Blaine turned on the water at the sink, about to splash some water on his face, when suddenly that dull gnawing feeling in his stomach did a flip-flop and it was all he could do to aim his face in the direction of the toilet in time. All of the whatever-it-was that he had had the night before seemed to be jumping out of him at once. His stomach wretched with the violence of it all.

Oh my God I should never drink again.

"Blaine?" a timid knock came at the door. "Are... you okay?"

"Yeah Kurt, I'll be alright..."

"My dad and I made brunch-"

The image of food was enough to make Blaine throw up again.

God this is embarrassing.

"Okay, um... let me know if you need anything." Kurt, grossed out and not knowing what else to say, wandered off.

Once he was sure he was done vomiting up his entire stomach contents, Blaine cleaned himself up a bit, rubbing some toothpaste on his finger to brush his teeth and get the godawful taste out of his mouth. He tried to fix his hair as best he could, but it didn't do much good. There was no way around it, he was a mess. Resigned to that fate, he plodded down the Hummel steps, praying they had coffee.

Kurt was in the kitchen talking to Finn when he got there. Blaine could hear the sounds of the Buckeyes' game coming from the living room. He hoped Kurt's dad would stay in there, he didn't really feel like dealing with an adult in this condition.

"Hurtin?" Finn whispered with a smirk.

Blaine put on a brave face. "I'll be alright."

"If you say so..." Kurt said, skeptical.

"Dude I was starting to think you'd never wake up. Even I don't sleep in till 12:30."

Blaine grinned. He started towards the magical coffee pot he saw on the counter. Then his brain did the math.

"W-wait. What did you say?"

Finn furrowed his brow. "I said I thought you'd never..."

"No. What time is it?"

"It's five of one, Blaine," Kurt answered.

In good traffic conditions, Blaine's house was 15-20 minutes away from here.

Fuck.

"I have to go. I'll text you later. Thanks for everything tonight. You guys can sleepover my house sometime. I really have to go." Blaine spoke fast, energy flying everywhere as he scrambled about for his jacket, scarf, keys, and phone. The whirlwind of a teenager flew through the living room so fast- "Bye Mr. Hummell! Thank you!"- that Burt barely had time to blink.

As Blaine descended off the front stairs towards his car outside, he tried to check his text messages, stumbling over the fake rock the Hummels hid a house key under as he did so. Nothing from his dad yet. Good. Jumping in the car, Blaine turned on the engine and texted his dad's cell.

Had fun at Kurt's. Traffic on White Street. Going around the long way. Be home in 5 minutes.

Blaine hit send and zoomed down the street as fast as he knew how. A couple minutes later his phone made a beeping noise and when he reached a stoplight he opened it up.

I hope you're pulling over to text. 60 Minutes last week said teenagers have been texting and driving. At the hardware store, see you in a bit. Don't forget the sidewalk.

Blaine breathed a sigh of relief to learn that his father, this one time, wasn't waiting at his front door with a stopwatch or anything. Small miracles.

Ten minutes later- a new record- Blaine pulled into his empty driveway. Blaine's mother's car wasn't there either, so apparently she was out running errands of her own. This was fine by Blaine because his stomach still had that... yuck feeling... from having thrown up before, and he really didn't feel like dealing with his family right then. Stepping out of the driver's side door, he looked hopelessly over to the snow covered sidewalk. This was going to suck.

Blaine went into the house, dropping his scarf and coat on the bench. He desperately wanted to take a shower but he thought his dad might kill him if he wasn't shoveling when he came home. So he went up to his bedroom and pulled out some sweats. He changed, tossing his old clothes, which he had slept in last night, towards the hamper. He looked in the mirror and frowned.

Yup. Still look like hell.

Sighing, Blaine went downstairs. He found a bagel to gnaw on and his stomach didn't mutiny immediately. He took that as a good sign, and grudgingly suited up for the winter weather again and headed out to do his forced labor for the day.

It was another fifteen minutes before his dad's car pulled in the driveway, but another forty-five before the whole damn sidewalk was clear. By the end of it Blaine was exhausted and miserable, his face stinging from the cold and his body aching from the double outrage of lingering hangover plus manual labor. He stumbled back into the house, boots kicked off before he was barely through the door. Dropping his outerwear on the bench, he scurried upstairs to the comfort of his bed, where he was more than happpy to fall fast asleep for awhile.