A sequel to yesterday's drabble :)
Title from Paramore's Let The Flames Begin.
When They Burn Our Houses Down
He hears several gunshots, and whimpers silently.
Were the gunshots fired from Kurt's weapon, or some else's?
Did any of them hit?
Did any of them hit Kurt?
He hears a man yell in a language that sounds like Russian. Kurt yells back in the same language.
He didn't know Kurt could speak Russian.
What else didn't he know about Kurt?
Minutes tick by. It's loud and then a little less loud and then very loud again, and Blaine thinks they might be in the living room.
Another gunshot, and someone with a heavy accent screams. When he yells back, Kurt's voice is scary, cruel even, and it makes Blaine shudder.
Then everything is silent. So silent he can hear Kurt panting, even through the closed bedroom door. A minute passes. Blaine doesn't dare moving a single muscle in his body. He listens harder, and he thinks he can hear a soft thump of footsteps, and the living room window slamming shut.
Kurt grunts once.
It sounds like it hurts.
Exactly ten seconds pass before Blaine realizes what that could mean.
He shoots up, knocking his head quite forcefully into the bed while standing up, pulls the door open and runs to the living room, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
Kurt's in the middle of the (blood-stained?) carpet, unloading one of the guns. He's still not wearing pants, just a pair of boxers, and it would've been funny if not for the fact that his t-shirt, which is the only other item of clothing he's wearing, is soaked in crimson that continues leaking from Kurt's left shoulder.
His sudden energy evaporates. He feels sick, and dizzy.
"It's not as bad as it looks," Kurt mutters, throwing the unloaded gun and the cartridge onto the couch.
Blaine stumbles over, but when Kurt's within reach, he's scared to touch him. He's not sure why, if it's the fear for him or of him; he just doesn't touch.
"Did you get shot?" He asks dumbly.
Kurt takes his hand in his. "Yeah. The ambulance is on its way. I'll be alright."
Blaine swallows. "This is this not the first time you got shot."
"No." He doesn't elaborate.
"Who…"
Kurt rubs the back of his hand with his thumb, calming. "Yeah?" he encourages.
"Who were the people that shot you?"
"I can't tell you, sweetie. I'm sorry."
"They're the bad guys?" he asks in a tiny voice, sounding childish and scared.
"Mmhmm." Kurt's left arm is limp by his side, even though his right one is squeezing Blaine's hand as sturdily as always.
"Did you shoot them? Are they dead?"
"Yes and no." Blaine can't decide if he sounds disappointed at neither of those facts.
"Will they come after you again?" The mere thought terrifies him.
"Maybe. I don't know. But I'll be more cautious from now on."
"I don't want them to hurt you." Tears well up in his eyes.
"Oh, baby." Kurt cups his face- with his right hand. The left sleeve of his shirt is already completely red, and so is most of the fabric on his torso.
"But you won't quit, and I can't tell you to quit, because that's wrong of me, but… What if they take you away from me? I can't, Kurt, I can't without you." He's crying now, not bothering to wipe the tears off his face. His voice is quivering, and so is his entire body.
Kurt doesn't say, "They won't". He doesn't say "You have nothing to worry about." He doesn't look away, either, just stares into Blaine's red-rimmed, teary eyes and doesn't speak, until they hear the sirens outside, and he says, "I shot myself by accident, okay? If they ask, I'm not suicidal, and it's the first time that's happened."
Blaine nods.
"Can you get me some pants?"
He nods again, and pulls away, but Kurt grabs his hand and holds him there for a second.
"I love you, B." He kisses him shortly, close-mouthed and hard, before whispering again, "I love you."
"I love you, too, Kurt." And those fuckers trying to take you from me? Over my pile of ashes, they won't.