Kurt paced nervously back and forth in his bedroom.
It wasn't like Blaine to hang up suddenly. Blaine was on his way to Kurt's and they were continuing a conversation over the phone. The line had suddenly gone dead.
Much to Kurt's relief, his phone rang. "Blaine?" he asked frantically.
There was sniffling on the other end. "Kurt? Can you come get me?" a very squeaky voice asked.
Kurt grabbed his keys and started out to his car, ready to go to wherever Blaine needed him. "Of course, baby. Where should I go?"
"Lima General Hospital," Blaine replied.
Kurt's stomach dropped and he stepped on the gas a little harder. "What happened? Are you okay?" he asked.
"I was on the phone with you and this guy ran a stop sign and crashed into my car. I'm fine, but my car isn't," he replied.
"Thank God you're alright. I'm ten minutes away, just stay on the phone with me," Kurt said. He sped up a little bit more, making it there in record time. He burst into the emergency department, frantically asked the woman at the desk where Blaine was, and was pointed to a small cubicle down a hallway. He poked his head into the curtain, bracing himself for what he might see. "Blaine?" he asked gingerly.
And there he was: sitting with his legs hanging off of a stretcher, wiping tears from his face, otherwise seemingly unharmed.
"Come here," Kurt whispered, approaching Blaine and wrapping him in a hug.
Blaine tucked his face into Kurt's shoulder.
"Let's go home," Kurt said. He put his arm around Blaine and brought him back to his house, where they shared two cups of tea, a warm blanket, and a movie. All the while, Kurt kept a protective watch over Blaine, who was shaken, but okay.