The last time his head had hurt like this, his father had hit him.

Not that he'd want anyone to mistake that his father hit him often. It was entirely possible that when he was a child his father might have spanked him more often than most parents would, but then, his father was a strong believer in a hands-on relationship and tough love, and that led to physical punishment. It was never abuse. Plausibly harsh, and reasonably called unnecessary - but not abusive.

His father would always explain to him beforehand why he would hit him, and afterwards he would kneel in front of him and ask if he'd ever do it again, and then apologize for hurting him, and would then send him on his way.

Except for once.

His parents were never all too religious, which was why, when he'd demanded they tell him why his being gay was wrong, their arguments were even weaker than that of a bible-bangin' dick. (Which was not to say that all bible-bangin' people are/were dicks, but most dicks, for some reason, tend to be bible-bangin'.)

But when Blaine had been pressured into telling them that he and Kurt broke up, his father had asked why. And Blaine had said that they both made some mistakes but he'd been really messed up about it and so he'd cheated.

And his father had called him a whore and punched him and sent him sprawling.

His mother had been horrified. Hell, his father had been horrified, too, but he'd been more torn about it - it wasn't like it was the first time he'd hit him, but it had been vastly different. And then his father had yelled at him about not being able to keep his hands to himself and to have self-respect and that being gay was wrong and he was disgusting and a whole lot of other things before storming out.

And then his mother had taken him aside and said that after graduation, they would pay him to act like he wasn't their family. That they'd increase his monthly allowance and put it right in his bank so long as he cut all ties. He was allowed to talk to Cooper, but he was being disowned, and being bribed to accept being disowned.

He'd started packing that night. By the time graduation rolled around, his mother handed him the wad of cash to start off the pay, and had sent him out. He'd gone straight to the airport and to Kurt's and that's where it had started and why he could pay the rent with no job - his only job was to pretend the people who should have loved him had nothing to do with them. Or rather to stop pretending they did have anything to do with them.

Nobody knew, not even Cooper. His parents told him he hadn't been in contact an Blaine told him the same, and though Cooper was unsettled, he didn't seem suspicious.

Blaine had never been more glad for his brother's self-loving nature, but at the same time he wished someone would care enough to see.

And so that's what he got. A hospital, a whole staff, and a wide range of friends, all ready to see now what he'd kept hidden for almost four months.

And he wasn't even awake to revel in it.

"I want to go, Carole."

"You know we don't have the money."

"Damn the money, he's -"

"Going to be fine," Carole cut across smoothly. "Remember, Kurt said that the nurse he overheard said Blaine would most likely just have a couple stitches and a concussion."

"He said he wasn't sure," Burt growled, pacing the garage floor. "He said he couldn't be certain because he was half out of it."

"Burt, Blaine will be fine, and if it turns out he isn't, I'll work double time to get the pay," Carole assured him, and he stopped and turned to her, ready to make her take it back and ready to tell her she shouldn't overwork; Carole held up a hand to stop him. "Before you say anything, you're not going to change my mind. But, until we're positive that he's not alright, we can't go."

"I want to see him."

"Me too. I love him too, Burt," Carole reminded him. "He's my family as much as yours."

"But this is how my family died before, Carole!" Burt shouted them, bringing his fist down on a worktable. "Did is how Elizabeth died! And I wasn't with her then, too! I can't just - leave him like I did last time. He was all alone last time. What if it happens again? It's all happening again."

Carole was silent after that.

There was no sign of a doctor.

Santana sat as still as a statue in her chair, her face stoic, her limbs stone. Rachel, on the other hand, fidgeted and twitched and whenever she spoke did so with a smile so fake Kurt had to remind himself after counting to ten that she was only trying to stay positive. And Kurt was too busy noticing and analyzing everything else to bother recognizing that he was trembling in his chair and snapping at everything that irritated him.

"Kurt, I'm sure he's fine."

"Didn't know you were psychic," Kurt bit back at Rachel, who simply sighed like she had been before.

"The nurse said it would be okay -"

"I could have heard wrong. I don't know if you've noticed, Rachel, but I don't do well when frightened."

"I'm really trying to help, Kurt."

"Well, you're not helping. You're hurting. I'm hurting, hell we're all hurting so unless you can get us a group band-aid that can somehow mend every tiny detail of Blaine that's hurting us all and can simultaneously bind us to him until the adhesive wears off and it peels, shut up."

"You shut up, Kurt, you're the one being unpleasant. I'm trying to lighten the m-"

"Rachel," Santana said, her voice flat, betraying no emotion whatsoever. "Stop."

Rachel stopped.

[Sam] 8:32PM
Any news?!

[Kurt] 8:33PM
Nothing. Stop asking.

[Sam] 8:35PM
I care about him as much as you do, Kurt, don't lash out at me just because I put my worry into the form of frenzied technological communication due to unfortunate circumstances as opposed to sitting uselessly in a hospital waiting room myself.

[Kurt] 8:36PM
That sounds pretty intelligent for someone who got the lowest SAT score the school has ever seen.

[Kurt] 8:54PM
I'm sorry, I really shouldn't have said that. I'm scared.

[Kurt] 9:00PM
Sam?

[Kurt] 9:12PM
Sam I'm really sorry, you know how I get when I'm like this.

[Kurt] 9:32PM
We should have SOME news by now, right?

[Sam] 9:37PM
So no news?

[Kurt] 9:38PM
Yeah, no news. And I really am sorry.

[Sam] 9:40PM
Just forget you ever said it.

[Mercedes] 9:41PM
OKAY WHITE BOY, I SHOULD NOT HAVE HEARD ABOUT THIS FROM SAM, WHAT HAPPENED?!

[Kurt] 9:42PM
It's a long story.

[Mercedes] 9:43PM
Seems to me like you've got plenty of time.

[Quinn] 10:00PM
Nothing yet?

[Rachel] 10:01PM
Nothing. We've been here for hours. I'm really scared.

[Quinn] 10:02PM
Do you need me to call you and calm you down?

[Rachel] 10:03PM
Please.

[Mike] 10:25PM
Anything?

[Puck] 10:26PM
Nothing that anyone's heard.

[Tina] 10:41PM
Nothing.

[Artie] 10:42PM
Are you sure?

[Tina] 10:43PM
I have never been so desperately unsure in my life, Artie, but there's no news.

And finally, finally, a white lab coat with a name tag that was filled with a body strode out carrying a clipboard and asked, "Family of Blaine Anderson?"

"None of his family are here," Kurt said immediately, leaping to his feet and nearly gliding towards him. "But I'm Kurt, I was in the car crash with him."

"Is he okay?" Rachel asked, following suit.

The doctor smiled then. Kurt was past looking at physical features and more the presence they carried at that point, and the doctor's presence became more warm and comforting than methodical as it had been. "He'll be alright."

"That's not what I asked."

Kurt wondered how many times each of them would say that. He'd heard Blaine say it earlier, and he had said it in a way that implied he'd heard it before - but the only person he could think of that could have told him that at all recently would be Santana, which meant he was the odd one out.

"He'd got a concussion and we had to take glass out of his shoulder," the doctor explained, "So at the moment, no, he's not really okay. But it should be a fast recovery," she continued, noting their faces, "and he will be alright. He should be out soon. And Mr. Kurt, what was your full name?"

"Kurt Hummel," Kurt supplied for her. "His brother's in California and freaking out and his parents aren't responding to any of my calls or messages, so we need to count as family."

"I'm not sure if I can -"

"If he doesn't come home tonight," said a voice they hadn't heard until then, one that was bitter and cutting and determined, one that belonged to Santana, "I will personally do everything I can to take down every single person who worked on him. His home is with me, with us. He is my family and I am his. I managed to get the entire current staff of a restaurant fired before, and while this might be slightly more difficult, I assure you I will not stop." And then Santana seemed to tower over her in her heels and her hair and with the flames in her eyes. "And I will succeed... unless my friend comes back. I assure you I am more than capable of handling everything that needs to be done to get him back into perfect health. But I want him home, and I want him home now."

Kurt had been afraid of Santana plenty of times, but the entire waiting room, staff included, had fallen silent and let the chills raise goosebumps all over their skin, and the hair on the back of their neck stand up. Her threats were vague and yet specific and not a damn person who had heard her could ever possibly say she had lied; the truth was cold and the truth was hard, so the truth was a blade and in that moment, Santana was the best swordsman in the universe.

The nurse licked her lips. Despite the professionalism and training that had no doubt been drilled into her, her eyes flickered with fear the way Santana's did with fire. "I'll see that he gets checked out."

[Britt] 11:01PM
tana pleaze stop ignoring me and tell me if your okay

[Santana] 11:02PM
He's coming home. I'll be fine as soon as he's home.

Kurt was still standing. Rachel had taken his hand and he'd not reacted at all, let alone pulled away, so she was still trying to squeeze it comfortingly. The doctor had disappeared behind the door again, and Santana was sitting once more, her knee over top of her other knee, her body curved so it was made clear by her pose that she could destroy anyone in the room but was too far above them to try.

Kurt just waited for the door to swing open.

When it finally did, it was because the doctor was walking through again. But this time she held it open so someone could walk through, and Kurt's heart, which had been steadily increasing in tempo as to its beating, stopped altogether the moment he saw Blaine walk through.

His golden-flecked eyes looked around before they met his, and then they brightened, and he smiled, his lips straining to make up for the hours Kurt had spent with a frown. He was still a bit paler than was usual but he looked better, over all, with the exception of the stitches underneath his hairline and the obvious stiffness of his shoulder. Blaine looked between the three of them once before his eyes found themselves back on Kurt, and Kurt's heart starting racing again, the organ thumping so loudly and quickly Kurt was sure it was going three times the speed of that clock on the wall.

"There you are, Mr. Anderson," the doctor said, gesturing uneasily to the three of them. "Shall I have your roommate check you out?"

Santana pressed her lips into a hard line despite the amount of color that was flooding in to her previous ashen-struck face. Blaine nodded, but his eyes remained on the boy before him. "Sure," he answered, though it was fairly easy to deduce he had no idea what he'd answered.

The doctor nodded and without another word crossed the small distance with wariness and handed the clipboard to Santana, who yanked it out of her palms, signed it, and then placed it back in, smiling cockily when she met the nurse's eyes, though it was false. Nonetheless, the nurse scurried away after bidding Blaine farewell and giving him instructions nobody but Rachel really heard.

And then Kurt tore away from Rachel and launched himself at Blaine, only to stop right in front of him and change from the hug Blaine had steeled himself for to simply holding his hand out as if he were to touch his face. "Can I..."

Blaine laughed at him. "I'm not fragile, Kurt. It takes more than this to break me."

"So it won't hurt if I hug you?"

Blaine didn't answer and it was only later that Kurt figured out that it was because if he'd said no he would have been lying, but if he'd said yes he would have been lying, too. Instead, Blaine hugged him, wrapping his arms around his upper torso and tugging him close, and Kurt locked his arms around Blaine's neck and rested his chin on his shoulder.

It was warm. Kurt hadn't noticed how cold the room was until the living, breathing form of another, filled with aches and peace and blood rushing everywhere, was there to mix their heat, and he came off colder. They rocked there for a minute of silence before Santana interrupted them.

"Alright, Lady Hummel," she said, moving towards them, "I need to take Gel-Head home."

"Not until I get my hug!" Rachel squawked indignantly, and Kurt was force to pull away so Rachel could nearly tackle him. Blaine winced when the contact came and Kurt itched to tear her away, but then he smiled again easily and petted her head twice and told her thank you.

"You can stay with us tonight," Kurt suggested.

"He needs to come home." There was no arguing with her when she got like this; the rest of them exchanged looks.

"They can stay with us for the night, Santana?" Blaine asked, almost like a timid child. "I'll still be home."

So Santana moved forward until she was whispering in his ear. Neither Kurt nor Rachel heard it, but when Blaine nodded, Santana smiled. "Fine," she agreed. "If you two want to stay with us tonight, you can."

"Thank you thank you!" Rachel looked ready to take the place of the sun for how much she was glowing.

"Blaine," said Kurt, looking over at him again and reclaiming his attention in a second. "I'm so sor-"

"Don't you dare."

Blaine's eyes had narrowed and his smile had dropped; his tone held an order none of them could defy - and yet, despite the sobriety and seriousness with which he spoke, there was an element of discomfort lying beneath it, the facade of control brilliantly acted. Blaine was refusing to let him apologize.

Blaine was refusing to let him apologize, an in doing so, he was refusing to let Kurt keep blaming himself.

And in the next second, Blaine relaxed and flinched slightly, raising a hand tenderly to the cut on his head. "Sorry," he said, "Long day. Can we go home now?"

"Absolutely," Santana assured, and took his arm with no small amount of awareness as to his frailty. She took the time to kiss his cheek and pull him closer while they walked, and then she was wearing her business face again, leading him outside without so much as another word. Kurt and Rachel had nothing to do but share a somewhat confused and concerned look and follow them.

Santana was being cut in half my her simultaneous desires to both snuggle Anderson until he was blue and bit the living crap out of him.

It was odd for those two to occur at once. Santana was very in-touch with her mental faculties, and she was almost never caught off-guard in such a way as to compromise all aspects of the person she made sure everyone saw. It had happened only a few times before, and none were times she really wanted to think about. But this was new - she had never experienced her blood actually running cold as it had when she'd arrived at the hospital and Kurt was crying on the phone with his dad.

Seeing Kurt cry was horrible enough. Knowing that it was probably Blaine that was causing him to do it wreaked havoc all over her.

It had been a mess of emotion that Santana had never, ever wanted to experience. The absolute paralyzation that came with the idea that Blaine might not come home had been unceasing, locking her joints in place and keeping her entire mind, body and form all in line. Santana could not afford to get out of line. The one time she did, the one time when she had truly allowed herself to believe that nothing would be okay again, had been when her grandmother had disowned her. And she had come dangerously close to that today.

Not even today, she realized, yesterday. Sitting in the cab, staring outside the dark window, trying to remember what exactly she said to the nurse to get her way - whatever it was, she knew it was honest. Santana didn't lie to other people unless she was lying to herself, and that was something she was trying with a lot of effort to stop doing. It made everyone unhappy and it wasn't like anyone needed unhappiness.

When Blaine had walked out, her blood had run cold again, and that had been when she'd teetered on the edge of the line, though it was, in all honesty, no further than she had been upon hearing Kurt's tearful phone call. It's an enormously uncomfortable and obviously frightening experience to go through all the liquid pumping inside you to just chilling itself for the briefest of flashes in a half-second wave from your head to your toes then back.

It had taken her a little while to regain herself once more, and a few minutes into the taxi ride was when she was finally calm enough to speak in sentences she'd remember later.

Blaine was sitting next to her, and Rachel on his other side, Kurt sitting in the front. Rachel had grabbed his hand and was making small talk, clearly trying to distract him from how they spent the better part of the day. She prattled about an upcoming audition and asked for his help selecting a song, and Blaine laughed quietly and said whatever she picked she'd totally kill it, and Kurt looked over his shoulder and agreed.

"It's true," Santana spoke up. "Any song you pick you'll be great at, but that doesn't mean you should pick any type of song. What kind of musical is it? What genre? What's the role? What are some major feelings your character goes through? And most importantly, how would your character sing it?" She'd gotten their attention, but she wasn't done. "You need to consider all of that, because if you just pick one of those show-stopping ballads Rachel Berry can knock out of the park, they might laugh you out of the room. That's the thing about acting - you have to be a different person. A different person isn't going to have the same tastes, or abilities, as you, Rachel, and while we all know you'll do great, you need to decide what kind of great you're going for."

Rachel appraised her for a while, and then said, "And how do you know?"

Santana smirked. "Be honest. How many times have you auditioned as Rachel Berry, until they explicitly told you to get in character, and landed the role?"

Rachel licked her lips. "There was West Side Story -"

"Let's not even bring that up," Santana rolled her eyes. "That was a high school production and you got double-cast with Mercedes, who, by the way, really should have gotten the part."

"Rachel was a great Maria," Kurt defended.

"She really was," Blaine agreed, nodding.

Santana softened some looking at the gel-head (whose head wasn't quite so gelled anymore, not that she'd say anything), but continued anyway. "Yes, she was," Santana said. "I'm not saying she wasn't. As Maria, she was fantastic. But Mercedes had the better audition when you combined all the parts together because she auditioned as Maria. Maybe a more modern version, but if Maria lived in our time period a d in our situation, she would have been what Mercedes showed them she could be. Rachel's acting was just as good as hers, and so was her singing - on a technical level. On level of being a different person, Mercedes had her beat."

"Why are you even giving me this advice?" Rachel snapped, and Santana smiled at her, the irritation clear in the Jew's voice.

"I want to be able to claim partial credit for your Broadway Debut," she answered evenly, and that dispelled any and all of Rachel's irritation, "because I know you're going to get there and I want to help."

"We all know you're going to get there," Blaine nodded again, and then stopped abruptly and squinted slightly for a moment, though nobody but Santana seemed to notice.

She reached over and took his hand. It was a small enough gesture not to really hinder what they were doing, but large enough to matter.

"Home sweet home," Santana announced, walking through the door to their apartment. "Now, Anderson, we should get you to sleep before the weekend is totally over. Do you want to sleep in your bed, or on the couch?"

"Santana?"

"Yeah?"

"Shh!"

Santana looked at the whisperer, who sat by his (shouldn't be ex-)boyfriend, who had fallen onto the couch without a word. Blaine had collapsed on the cushions, and in sleep, which he'd entered as made clear by the ever-so-soft snores coming from his throat, he looked childish; he seemed youthful and innocent and untroubled, but there was a hint of worry rooted so deeply that it was still visible enough to make him an adult - and he was beautiful.

How he'd managed to fall asleep so fast was a mystery to her. He'd walked in before her and she'd known he must have been exhausted, but she hadn't seen him fall to the sofa - but he had and he was out in the time it took to blink.

The first thing to hit her was guilt, because of course he was exhausted. He'd just moved in two weeks ago and started school the same day they finished packing, and they'd had their fight, which had been so emotionally taxing it had taken half all that time to recover fully.

Santana wasn't certain they were actually over it.

He'd gotten up in the middle of the night to stay up with Kurt, had a nap, watched a movie, and then gotten into a car accident, where he'd acquired a concussion and two large cuts that required numerous stitches. It was a given that he'd pass out like that on the softest surface he found first.

She felt guilty for not seeing it, and for making him feel like he couldn't tell them so she would have.

She looked at Kurt, incredulous but soft, and nodded to him, and then gestured for Rachel to help.

It took only a little while to shake him into a state of half-alertness, and he cracked open an eyelid and made a sound in the back of his throat was somewhere between "Yes?" and "Ugh."

"Do you want to stay here or go to your bed?" she asked him, and he rolled the one eye that was open, and then closed it again, snuggling deeper into the cushions. "Right. Couch, then." He smiled a small smile, and then he was out like a light.

Rachel put a pillow under his head, Santana draped a blanket over him, and Kurt took a deep breath and told them to go to sleep, that he'd stay with Blaine. Santana let Rachel sleep in Blaine's bed, since she was sure he wouldn't mind and didn't want to share with her, but right before he joined in Rachel and Blaine's snoring spree she peeked back out into the living room to see that Kurt was rearranging Blaine, with hands so careful and caring she could scarcely believe it, on the couch so Kurt was behind him and could drape an arm over his torso. Blaine automatically responded to the hold by turning his head towards Kurt, and even though he was sleeping, Kurt kissed his cheek, and then buried his face in Blaine's shoulder.

Santana texted Brittany a goodnight and an I love you before she went to bed. And then she followed suit after the rest of her apartment and slept.