Blaine's POV

Blaine had been happily studying for his history test while listening to his favorite music (mainstream rules!) when he'd received the alarming text from Kurt. Deep panic had swallowed his stomach when he read the HELP! His heart was pounding, his mind was buzzing with clouded thought. His body and mind were experiencing every cliché in the book.

What could be wrong with Kurt?

He calmed. It was probably just something trivial and cute, like clothes or something. Just as a precaution, though, he texted back a what's up? -Bx. Blaine went back to studying and rocking out, but he was less enthusiastic than he had been earlier. A heavy stone had settled in the pit of his stomach and rolled around in the back of his mind. What if it wasn't something trivial?

Kurt never texted without signing his name and an "x."

He soon forgot about it completely, the stone shrinking to a pebble, and danced zealously to dozens of Katy Perry numbers before stopping dead in his tracks.

The song that had just come on was "Teenage Dream." (You know, the song that he sang right after he met Kurt?) It made him think of Kurt and with thinking of Kurt came the horror that Kurt hadn't texted back. Kurt always texted back.

Being done with whatever it was he had been doing (he didn't really care right now if Marie Antoinette was a stuck-up bitch), he raced out of his dorm, texting Kurt hundreds of where are you?'s.

Blaine kept texting him as he raced down the stairs, going who-knows-where. Panic and guilt were chewing at his insides, making him wish he was better at protecting Kurt.

Noise pricked at Blaine's ears, so he stopped.

In the silence of the halls, he heard a chiming of "Teenage Dream." It was faint, and it came from the bottom of the stairs.

Racing down to the bottom of the stairs (you know, where Kurt and Blaine first met?), his foot skidded on something wet. Blaine looked down, expecting to only see the shine of clear, spilled water.

The shine was there on the (hard and marble) steps, but it was not the shine of water. It was the shine of dark red blood.

Blaine covered his mouth with his hand. He felt sick, like he was about to throw-up. He walked a little farther down the stairs, blood spatching the once-pristine steps, and saw what (who) was lying in the bottom left corner (you know, the one where Blaine and Kurt met?).

Now Blaine really was going to be sick. He even tasted it in the back of his throat, but Blaine was too preoccupied with his shaking hands and wet eyes that were seeing one of the worst things in the world.

There was Kurt. His best friend was lying in a crumpled mess of pale and red and uniform, right in the spot where they met.

The nauseous fog in Blaine's head was pushed to the back by a searing panic. It pushed him forward from his spot where he stood dumbly until he was kneeling beside Kurt's body, turning him over and shaking him desperately.

"Kurt! Kurt- oh my God, Kurt! How- How did this happen?! Oh, dear God, I swear Kurt, you'll be okay, I promise-" rambled Blaine.

Not unlike what Blaine had been expecting, Kurt didn't answer. Precious seconds were ticking by, and he wasn't responding to Blaine's touch.

Three minutes and eight frantic phone calls later, Blaine was grasping Kurt's hand while rocking back and forth, curled into a ball. Wes, David and several other Warblers came zooming down the stairs asking what happened to Kurt and would he be alright?

Blaine didn't have an answer, so he just kept wailing quietly as he tried to squeeze life back into Kurt's hand.

Paramedics and teachers showed up two minutes later. One young woman came over to him with a clipboard and a pen, and asked Blaine if he could answer a few questions.

Normally he would have replied with something charming, but he felt so out of it that he just said yes, he would try his best to answer her questions.

"Do you know what resulted in him at the bottom of the stairs in his current condition?"

"No."

"Does he have a history with things of this sort?"

"Not that I know of."

"Do you know of anyone that might have wanted to hurt him?"

Blaine swallowed. "Yeah," he breathed out, meek.

The woman looked up at him now, cocked an eyebrow, before returning to a normal, near-robotic countenance. "Do you know his or her name?"

He took a deep breath. "His name is David Karofsky, but he doesn't go to this school. I'm pretty sure that he doesn't even know that Kurt goes to this school. It probably wasn't him, if anyone."

"Why does he want to harm...Kirk?"

"Kurt," he said forcefully and continued more quietly, "and Karofsky was Kurt's old bully while at McKinley."

"Do you know...why he bullied Kurt?"

He closed his eyes and, in a single breath, responded, "Kurt's gay."

Both eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. "He's gay?"

Blaine met her eyes in a fierce twenty-seconds-of-courage moment. "Yes, he is. Is there a problem?"

Her eyebrows returned and furrowed in a sort of...disappointed way. "No. I was just a little...surprised. He didn't really...show it."

It was Blaine's turn to, albeit a little guiltily, raise an eyebrow. Even in uniform the pale young man he called his best friend managed to show off his unique form of fabulousness. In the best way.

"He's cute," she shrugged.

Blaine's hazel eyes itched and stung with hot, salty tears. Ugh. He couldn't stop crying, and he didn't even know what had triggered this bout of tears, but now it had started and the woman in front of him had such a detached and pitying countenance and he just couldn't stop it.

"Oh, hey, I'm sorry," she said, putting her hand on his arm. "My name's Shae, okay? I can see you're pretty shaken up about this... Once we're through with the questions, we can talk, alright?" she said.

The blur in his head subsided, and he nodded. True to her word, he and Shae finished the questions with minimal breakdowns (a number closer to several than Blaine would be proud to admit), and she returned moments later.

"Hey, they're loadin' him into the ambulance right now to take him to the hospital in Lima. Can you... Talk to his parents? They might rather hear from a...friend, of Kurt's, not the hospital," she said.

Two minutes later (with an almost-heart-attack on both Burt and Blaine's part), Blaine finally got to talk to Shae.

Nope.

"I have to run and go with the ambulance, kay, but here's my number if you want to chat. Chances are you'll see me at the hospital, too. I work at Lima Memorial, where 'e'll be. See you later...?"

She was asking for his name, he realized, so he choked out, "Blaine."

"Bye, Blaine. I'm sorry about your friend." She gave his shoulder a light squeeze and trotted off to ride Blaine's best friend's death vehicle.

Blaine almost crumpled the little slip of paper with Shae's number as he usually would with a girl's number, but he knew he would end up calling this one because she would tell him how to stop feeling so sick when it came to Kurt and all the blood he'd been lying in. She would help him with Kurt, nothing more.

A hand came up and grasped his shoulder. Blaine spun around at the touch and was dwarfed (Kurt was still in his head, making fun of his height) in a hug from Wes. "Blaine," Wes said sadly, almost pityingly.

Blaine didn't want pity. He wanted to be the strong one, the protector and comforter, not the one who needed those things. But he needed, needed this pity, needed this comfort, because Kurt had always made him feel better, and he couldn't remember how to make the bad feelings in his heart go away.

"Wes." Blaine buried his head in Wes's neck. "Oh, God, why does this hurt so bad? It's not like he died or something. But everything hurts. Make it stop. Please, Wes, make it stop hurting."

Wes pulled back and gave him a teary grimace-of-a-smile. "Blaine, I think he's hurting more than you. But he's an extraordinarily tough guy, you know? He'll be fine. Besides, I think he would miss you too much if he died."

"I think so, too," Thad, standing next to the two, murmured dazedly.

Huh. Blaine didn't know what to think without Kurt.

That was the beginning of Blaine's piece, yea! It'll switch on and off, and I'll describe whenever it changes. I'm just going to say, I will not post regularly. It's weird the way I post, but I've already written about half of this story, and I have planned it out entirely. Reviews are really appreciated, as they let me know if I'm doing my job. I hope you enjoyed!

And yes, "spatching" is a word I made up. :)

Spatching- noun- an irregular, oddly shaped patch of material such as fur or liquids

-Nightlight