Author's Note: HOLY CRAP. I am back. I am so, so, so sorry for the delay. It's been so long since I've updated and I hope you guys didn't give up on me! Eeeeh, this fiction is ending up being a LOT longer than I originally planned (which was 4 chapters, in case you were wondering). Haha I'm deleting the Author's Note, but for those of you who didn't know, I went to Africa for a month, which was INCREDIBLE but meant that it was much more difficult for me to find time and Internet to update.

I'm not so sure how I feel about this chapter because I think it may be a little too melodramatic, but then again this whole story has been pretty melodramatic and angsty and I LOVE IT. This is one of my favorite stories I've ever written and I really appreciate your support in writing it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of the characters. Kurt Hummel/Chris Colfer and Blaine Anderson/Darren Criss are not mine (unfortunately). (I do own Hunter Birdell).

Summary: "There's a knock at the door and Kurt opens it to see a drenched Blaine Anderson looking lost and defeated." Blaine tells his parents about Kurt with disastrous consequences.

Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Drama

Warnings: Possible language, abuse

Rating: Upped to M (just to be safe)

Pairings: Kurt/Blaine (Klaine)

COURAGE

Kurt feels physically ill. His hands are clammy, his heart is racing, his face feels flushed, and his fingers are trembling. He finds himself absentmindedly wondering if maybe he'll have to check in as a patient at the hospital when they finally arrive.

He glances to his left, where the driver is sitting—thank God for Hunter, honestly, because Kurt and Wes and all of the Warblers are in no condition to drive. Hunter's lips are pursed resolutely, his fingers gripped around the steering wheel of Kurt's car in determination. Kurt looks behind him and catches snippets of a worried Wes, whose face is drawn and pale in anxiety, a shocked-looking David who has an arm slung around Thad, who looks as though he's on the verge of tears.

"What did—what do you know about his condition?" Kurt manages, his voice shaking, as he directs his question to Wes.

Wes fiddles with his cellphone, his eyes shining with anxiety. "I-I don't know—the hospital just called me because they said I was the last person on his call list and they said," he swallows hard, "h-he was in critical condition."

The words slam hard into Kurt's chest and he finds himself struggling to breathe. He attempts to slow his breaths as he hears Thad let out an audible whimper behind him. Blaine is hurt? How badly? How did this happen? Is he going to be alright? Is he going to—no, Kurt can't bring himself to even think that...

The drive to Lima Memorial is less than half an hour from Dalton—less than that, even, because Hunter is speeding recklessly—but to Kurt, it feels like a million years. When Hunter finally pulls into the parking lot at the hospital, Kurt closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. He should hate Blaine, he shouldn't care that he's hurt—that he's in critical condition, because Blaine has hurt him, Blaine was a coward, Blaine was so wrong...

But he meant a lot to Kurt before. And Kurt knows this. And it's so damning that somebody that hurt him this much still means this much to him, but what the hell can he do? He's helpless to his feelings for Blaine—his rationale had no use when he fell hopelessly in love with Blaine the first time he met him to now, when after everything, he still loves him.

Kurt sniffles softly, and feels a supportive hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, you alright?" asks Hunter, his eyes soft and gentle, full of sympathy.

Kurt sighs, a thick, mucousy sigh and looks at his friend.

"I don't know," he admits, taking Hunter's extended hand. "I guess I'll find out."

"What do you mean we can't see him?" Wes's voice is sharp and irritated, and the nurse peers at him sternly over thin-framed wire glasses.

"I'm sorry, sir," she says, her lips pursed hard. "The doctors are working on stabilizing him—your friend has lost a lot of blood. And only family is allowed in right now-"

"I received a call from the hospital that said none of his family members could be reached," Wes spits bitterly. His voice contains the complete air of authority and, Kurt realizes with shock, composure that Kurt generally associates with Blaine. "As this is the case, I am the one who should be in there. Or rather," Wes's expression softens as he nudges Kurt forward gently, "he should."

"And who are you?" the nurse asks. Kurt barely registers her name tag.

Betty, he thinks wearily, and then he realizes he still hasn't answered her question.

"I... I am," Kurt swallows hard, searching for an answer. What the hell is he to Blaine? Why is he here? Why is it that this cowardly asshole... why is it that Blaine has such a hold on him? "I'm Blaine's..." he tries again, his voice trailing off, as he stares at the ground bleakly.

"He's Blaine's boyfriend," Hunter supplies helpfully from the background.

Kurt shoots Hunter a dark, shocked look, and Wes visibly stiffens next to him, but Kurt drops his hands uselessly to his sides. He is—was—after all, Blaine's boyfriend. There's some truth to this statement, though they're not together anymore and Kurt hates everything that has happened, but it's okay. He'll take this.

"Oh," the nurse says, looking as though she has a bad taste in her mouth. She looks Kurt up and down, and Kurt squirms uncomfortably under her scrutinizing gaze. Betty breathes in a disapproving manner, and then continues in a cold voice, "Very well then, I'll let you know when I hear anything about Mr. Anderson's condition." She waves the boys off to the waiting room nonchalantly, her eyes narrowed in disgust.

Kurt feels helpless, blind rage fill up inside of him, but follows Wes wordlessly to the waiting room. It's then, that behind them, they hear Betty whisper in a quiet hiss, "Freaks."

Wes clenches his hands hard and throws Kurt a sympathetic glance, and Kurt feels the nervous prick of the hair on the back of his neck stand up the way it usually does whenever he is confronted with blind hatred, but it's Hunter who speaks up.

"You know," Hunter says, clearing his voice, his eyes hard and steely as he stares straight into Betty's, "Kurt and Blaine and I are gay, but that doesn't give you the right to treat us like that. You know, the funny thing about gay people is that ignorant, narrow-minded fucks like you," (at this Kurt gasps audibly and Betty's mouth drops open in shock), "think we're abnormal. But the thing that's funny is homophobes hate gay people for no reason and Kurt and I were ready to give you a chance. Now, why don't you tell me who the freak is?"

Betty's mouth opens and closes uselessly, and in spite of everything—in spite of the fact that they're in the hospital and Kurt's heart is racing at a rate that is probably abnormal and his hands are shaking in anxiety, a small grin breaks out on his face. Betty-0, Hunter-1.

Betty splutters, and Hunter gives a tight smile to Kurt.

"Come on," he says, extending his hand, "let's wait."

The hospital waiting room is adorned with framed paintings of blooming flowers, smiling children. Kurt scoffs as he studies a picture of magenta tulips in a lush field of grass. His expression softens as he wonders how on earth a mourning parent or a grieving child or a petrified grandparent can focus on happy images when one of their loved ones is in the hospital.

Kurt is no stranger to Lima Memorial. He remembers the diagnosis of his mother's cancer—how it was the first time he'd ever seen his father cry, which made him start crying. His mother, soothing him, telling him that everything would be okay. When his mother was undergoing chemotherapy, the visits were frequent. Kurt remembers, sitting wide-eyed and pale-faced, not really understanding, as his dad would try to reassure him that "of course your mom is fine," and his mom's shaky, thin hand as she squeezed his. Her faint, thin smile; her hollowed cheekbones. Her weary eyes.

And then, how she didn't get better.

And how she moved to the hospital permanently. He and his father crowded around his mom's bed, watching helplessly as she wasted away. The tubes sticking out from all over her body, the loss of her hair—everything, her eyebrows and eyelashes too. How she grew weaker and weaker with every day until she finally let go.

And of course, Kurt remembers his dad's visit to the hospital after his heart attack, and the icy cold fingers of fear clamping around his heart as he wondered if his father would ever wake up.

So now, sitting there in the waiting room, Kurt sits numbly. Around him, Wes, David, Thad, and Hunter are more quiet than they have ever been. None of the boys make eye contact with one another or even say a word. Eventually, Wes picks up a magazine and flips disinterestedly through it, seeming relieved to have something to do. David clears his throat and says he has to go to the bathroom; Thad and Hunter start a conversation.

Kurt sits, immune to it all, concentrating on the thudding of his heart and the emptiness of the white walls save the pathetic, cheerful pictures.

There's an ahem at the door, and all the boys look up.

"Mr. Anderson isn't awake yet, but you can come see him if you'd like," a nurse says. She's wearing a pink shirt and sky blue pants printed with multicolored teddy bears which is a travesty to fashion, but Kurt ignores her outfit, and follows her, his heart thudding in his chest.

It's worse than Kurt could have ever imagined.

Kurt takes one look at Blaine's bruised body and feels his knees go weak. His legs crumple from underneath him, like they're made of jelly.

The last thing he hears before the darkness comes up to meet him is Hunter's worried yelp, calling his name.

When he comes to, a goose-egg sized lump is on his forehead and his head is spinning and Wes, David, Thad, and Hunter are crouched above him, concern written all over their faces.

"Kurt, you alright?" comes Hunter's concerned voice. He gets onto the ground next to Kurt and peers into Kurt's blue eyes. "Kurt, you should take it easy, okay?"

Kurt nods numbly and stands up without a word; he stares at the floor. Hunter's hands flutter nervously next to him, "Kurt, we don't have to do this now. I can take you in later—Wes, Thad, and David can just visit first and then you and I can come in later-"

"No, no, I'm fine," Kurt manages, but everyone can hear the lie pooling on his tongue.

Kurt's head is reeling still and his eyes involuntarily connect with the still figure in the hospital bed and—oh God, oh God, this isn't happening...

Blaine's body is battered from where it's visible underneath his light blue hospital gown. His face is a mottled mass of black and purple, with his cheeks covered with a blossom of bruises, and his right eye is red and swollen shut. There are dark fingermarks around his neck from where he's been apparently strangled. One of his arms, as well as his entire ribcage is swathed in bandages. Kurt can't see Blaine's legs from where they're covered with a flimsy hospital blanket, but he imagines that his body is probably banged up as well.

Blaine looks like someone who has been tortured—dragged through Hell and back. Other than the sound of drops dripping from Blaine's IV and the steady beeps of the monitor regulating his heart race, there's complete, eerie silence.

Next to Kurt, Wes lets out an audible whimper, his eyes full of pain and distress as he takes in his best friend's condition. David puts his hand on Wes's shoulder in what is meant to be a comforting manner, but his own lips are pressed in a straight line; Thad crumples down into a chair, his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide in agony. Hunter stands behind Kurt, muttering consoling words, as though he's afraid Kurt is made of glass and will shatter any moment.

And his worries are not unfounded.

As he stands there, at the head of Blaine's hospital bed, something in Kurt breaks. The dam bursts and a flood of tears, a torrent of sobs rush out of him like a tsunami swallowing everything in its past.

"Oh God, oh God," he manages, bordering on the edge of hysteria. And he feels himself succumb to the panic and the horror and the shock of seeing his ex-boyfriend lying there motionless on the hospital bed. He starts trembling, his shoulders and hands shaking sporadically. Kurt can't focus on what is going on, but he knows Hunter's comforting arm around his torso, steering him out of Blaine's hospital room, and back into the waiting area where Hunter seats him down and shushes him with anxious and useless comforts. "Oh God."

But God isn't there with him in the hospital to give him strength and damn it, this is why he doesn't believe in God in the first place because what kind of sick God would give him someone so perfect in every way and then take him away and then put that previously loved one in the hospital under bright lights and monitors that Kurt doesn't understand, beaten to the point of no return?

And what the hell happened? How the hell did someone as poised and composed and well-liked as Blaine end up beaten half to death in the hospital? And where the hell is Blaine's family?

Kurt clasps a hand over his mouth to muffle his whimper, his eyes spiking with unshed tears again. Hunter squeezes his free hand supportively, his eyes drifting worriedly to his friend's painful expression.

"God, Hunter," Kurt whispers, his voice shaky and watery, "to see him... like that. I have no idea what the hell I was expecting, but it wasn't that at all. And this whole time..." Kurt sighs, the sound shuddery and unfamiliar in his throat, "I just... I wanted him to hurt as badly as he'd hurt me—God, there were times I wished he were dead because he'd hurt me so much, but I... you have to believe me, Hunter," desperation clouds his features, "I never, ever wanted this."

"You love him," Hunter replies carefully, "and he broke your heart. It's a natural response, Kurt, to want revenge—to wish harm on someone who has hurt you. But," he reassures quickly, as Kurt gazes up at him for an answer, "I know, Kurt. I know you would never want this for Blaine."

"Oh God," Kurt clasps his hands together in his lap, "God, Hunter. I was so mean to him the last time I saw him and what if..." his hands tremble, "what if he dies and the last thing I have to remember him by is how I slapped him and walked away?"

"Kurt," Hunter breaks in gently, "he knows you loved him."

"But I was so mean to him. He thinks I hate him-" Kurt starts, but Hunter interrupts him.

"The opposite of love isn't hate, Kurt," Hunter levels his eyes to Kurt's, the golden flecked eyes staring straight into Kurt's blue ones. "It's indifference. And you may have hated him—or tried to hate him—and he knew that you were only doing that to defend yourself. He wronged you, Kurt. The fact that he's hurt now doesn't change that. You were only trying to protect yourself from getting more hurt."

Kurt closes his eyes, letting Hunter's words pass through him, trying to understand. He knows. He knows that he wasn't wrong—he knows that Blaine was the coward, but Blaine is in the hospital and Kurt's scared and everything is going to hell.

"Can you...?" he says hesitantly, and then leans into rest his head on Hunter's shoulder.

"Yeah," Hunter replies, understanding. He pulls Kurt into an embrace and lets the porcelain-skinned boy lay his head against his chest.

Kurt closes his eyes again, and listens to the steady lull of Hunter's heart.

And tries to make himself believe everything's going to be okay.

The heavy thud of footsteps shake Kurt awake. He blinks blearily, high white walls adorned with paintings filling his eyes, and he starts, wondering where he is. He wipes a trail of drool from his lip and looks up, his face flushing instantly as he takes in Hunter, who appears to have just woken up as well. His eyes look exhausted but amusedly at Kurt.

"You alright?" he asks, and with that, Kurt remembers.

He remembers where they are, he remembers Blaine's beaten body, he remembers everything and it's all he can do to keep himself from falling apart right there.

Pull yourself together, Kurt, he tells himself sternly, you are not a pathetic, fragile little boy. Stop crying.

"What's going on?" Hunter asks Wes and David, who have just entered the waiting room. Thad comes into the entrance, nursing a styrofoam cup filled with cheap, watery coffee.

"Blaine's awake," Wes says, his eyes looking anywhere but at Kurt's pale face. "And," he swallows hesitantly, hurtfully. "He wants us to go home."

Author's Note: I'm sorry not much happened in this chapter. It was very uneventful compared to other chapters, but I've kind of hit a roadblock with it. I know what I want to happen but I'm debating whether or not to write it as planned. The course of this story has changed so many times that I might get a different plotbunny and work on that. The ending I have right now is super, super melodramatic and not so realistic, but I love it nonetheless...

EEEH. Also, I'm thinking about writing a sequel to Courage. Yes, no?

In the meantime, I'd really love it if you checked out my other Glee stories. I have a LOT of KLAINE. KLAINE. Glee can go to Hell, but Klaine needs to stay. Always. Thank you for all the love! Hope you enjoyed! Again, reviews are most appreciated.

Oh, and...

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-sf