I'm sorry in advance. I was having a rough day and this just sort of happened.
Warning: Character death.
I don't own the characters.
"There's been an accident."
Kurt got the call right before lunch. He fell against the wall of his office and slid to the floor, sobbing into the phone. His assistant rushed in at the sound and took the phone - Kurt couldn't speak or even hear the medic on the other end.
Blaine had been on the bus to work as usual. He always left later than Kurt because he taught after lunch and only had to be in his room by 10 on an average day.
That morning Kurt kissed him goodbye on his way out the door, and Blaine called after him that he would run to get more milk and coffee before he went to the school. Kurt shouted back his thanks and love, catching Blaine's quick "love you too!" just as the door closed behind him. The morning started as usual, typical and comfortable.
Until that call.
Whenever Blaine ran an errand in the morning - or even when he didn't - he would always text Kurt when he got on the bus, and again when he got off. It wasn't always to say so specifically; sometimes he would send a comment about his fellow riders, whatever errand he just ran, his lesson plan, his students, reminders of plans or bills.
That day it read, "I love you, always."
Kurt checked his phone at 9:15 as usual and smiled fondly at the screen.
"I love you, forever," Kurt typed back before tucking his cell back into his pocket so he would have it for Blaine's second text letting Kurt know he'd gotten off at the stop a block from the school. He rushed to grab the package of spec sheets the factory had sent with samples.
Before long he was running around the office to revise orders, correct forms and adjust patterns. He didn't realize how much time had flown by; Blaine's second text always marked mid-morning, and Kurt Just assumed he'd been extremely efficient in the short time between the two messages.
The phone rang at 10:43, just about an hour after Blaine's usual text to say he'd arrived. Curiously Kurt pulled his phone from his pocket as he noted the time, but smiled at Blaine's name and face on the caller ID.
"Hi! I was starting to-"
"Kurt Hummel-Anderson?"
His words died on his lips at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. He could hear beeping and general chaos in the background.
"I - yes, speaking," he replied hesitantly, voice high and thin. His heart slammed against his ribcage.
"My name is Sandy, I'm a medic at St. Barnabas Hospital. There's been an accident. The side of the bus Blaine was riding this morning was hit by a moving van."
"Is he – did – where is he?" Kurt could barely breathe. Blaine had to be okay, he had to. Blaine was –
"He's on life support. He doesn't have long. He was thrown..."
Kurt's ears started ringing. He didn't register anything until his assistant gently ushered him to the couch and asked if he wanted to go to the hospital.
He couldn't. But he had to see Blaine. He would.
He had to say goodbye.
Everything passed in a haze. All too quickly he fell into the stiff chair beside Blaine's nearly lifeless body in the too-crisp-too-clean-too-white hospital bed. Someone must have called his dad and Rachel and Cooper and the rest of their family, because his phone kept buzzing. He couldn't answer anyone, just left it on the table. His assistant took it out into the hall to fill everyone in and help make travel arrangements.
Kurt just took Blaine's hand and watched Blaine's face, tears flowing steadily down his cheeks. He rubbed his thumb across the back of Blaine's limp hand. Suddenly he started speaking to Blaine, wishing and promising and praying to whoever was listening.
At some point his voice gave out and he just sat there. And looked. And memorized. And cried.
It felt like hours before a nurse came in, then all at once like Kurt didn't have enough time. Would never have enough.
Later he was handed a box of Blaine's belongings. His thin jacket from that morning lay folded on top of his leather messenger bag. Inside the bag were his laptop (banged up with a cracked screen but the hard drive may be salvageable), class rosters, his students' graded homework and a couple notebooks.
Kurt couldn't look through it for long. He took it out and propped it against the side of the box.
Blaine's phone and wallet must have been put in first when they brought him in; they were at the bottom of the box, tucked in the corner. His wallet was a bit more ragged than Kurt remembered it being the day before. His phone was scratched and dented, and Kurt held it with shaking fingers. He pressed the button at the top to see if it still worked.
He wasn't sure if he wanted it to turn on.
The screen lit up – it hadn't even been shut off by the impact. Or maybe the medic – Sandy, some small part of his mind idly recalled – had turned it back on to call him. He didn't know; he didn't really want to know.
Kurt's eyes blurred and it took him a moment to see the screen it had been left on. It was their text thread, Kurt's message at the bottom.
The last thing he saw was Kurt's "I love you, forever."
At least they had that.
Forever.
His knees gave out.