after her. She glanced over her shoulder and Rory said, "You'll forget this happened."

A vacant look spread across her face and she mouthed something incoherent before climbing the stairs and disappearing into her bedroom.

"What did you do?" Sam asked.

"I'll explain everything later," Rory said. Then, he opened the door leading down to the basement and clicked on the lights as he made his way down the stairs.

They arrived in a very simple bedroom with a large bed and plain wooden furniture. There were no indications that a teenage boy inhabited the room: no posters on the walls, no trophies, no schoolbooks.

Rory gently laid Sam down on the comfy, white bedspread. Sam protested. "The blood…"

"Mrs. Pierce will wash it."

"But—"

"Sam!" Rory said sharply. "You're hurt. Please, just let me help you."

The blond opened his mouth to protest. First things first, he wanted an explanation. But he saw the look of resolve on Rory's face and he merely nodded. "Okay."

Rory smiled appreciatively, ducking out of the room. Sam reflected on the fact that it may have been the first time he had seen the Irish boy smile.

"We're going to fix you up," Rory said, more to himself than to Sam, as he returned with an armful of medical supplies. He dumped them onto the bed.

"Maybe I should sit up," Sam suggested.

"Are you able to?"

Sam grunted, trying to move. "Just give me a hand."

Rory helped Sam into a sitting position, so that his back was supported by the headboard of Rory's bed.

"Perfect," Sam said.

Rory hung back, biting his lip uneasily. Only now did it occur to him that Sam was lying on his bed, in his room and they were together…alone. The room seemed suddenly hot and stuffy.

To give himself something to do, Rory started fussing with the boxes of gauze and bandages, sorting through them. Sam kept his eyes trained on the spinning ceiling fan as it cast shadows swooping along the walls.

With Sam distracted, Rory allowed himself to steal a few quick glances at the injured boy. He had never noticed the perfect balance of Sam's proportions; his long limbs built up with just the right amount of athletic muscle, broad shoulders matched with a narrow waist, a toned torso with a strong chest.

Rory tore his eyes away, his fingers numbly working on opening several boxes of supplies.

But then Sam's face drew his attention. Under the layer of drying blood was a face as friendly as it was handsome. And those green eyes, so warm and full of life…

"Rory?" Sam asked, startling the brunet out of his thoughts.

"Yes," Rory piped.

Sam turned to face the nervous boy and flashed a familiar smile, despite the circumstances. "Can we get started now? It kinda hurts, and I'd like to try to get some sleep tonight."

"Okay."

Rory went to fetch a bowl of water and a washcloth. He knelt at the side of the bed, placing the bowl on the bedside table. He nodded. "Ready?"

"You bet."

…

Sam felt the tenderness in Rory's fingers as they brushed across the sore skin of his face, the warm water ebbing away the pain.

"Am I hurting you?" Rory whispered, his voice tight.

Sam's eyes never left the brunet's face. "You're perfect."

While Rory wiped away the blood that had gushed from Sam's nose, and cleaned the bruising skin along his jaw, Sam felt…something. He admired the boy standing above him; the slight crinkle just between his eyebrows as he concentrated, the way he bit his lower lip. Even more startling, Sam felt he could gaze up at Rory forever. His stomach felt like it was tied in a knot and his heart fluttered.

"Rory…" Sam whispered.

The Irish boy shook his head and placed a cool finger on Sam's lips, his eyes full of an unidentifiable emotion. Rory's fingers ghosted uncertainly along the bottom of Sam's shirt. "I have to…take it off…you're hurt."

"Do it," Sam sighed.

In a none-too-elegant motion, Rory tugged and wrestled the shirt off. Sam grunted as the material was pulled from the sticky wounds.

Rory let out a breath of air and wrung out the washcloth, pressing it gingerly to the claw marks on Sam's chest. As the blood was cleared away, the wounds looked much more manageable. Rory replaced the washcloth with his own hands, his fingers curiously trailing along the gouges, testing the rough outlines against the smooth expanses of Sam's chest…and moving down to the hard lines of the blond's stomach.

Sam tensed his body as he felt an almost electric tingle racing through his body, stemming from the point of contact between them.

"Rory," Sam murmured wondrously, "You saved me."

The brunet smiled shyly and shrugged, as he rolled Sam onto his side. With the bloodied washcloth, he tended to the scrapes along Sam's back where he had skidded along the pavement.

"I'm sorry for what happened, Sam. It's my fault that they came after you. I want to explain, but I don't know how."

"Later…tomorrow," Sam said. Then, rather manipulatively, he said, "I should probably go."

"You will do nothing of the sort, Sam Evans," Rory said firmly. "You can stay here."

"Okay," Sam said, settling in on his back.

Rory started unwrapping a bandage but Sam shook his head, "Tomorrow."

"And I'll explain—"

"Tomorrow."

Rory nodded and turned to leave the room. Sleepily, Sam asked, "Rory, will you stay with me?"

Smiling to himself before turning around, Rory stretched himself out next to Sam on the bed and found himself remarkably exhausted.

As the pair fell asleep, they wormed nearer and nearer until they were cuddled up close together, smiles on both their faces.