Blaine knows somethings wrong the moment he hits the ground.  There’s been a cold snap through the last week of September, and the soil is a little frozen, ridiculously hard, and Blaine feels all of the wind knocked out of him from the truck that is currently pounding him relentlessly into the cold earth beneath him.  Okay, so maybe number thirty-six isn’t exactly a truck, but Blaine figures getting hit by one would feel the same as this.  The boy has to be on steroids; there’s no other way to explain his unfathomable proportions.

As if the initial slam to the ground isn’t enough, number thirty-six seems determined that Blaine doesn’t get up again—and really, Blaine gets it, the visiting team is down by twenty-one points, and the Titans have been running the ball the whole game—he lifts himself up slightly and throws his weight back down against Blaine once again.  He says something too, but Blaine can’t make out the words because of the sudden pain shooting through his left shoulder, white hot and numbing his entire arm, and oh, he’s felt that before, lying in a parking lot after the Sadie Hawkins dance.  Admittedly the least severe of his injuries that night, but that doesn’t mean it hurt any less.

Knowing his shoulder is most likely dislocated, Blaine just lays there and waits.  When he opens his eyes, he can’t even focus clearly, and his stomach is roiling with nausea in response to the pain.  It feels like minutes when surely its only seconds before Aaron finally appears in his field of vision, hovering over him, eyes narrowed through the mask of his helmet.

“Dude, you okay?”

“No,” Blaine tries to murmur but it comes out as more of a whine.  He winces slightly when Aaron shouts over him, “Hey, Coach!! Anderson’s injured!”

Blaine takes deep, slow breaths in through his nose as he lays there, immobile, waiting for Coach Beiste and the local volunteer medical team.  Aaron is still hovering beside him, watching him with a frown.

Blaine asks, “Did I get in, at least?” He vaguely remembers cheering as he hit the grass beneath him, but he has somehow refrained from turning his head to see where he is from the white line.  For all he knows, the cheering could have come from the opposing team.

“Of course you made it,” Aaron responds, as if he’s stupid for asking.  “I think that guarantees you game ball right there.”

“I’ll give it to you if you could make my shoulder stop hurting,” Blaine gasps as he shifts slightly, just in time for Beiste and the medics to arrive.

“What’s going on, kid?” Beiste asks in a motherly and concerned voice that’s so opposite of what she usually uses with the team that it takes Blaine a moment to catch what it was she asked.

“My shoulder,” Blaine gets out just as they carefully roll him over.  He inhales sharply at the movement, the ball rolling away from beneath him caught out of the corner of his eye.  “Feels like the last time it was dislocated.” He huffs out a loud breath, trying not to throw up.

Taking his right hand in hers, Beiste slides her arm beneath his back and helps him into a sitting position while one of the medics cradles his left arm so as not to jostle it too much.  Blaine’s vision swims slightly, only somewhat better when he feels someone snap open the chin strap and slip his helmet off.

“Two options for ya, son,” the medic holding his arm says.  “We can get you to the locker room, get this gear off of you, slip your shoulder back into place, and let your parents get you to the ER for an exam.  Or, we can throw you in a sling and send you directly to the ER.”

Blaine doesn’t want to even begin to imagine the pain of having his shoulder reduced into place without any kind of pain killer on hand.  The mere thought makes him even queasier.  He’s pretty good at gritting his teeth and dealing with pain—after all, he’s suffered far worse—but he doesn’t relish the idea of breaking down into tears in front of his football coach.  Kurt would probably tell him his stupid pride needed to be bitch-slapped.

Kurt would be right for telling him such things.

“I’d prefer the ER,” he says, and the medics nod, and Blaine is on his feet before he realizes what is happening, between Beiste supporting him on one side, and a medic on the other.

Blaine allows them to lead him off the field, staring up in wonder at the people in the stands who are on their feet cheering for him.  He glances over to the benches where his team is likewise applauding, shouting out to him, the cheerleaders all jumping up and down and whistling.  Rose and Brittany are near Artie, all three of them giving him six thumbs up.  Blaine’s gaze shifts back to the stands where he finds Finn and Burt—Finn’s on his phone, looking back at Blaine, nodding slightly.  Burt just looks worried.  Blaine flashes him a smile, even if it might be somewhat wobbly.  Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his father making his way down the steps, frowning.

The pain and nausea are forgotten as Blaine realizes how disappointed he knows his father will be.

Blaine’s short-lived football career is over.

The visit to the ER isn’t as bad as Blaine knows it could have been.  Carole is working her shift that night, and at first he supposes she uses those maternal superpowers she seems to have to find him, but she ends up explaining that Burt called to let her know Blaine was on his way there.  He welcomes her company because his dad hasn’t said much to him since the medics helped him into his dad’s car; there was some comment about number thirty-six being way too big not to be on steroids, and Blaine had appreciated the sentiment behind the comment.  Other than that though, his father had stayed at the desk to fill out the paperwork once they’d arrived, and Blaine found himself sitting alone on the bed in the ER until Carole had arrived.

She holds his hand as the attending physician injects Lidocaine into his shoulder to anesthetize some of the pain, and then begins carefully rotating his shoulder outwards.  Blaine tries not to tense, but it still hurts, and worse than that Blaine can imagine how much it would hurt without the medication, and he’s squeezing Carole’s hand tighter than he probably should as the doctor continues moving his arm.  He tries to focus on the gentle slide of her thumb over the back of his hand instead of counting down the minutes that the relocation could end up taking.

He really wishes Kurt were there.

“Are you coming over to watch the games this Sunday?” Carole asks, obviously doing her best to distract him.  “I was thinking of making nachos.”

“Burt would cry,” Blaine replies, his voice a little higher than he would have liked as the pain grows more intense.  “I think I’d feel too much guilt eating those in front of hi—“ He cuts himself off, squeezing his eyes shut at the pain.

Carole’s hand tightens over his.  “I’ll get him baked chips and soy cheese.  He won’t know the difference.”

Blaine almost, but not quite, laughs.  “That sounds d-disgusting—Ow!”

“Relax, Blaine,” the doctor tells him, still rotating his arm and Blaine really wishes he’d just stop.  “We’re almost there…”

“Do you and Kurt have big plans for Fall break?”  Carole reaches up, plucking at his hair.  “You’ve got some grass stuck, and a little bit of mud.” She smiles as she rubs at a spot over his eyebrow.

Lots of sex, he thinks, and then feels his cheeks warm, the pain in his shoulder forgotten as he realizes how bad it could have been to have said that out loud.  “No.  Nothing specific.  It’ll be enough just to have him here.”

“I understand.  The house just isn’t the same without him around,” Carole says with a sigh, reaching up to rub at Blaine’s good shoulder as she glances at the physician.  “He tends to be the only one I can ever get a decent conversation out of… especially when the TV is on.”

Blaine smiles for just a moment at that, and then his eyes widen as he feels it—a quick spasm before he feels his shoulder slide back into place.  His vision actually swims in front of him, and he grips Carole’s hand again as the nausea passes, and the pain subsides.

“All better?”

“Yeah.” Blaine breathes out, returning Carole’s smile as the doctor continues his examination and tells her they need to get some x-rays.  His father arrives just in time to be told they’re calling in a pain prescription to the pharmacy on file, and that Blaine will need to undergo physical therapy as well.  Nothing they haven’t been through before.

It’s another two hours before Blaine is fitted in a sling, handed his prescription and sent on his way with a caution that it will be a good twelve-fourteen weeks before his shoulder is fully healed.  No contact sports, etc, etc, and father and son are silent as they slide into the car and head home.  Blaine busies himself by pulling his phone out of his messenger bag and turning it on.  Moments later it lights up with message after message, and he smiles as he glances through them.

From: Tina (1/5)
Holy crap!! Are you ok??

From: Tina (2/5)
I mean, obviously not but tell me you’re ok when you get this… ok?

From: Finn
I called Kurt… JSYK

From: Tina (3/5)
That guy was HUGE.  You looked so tiny!

From: Tina (4/5)
I mean not in a bad way. Kinda like David and Goliath.

From: Kurt <333 (1/10)
CALL ME!!

From: Tina (5/5)
Just message me when you can!!!

From: Kurt <333 (2/10)
Why aren’t you answering your phone???

From: Kurt <333 (3/10)
Oh god! You’re at the hospital, aren’t you??

From: Kurt <333 (4/10)
Please tell me you’re okay…

From: Artie (1/2)
I’ve got your game ball

From: Kurt <333 (5/10)
I’m sorry but I’m freaking out a little…

From: Artie (2/2)
BTW, we won. Figured you knew but… hope you’re ok, dude!

From: Kurt <333 (6/10)
Finn said some guy smashed you.

From: Kurt <333 (7/10)
I swear to god I am going to kill my stepbrother

From: Rose
Got vid. Totally looks like the dudes trying 2 hump u into the ground LOL  Hope ur ok, babe!  Luv ya!!!

From: Kurt <333 (8/10)
I’m sorry if you have a lot of voicemails… but I’m going to keep calling until you answer!

From: Kurt <333 (9/10)
I wish I were there right now, dammit

From: Kurt <333 (10/10)
I love you so much. Just be okay, okay?

When Blaine checks his voicemail, it says he’s missed fifteen calls.  He bites back a smile, fingers gripping his phone tightly as he considers calling Kurt back.  He knows he can’t though, not with his father sitting right there, so he leaves his phone on silent and slips it back into his bag.  They’re almost home, and he can call Kurt once he’s in his room.

They make a quick stop by the pharmacy where his father goes in to get the prescription for a muscle relaxant and pain killers.  Blaine fingers the sling around his arm, thinking briefly about the pep rally performance they were planning for Homecoming.  It was a week away, and the physician in the ER had said he wanted to keep Blaine in the sling for ten days.  He certainly isn’t going to perform in a sling, and finds himself hoping that removing it for just a short while that day won’t be horrible.  He figures he can just work with Brittany to minimalize the dance routine from too much use of his arms.  Mr. Schuester will probably argue with him, but Blaine’s fairly certain he can convince his teacher to see reason.

When they get home, Chesa meets them in the hall, and while she directs her questions about his injury to his father, it’s Blaine she’s fussing over, helping him remove his scarf, coat and gloves before sending him upstairs to rest while she brings him something to take his medication.  He reaches the top of the stairs where he pauses for a moment, listening as his parents whisper furiously to one another in the hall.

“....never should have let him play!”

“So we just stop telling him to do the things he wants to do?”

“He only did it to impress you, and you damn well know it!”

Not wishing to hear anymore, Blaine enters his bedroom, shutting his door behind him as he sets his messenger bag on the floor.  He slips his phone out of his pocket as he climbs up on to his bed, scrolling through his contacts to Kurt’s name and hitting call.  He doesn’t even get out a greeting before his boyfriend’s voice is coming over the other end of the line.

“It’s about time you called!  Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?  Ever since Finn called me from the game I’ve wanted to talk to you!  Why didn’t you answer?  Are you all right? God, Blaine, I should be there right now!  One of these days, I’m going to get injured instead of you, and you’ll know what I feel like right now.”

Blaine laughs softly, carefully leaning back against his pillows stacked against the headboard.  “Kurt, calm down.  I’m fine.  I couldn’t call because my phone has been off since before the game.  And it’s just a dislocated shoulder.  It’s not like number thirty-six broke my neck or anything.”

“This is me not laughing at your attempt to be funny or dismissive or whatever the hell that last comment was about.”

“Sorry.” Blaine swallows back further laughter at Kurt’s overdone concern.  “I’m fine, Kurt.  Really.  Carole was working her shift when I got there, so I received extra special treatment.  I even got a lollipop for not crying.”

“God, you’re such an idiot,” Kurt tells him, tone filled with affection.  “I do wish I were there, though.  You’re not supposed to get hurt when I’m not there to look after you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time a truck tries to pulverize me into sawdust,” Blaine says with a smile, shifting on the bed in an attempt to get comfortable.  He glances toward his bedroom door as it opens and his mom enters with a glass of milk and the prescriptions from the pharmacy.  “Not that there would be much for you to do other than pamper me into oblivion.”

Blaine watches as she sets the glass on his nightstand as she works to open the bottle, finally holding the medication out to him.  He takes it, tossing it into his mouth and following it up with a few swallows of milk before flashing his mom a smile.

Chesa reaches out and brushes her fingers through his hair.  “Is that Kurt?  Hi, Kurt.”

“My mom says hi.”

“Hi, Mrs. Anderson!”

“Kurt says hi back,” he tells her, looking back up as she waggles a finger in front of his face.

“Don’t stay up too late talking,” she warns.  “You need your rest after tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  Blaine waits until she’s exited the room, closing the door behind her.  “What were we talking about… Oh, yeah.  You pampering me.”

“You like being pampered.”

“Only if it involves sponge baths.  Yeah.” Blaine smiles as he sinks back further into the pillows behind him, sighing at the thought of wet sponges and Kurt’s hands.  “You could definitely pamper me with those.”

Kurt snorts rather rudely.  “I think that would lead to activities far too strenuous for your injury, quite honestly.”

“I could just… lie there… while you do your thing.”

“While I do my—“ Kurt sighs loudly.  “Remember when you were romantic?”

“No.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

Blaine barks with surprised laughter, falling backward slightly and immediately regretting the movement as pain shoots through him.  “Ow!  Damn.”

“Does it hurt?” Kurt asks quickly, clearly concerned.

Blaine’s already hating himself as he begins to respond, “Only,” and Kurt joins him, “when I laugh.”

They both erupt into giggles, and Blaine whines and winces his way through his mirth, smiling so big at the cherished sound of his Kurt’s musical laugh that his face actually hurts.  Only Kurt would jump in to help him finish a sentence on something so clichéd.  

Sighing, Blaine attempts to shuffle further down on his bed and into his pillows, but doesn’t get very far.  Honestly, the drugs they gave him for the relocation make him feel as if he’s wrapped up in cotton.  Giving up, he simply tugs a blanket over his legs.  The skin on his neck is already feeling irritated from the rubbing of the sling around it, and Blaine hates feeling confined like this—it reminds him of the weeks and months of casts and slings and bed rest after the attack.  He’d take it off if he didn’t have to worry about being fully healed in time for Sectionals.  Football might be over for the season, but New Directions still needed him.

“I miss you,” he says out of nowhere, and immediately knows it’s the wrong thing to say.  They’re not supposed to talk about that—they discussed it at length when Kurt had appeared in his driveway last month after that week of silence.  This separation is difficult for both of them, and constantly reminding one another of that didn’t make it any easier.  Blaine feels guilty for saying it, and follows up with, “I’m sorry.  It just came out.”

“No, it’s… I miss you, too,” Kurt replies softly.  “And I mean it when I say I wish I could be there right now.  I feel bad because I’m the one who kind of pushed you into joining the team in the first place.”

Blaine rolls his eyes.  “Please.  You knew I wanted to do it.  Besides, it’s been good, you know?  It’s—it’s given me and my dad something to talk about.  Well, at least until tonight.”

“He didn’t say anything, did he?”

Blaine takes a breath and finds himself changing the subject.  “Too bad your Fall break isn’t a week earlier.  You could come see our performance for the Homecoming Pep Rally.  Artie, Aaron and I have been working on it.  It’s going to be fantastic, I think.”

“Blaine Anderson, I’m only letting you change the subject because I’m not there to kiss your pain away,” Kurt says with a sigh.  “And I’m sure it will be amazing.  Your performances always are.”

“Stop. You’re making me blush.”  It’s that or the muscle relaxer, Blaine isn’t certain which.  He closes his eyes for a moment.  “Tell me about your day.  I mean, before Finn called.”

Blaine loves these moments of their nightly conversations, be it by Skype or phone, when Kurt fills him in on the more mundane aspects of his day, and Blaine can just close his eyes and imagine he’s there with him.  Kurt is wonderful about never leaving the small details out--he describes what his route to school is like, the people he sees, each and every classmate and instructor description down to the hideous clothing choices they choose to make on a daily basis.  He tells him about the ridiculous things they’re forced to do in acting class, and Kurt will never get over the day he was forced to spend thirty minutes pretending he was a tree.  More than once he’s complained that all he wants to do is be on stage and sing heart-wrenching Broadway tunes, and trees don’t sing, trees on Broadway certainly don’t sing, so why on earth is he being forced to pretend to be one?

As Kurt begins describing to him the experimental vegan dish Rachel chose to prepare for them that night, and how she’d caught one of the potholders on fire (“You know, the ones I bought in July with the latticed pattern in the dusky brown hues that I knew would be perfect for the new kitchen--those ones!”), Blaine covers his mouth when he feels a yawn coming on.

“You’re falling asleep on me, aren’t you?”

“Mmmm, only a little,” Blaine admits, blinking his eyes rapidly a few times to keep them open.  It doesn’t work, and this time he yawns loudly instead.  “Sorry.  It’s the meds.”

“Oh, yes.  I remember very well how you are on medication,” Kurt laughs.  “Ridiculously adorable.”  He pauses and Blaine lets his eyes shut for just a few seconds as he listens to Kurt breathe into the phone.  “Is there anything else I can do to make you feel better, even though I’m not there to fluff your pillows and pet your hair?”

Blaine thinks.  “Sing to me?”

There’s a long silence, and Blaine figures Kurt is debating what song would be perfect for the occasion of your boyfriend getting pulverized by a mack truck.  Blaine doesn’t think it matters what Kurt chooses; he could sing the alphabet, and it would still be beautiful because no one’s voice is quite like Kurt’s.  Only Kurt can reduce him to tears when he performs.

Except the song Kurt chooses to sing is what Blaine can only label as highly inappropriate.  “Every night in my dreams, I see you, I feel you—“

“Hey!”

Kurt pauses.  “Yes?”  His tone indicates that he’s not entirely pleased with being interrupted.

“Don’t you think that’s a little inappropriate?”

“It’s Celine.  There’s no such thing as an inappropriate Celine Dion song.”

“There is when she’s singing about her dead first love.” Blaine makes a face, turning his head slightly to stare up at the ceiling.

“I think it fits,” Kurt tells him.  “Near, far, wherever you are—“

Blaine can’t help it; he laughs, feet tucking beneath the covers only half-successfully.  “You’d totally let go, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, of course.  I wouldn’t want some frozen dead guy clinging to me for hours.  Seriously, find your own damn piece of wreckage.”

Blaine turns his face into the pillow beneath him, he’s laughing so hard, and tears are stinging the corners of his eyes, and he listens happily to Kurt’s resounding laughter on the other end of the line.  They can do this because he’s honestly lost count of the amount of times they’ve clung to one another, sobbing through the end of Titanic as Leo’s gorgeous face disappeared into the cold, dark water.  One day when the Hummel household had been empty, they’d removed the door from Kurt’s bedroom and laid on it, just to test their theories that the wreckage Rose laid unfrozen on was bigger than a door, and they could easily share a door.  They had both fit just fine, with room to spare, especially when they snuggled close for body heat.  Unfortunately, they’d fallen asleep like that, and then had the delightful opportunity to explain to Burt and Carole just why they’d felt the need to remove Kurt’s bedroom door.

Burt still occasionally asks him if he’s there to remove more doors when he stops by to visit.

“You know I would have given you the door,” Kurt says once their laughter has died down.

Blaine smiles, eyes closed as he breathes, “And you know I wouldn’t have taken it.”

“And then we both would have died.”

“Because we’re smart like that.”

Kurt giggles.  “I love you.”

“I love you, too, but I’m still waiting for my song.”

“Okay.  Close your eyes.  Are you comfortable?  Let’s see… “

Kurt hums softly for a couple of seconds before he starts to sing and Blaine smiles, remembering a moment when his world had become brighter and warmer, when everything had suddenly made sense.  He drifts off to sleep, the sound of his boyfriend singing about a blackbird keeping him company in his dreams.