Okay, so this is soulmate!AU, where your soulmate's name is written on the wrist. And people feel sick or uneasy (or just not well) when their soulmates are hurt.

The origin of this AU is somewhere on tumblr, so the idea itself isn't mine- however, the details in the story (and, of course, the story itself) are completely mine.

Some more stuff: the story is set in the canon timeline, before Kurt and Blaine meet, but with a few small differences- Burt already knows Kurt's gay, and he's not seeing Carol yet.

Oh and this contains mentions of Blaine being beat up at the Sadie Hawkins dance, just a heads up.

With all that said, I hope you enjoy!

Queasy

Kurt woke up in the middle of the night, sick to his stomach, sweaty and shaking under cold sheets in his bed. He ran to the bathroom to lean over the toilet, but nothing came out of his gaped mouth. Chest heaving, he sat down and rubbed a hand on his forehead. It felt like his guts were being twisted, like someone punched through his belly and began poking around. His heart was pounding in full speed, like a horse running a race, its hooves hitting the ground over and over again with astonishing strength.

He let out a little whimper of discomfort, and looked down to his wrist. That was when he realized- it was him. It was that Blaine Anderson, whose name was tattooed in small black lettering on Kurt's skin, that was making him feel sick.

But why?

Why would a man whose purpose was to bring joy and wholeness to Kurt's life, hurt him this way?

Could that Blaine Anderson not be conscious to the pain he was causing Kurt?

Worse, could he be conscious to that?

Kurt got up slowly, every moment careful, and when his legs seemed to be able to carry him, he decided to go to his father's room.

He hasn't slept in Burt's room for a while. He wasn't that young anymore- but on the occasional night of anxiety or distress, it wasn't unusual of his to ask refuge in a big bed and a warm embrace.

He knocked on the door; a car's alarm outside began shouting and he jumped, panting silently until it stopped and he let himself relax. Then he knocked again. A muffled sound was Burt's reply.

Kurt tiptoed inside, closing the door behind him and climbing onto the bed and under the covers. His dad's arms came to hold him immediately, calming the nausea in his stomach a little.

"What's wrong, bud?" he asked in a rough voice.

Kurt curled into his lap. "I feel queasy and I think it's about my soulmate."

"Hmmph. Happens all the time. The guy's probably a bit sick or something and it's making you feel crappy. It'll go away."

Kurt sniffed. "Okay. Can I still sleep here?"

"Of course," he stopped to yawn. "You can… always…" he drifted off, starting to snore lightly; it was a comforting sound, and Kurt let himself yawn, too, clenching his father tightly.

He prayed for a second, crossing his fingers- God, if you exist, please make Blaine Anderson okay again. Thank you- and shut his eyes tight, willing sleep to come.

What neither of the Hummel men knew, was that about eighty miles away, a boy named Blaine Anderson lay on a hard pavement, covering his wounded, bloody face with his wounded, bloody hands and whispering "Please, please stop, please..."