Blaine lay in his bed, watching the ceiling fan. He tried tracking one blade to count its rotations, but somewhere around sixty-three he felt dizzy. He closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing a hand along Tucker's back that was pressed against his side. When he felt himself drifting off he sat up, rubbing his eyes. Tucker didn't budge from his spot; he opened his eyes lazily to watch his master.

Blaine plucked his watch from the nightstand to scrutinize its face. 5:24. He looked down at Tuck. "Do people wake up at 5:24 on Thursday mornings; like, is that socially acceptable?"

Tucker stretched a little, but otherwise didn't move.

"Runners. Runners get up earlier than this." Blaine nodded reassuringly to himself and climbed out of bed. He could be a runner for the day. He lay down on his stomach on the floor to study the boxes underneath and couldn't help but smile. Kurt had organized them by occasion: dress shoe boxes on the left, casual in the middle, and…yes, there they were, his running shoes. He pulled out the box and dropped it on top of his bed before searching out something to wear. Kurt had organized that, too (twice now), but Blaine found it troublesome to manage the clothing system. Why would he bother searching out the exact spot to re-hang a shirt when he could just hang it in with all the rest without a second thought?

Kurt. That reminded him; Kurt had never called to say he made it home. He never even responded to Blaine's check in text around four. Blaine checked his phone again to ensure he hadn't some how missed it—after all, it was entirely possible he drifted off for a few minutes during the night. Whether he had napped unknowingly or not, there was definitely no missed calls or unnoticed texts. Blaine let a long breath out his nose; Kurt was pissed, and with good reason.

"Tell you something." Blaine mumbled to himself, shaking his head. He looked over his shoulder toward his dog as he sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on his shoes. "Tell him what?"

Tuck wagged his tail a few times.

Blaine finished lacing his shoes and dropped onto his back beside the big lab. "Why can't I just keep wagging my tail and looking cute too, huh?"

Tucker wagged his tail again.

Blaine smiled to himself and got off the bed, turning in the doorway when Tucker didn't chase after him. He let out a short whistle. "Wanna go for a walk, boy?"

Tucker tangled himself in the sheets attempting to scramble out of the bed, and ended up dropping to the floor with all of the bedding before flying out the door past Blaine and down the steps. Blaine rolled his eyes, dropped the heap of sheets and blankets back on the bed to deal with later, and walked at a more leisurely pace toward the steps. He glanced at his parent's bedroom door—still closed. When he arrived at the door where Tucker was waiting he had to shush him repeatedly while he put on his leash.

Once out the door, Tucker took off, Blaine sprinting after him and finally having to dig his heels into the pavement to stop the damn dog. "Chill out, Bud, we've got time, and I can't keep that pace up for more than maybe thirty seconds."

It took a little pulling on the leash, a few curse words, and one harsh 'bad dog', but eventually Tucker fell into an even lope beside his owner. Blaine was shocked by the heat that already warmed the back of his neck—no wonder runners woke up so early. In broad daylight it would be excruciating. Then again, most runners probably opted to run in the park where the tree cover was denser and the heat of cars racing by every few seconds wasn't a problem. There was no way in hell Blaine was going anywhere near that damn park. His irritation spiked his adrenaline and-much to Tucker's delight- he sped up.

If they hadn't gone on that walk, none of it would have happened. He wouldn't be having nightmares every time he slept for over an hour like a five year-old with monsters in the closet, he wouldn't have been reminded of how close it all still was, and Kurt wouldn't have seen him crumble. That was the worst part. He could handle the lack of sleep and avoiding the memories—a lot of coffee and a busy schedule were easy enough things to come by—but Kurt. He couldn't undo that. He couldn't stop all of those stupid questions.

He loved that Kurt was a bitch, to be honest. Loved the way the soprano gave him withering looks every time his shoes didn't match his outfit, the way he slapped his hand away when Blaine tried to look through the skincare bottles on his vanity, loved that once Kurt decided he needed something he would be as conniving, coy, or cunning as he felt necessary to get precisely what he wanted. Unfortunately that last little trait was becoming a problem. His words from that night on the deck plagued him as badly as any nightmare, and now every time he looked at Kurt he could see them. Tell me something.

Blaine pushed forward faster, wanting to leave the memory behind him. Soon his mind was filled with nothing but his own breathing and his feet moving. He watched the cars that sped by in the road beside him— a blue blur, a yellow one, a semi truck, the red and blue flash of ambulance lights and the wail of a siren, a motorcycle…maybe not as serene as a run in the park, but entertaining all the same. By the time he arrived home, the sun was a little too hot on his back, but he felt better. He made a mental note to run more often as he went into the welcome relief of the air conditioning.

"You're up early."

Blaine looked up from where he was pulling off his shoes. His father stood in the kitchen doorway, already in his suit for the day and a mug of coffee in one hand. Blaine pulled off his remaining shoe, nodding. "Went for a run."

His father nodded slowly. "Good. That's good."

Blaine stood where he was for a moment, searching for something to say; his mother rescued him by coming down the stairs, still pushing an earring in, but otherwise fully dressed. "Good morning, Sweetheart; what are you doing up so early?"

"Blaine's taken up running." His father responded for him.

Blaine nodded in confirmation. He wasn't sure if a spontaneous jog around town counted as "taking up running", but it was usually best to go along with his father.

"That's wonderful, dear."

"How was the gala?" Blaine asked, patting his leg for Tucker to come back to his side when he returned from getting a drink in the laundry room.

"Oh, it was very nice. You know, I was talking with Suzan Oakes—she does event development at the country club; you've met her before—and she was thinking it would be nice if you could sing at a few functions. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"He's already got a job, Shannon." His father glanced down at his watch. "What time do you work?"

"Eight. I should probably go shower." He glanced to his mother. "If I have time I'll think about it. Thanks, Mom."

He jogged up the stairs and glanced at the clock. Seven. Had he really been gone that long? He showered quickly and toweled off his hair at the same time as pulling out his uniform. Kurt was right; wearing the heavy thing all summer really was a drag. Remembering Kurt, he paused in his dash to get ready for work to check his phone—Kurt would be awake by now. Nothing. Blaine sighed, dropping the phone down and getting ready just a little slower. Kurt was definitely pissed.

He jogged down the stairs once he was dressed and went to the kitchen where his parents both sat at the table. "Any coffee left?"

His dad motioned a hand toward the pot to indicate he should check for himself. Blaine pulled it out and was pleased to find enough to fill his thermos.

"Can I make you some breakfast before you go?" His mother asked from her place at the table.

"He's seventeen years old, Shannon, he can feed himself." His father glanced over Blaine. "Straighten your tie before you go."

Blaine glanced down at it as he filled his travel mug, and then looked to his mother. "I appreciate it, Mom, but I should go before I'm late."

"Blaine." His mother gave him a pointed look. "Eat something."

He pulled a granola bar out of the cupboard and waved it in the air for her to see. "Does this count?"

"Yes." His mother smiled, rising from her chair, " Now come give me a kiss goodbye."

His father grumbled, "Shannon-"

"You do not get to tell me he's seventeen years old, so he doesn't have to kiss his mother anymore." She put a hand on her hip and shot her husband a glare before walking over to Blaine. "Don't you ever let anyone tell you boys get too old to kiss their mothers."

"Yes, ma'am." He smiled, kissed her on the cheek and made for the door.

"Blaine." His father called.

Blaine stopped, waiting.

"Your tie."

Blaine straightened it and when his father turned his attention back to the business section he decided that was his cue to go. He jogged out to his car and turned over the ignition, his eyes focused on the clock display. 7:38. He'd be right on time as always. He turned on the radio, blanching at the morning shows that never played enough music for his taste, and switched to his CD player. It was one Kurt had made for him. Instinctively he reached in his pocket to check his phone; if he hadn't called yet, maybe he could call him on the drive over to make plans to talk. They weren't supposed to meet up again until Saturday, but if Kurt was really that upset about the previous night, it might be worth the drive to Lima to smooth things over.

His phone wasn't in his pocket. He mentally cursed himself when he remembered dropping it down on his bed while he got ready. The call would just have to wait.

Blaine decided runs were definitely a good thing—his whole day felt a little brighter. He did the backward walk and talk routine three times that morning, and when he mentioned being a member of the Warblers to the third group; they had insisted he sing them something. He'd done so with a little less bravado than usual (feeling awkward with the sound of his voice so totally alone), but the group had cheered nonetheless. He was asked to do the same for his fourth group by a mother who had heard about the impromptu performance from someone in the previous pack, and so they day continued—a grapevine of rumors making him come up with something new for each group.

Blaine left work happy- Kurt would have to at least forgive him enough to say, "I told you so" regarding the singing tour guide routine. His joy only increased when he saw the little white Mazda 3 pulled up alongside his car. He leaned on the top of the car to look down into the driver's window.

He checked his watch and raised an eyebrow. "Out of bed before three; impressive."

"Shut up, I'm a better morning person than you are. And why the hell haven't you been answering your phone?" She smiled, but her eyes were tired.

"Forgot it at home." Blaine shrugged.

"You would forget it today," she muttered to herself before looking back at him. "Go drop your car off at home; I'll meet you there."

"Jeez, someone's feeling authoritative." Blaine rolled his eyes. "Actually, I was thinking about driving out to Lima. I think Kurt's pissed with me."

"We'll go see him, just go drop your car off." Nadia started to roll up her window, apparently deciding her decision was final.

"I was thinking this should be more of a just me and him thing, N." Blaine called before the glass could close.

"Blaine, for once, just do what I'm asking you to do." Nadia didn't just look tired; she looked exhausted.

He studied her through the glass—looking for the usual signs that something was wrong at home. No tears, no bruises, but she was avoiding his eyes. He knocked on the glass softly until she rolled it back down. "Are you okay?"

"Blaine, please." Nadia looked up at him briefly then away again.

"All right, sure." He glanced at his watch. He could take care of Nadia and drive out to Lima that night; what was the harm in a few hours lost? It wasn't like he had to get to bed or anything- he could drive back to New Albany late.

When he pulled into the garage, Nadia pulled up right behind him. "Hurry it up."

"Relax, would you? I'm gonna let the dog out and grab my phone. You wanna come in for a bit?"

Nadia sighed and climbed out of her car, "No, I want to get going."

Blaine paused to scrutinize her again. Something was off, and not in the usual way. "Are you sure-"

"Go deal with your dog, B." Nadia waved a hand toward the house and leaned on her car to wait.

Arguing with Nadia was as bad as arguing with Kurt. If one of them made up their minds about something, it was best to just ride it out. Blaine let Tucker bolt past him into the front lawn while he went upstairs to search out his forgotten cell. When he found it- buried deep in the tangle of his sheets- he brought the little screen to life and felt a pang of surprise. Nine missed calls and four texts. He scrolled through the calls first- three from Finn, three from Nadia, two from Rachel, and one from his mother. He checked the texts.

'Call me when you get this –Finn'

'Where are you? –Rachel'

'Blaine pick up your phone –N'

'Seriously B wtf. CALL ME.'

He changed out of his uniform into cargo shorts and a black polo- something Kurt would approve of more than his white t-shirt- and slipped his phone into his pocket, adding calling back his mother, Rachel, and Finn to his to do list. Maybe he could do it on the drive to Lima…that would work. He wondered absently why Finn would need his attention—sure, he was dating his brother, but the two weren't exactly close. He whistled for Tucker to come back in before locking the door and joining Nadia in her car.

"You take forever." She said pointedly, pulling out of the neighborhood a little too fast.

"I wasn't gonna stay in my Dalton uniform when it's a hundred degrees out." Blaine turned up the air conditioning and turned on the radio—a strange thing to have to do in Nadia's car; she always had music playing. He studied her profile for a minute, but didn't say anything. She'd come out with whatever was eating at her on her own eventually.

"Find your phone?" She queried after a few more blocks.

"Yeah; Finn called me like three times. Kurt didn't call once." Blaine rested the back of his head on the window, twisting sideway so he could face Nadia.

"When was the last time you talked to him?" Her voice was careful.

"Right after you left. We sort of got into a fight because apparently I'm not as open as some of his other friends, N." Blaine gave her a sour look.

She ignored the jab. "He didn't call you at all after that?"

Blaine shook his head. "That's why I have to go over to Lima. I don't want to leave things like this until Saturday. I can't deal with thinking he's upset with me for that long."

Nadia braked at a stoplight and turned her eyes toward Blaine. "Can you do something for me, Honey Bee?"

"Sure; anything." Blaine sat up a little higher.

Nadia took in a long breath and held it. When the light turned green, she let it out in a shaky wave. "Promise me, if I tell you something, you'll stay calm."

Blaine tried to read her, but all he could come up with was that something was very, very wrong. "Yeah, sure…. okay."

Nadia swallowed once, when her voice came out it was soft; careful. "You and I are going to the hospital right now."

Blaine felt a twist of anxiety in his stomach. "Is it your dad? Or did he hurt your mom, or-"

Nadia was shaking her head; she had to tip her head back to quell tears that threatened to spill over. "No, Blaine."

Blaine waited; confused.

"Blaine," Nadia took another deep breath to steady herself, "Finn Hudson called me this morning. His family got a call a little before seven from the hospital, they… they had identified Kurt from his driver's license. He's in the ICU."

Blaine stared at her uncomprehendingly; his ears rang. He moved his mouth until finally something came out. "He's a good driver."

Nadia glanced at him, "Blaine-"

"The roads were bad, but he's a good driver." Blaine was shaking his head.

"He wasn't in a car accident, B." Nadia's voice came out in a whisper.

Blaine turned off the radio; he must not have heard her right. "What?"

Nadia tilted her head back again, but this time the tears still ran over. "Finn said that a patrol car found him; he…someone attacked him, Blaine."

Blaine couldn't breath. He couldn't remember how to inhale.

"Blaine, remember what you promised." Nadia said almost urgently.

Blaine tried to draw in a breath, but his chest wouldn't let him.

"Center yourself, B; come on, like you used to." Nadia reached over to squeeze his hand hard.

He closed his eyes, trying to grab onto something sturdy in himself. How did he do it before? How did he detach from it? He listened to the sound of blood rushing behind his ears, focused on relaxing the muscles in his chest…. there. He could keep a grip on himself for a while at least.

"Better?" Nadia loosened her hold on his hand just a little.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

"Good boy." Nadia soothed, letting go of his hand.

Blaine hunched over, his forehead on his knees and his hands on his neck. He still felt dizzy.

Nadia reached over again and rubbed circles on his back. "Hush, we'll be there soon. Just relax."

Blaine relaxed momentarily beneath the familiar touch- Kurt did that to sooth nightmares, calm fears- he recoiled from her contact. He couldn't handle it just then. "Please don't."

Nadia nodded, "Okay, just keep it together for a little longer, we'll be there in a few minutes."

When they pulled into the lot, he remained frozen in his seat.

"B, we're here." Nadia coaxed.

Blaine stared out the windshield at the building in front of them. Not ready to face the reality.

Nadia got out of the car and went around to his door and pulled it open. She leaned over him and undid his seatbelt. "He'd want you in there with him, B."

For Kurt. He could get out of the car for Kurt. He followed after Nadia like a lost puppy until she finally looped a hand around his elbow to keep him in stride with her.

"I saw an ambulance this morning. When I was running." Blaine mumbled.

"It probably wasn't him, B." Nadia soothed, pulling him toward the nurses station. "We're looking for Kurt Hummel; he was admitted this morning."

"Are you family?" The nurse glanced up at her and then at Blaine. "Does he need to be seen?"

Nadia looked over at Blaine. His face was pale and his eyes moved listlessly around the room. "He'll be fine; yes, we're family. He's our cousin."

The nurse looked at her cynically then at Blaine.

"Please," Nadia looked at the nurse pleadingly. "Please."

The nurse looked to Blaine again, but he was watching a girl being wheeled toward the doors. She typed in the computer before glancing back up at Nadia. "Room I342. That's the third floor."

"Thank you." Nadia pulled at Blaine to follow her.

Blaine was sleepwalking. He hadn't been in a hospital since the week before he had gone to Dalton; it had been a quick trip. A couple x-rays, some questionnaires, and his chest wrapped for two broken ribs. He tried to remember how he'd handled it then…

"There's Finn." Nadia pointed into a small lobby just off the top of the stairs.

Finn was slouched on a bench in the corner, Rachel's head on his lap. When he saw Blaine and Nadia, he tried to rouse the girl beside him. Rachel sat up and Finn pulled her to her feet, but before they could cross the space to Blaine and Nadia, someone else had.

"Do you know anything about this?" Burt Hummel was inches from Blaine's face so quickly, Blaine didn't have time to process where he had come from.

"I-" Blaine swallowed, trying to find his words.

"That's my kid in there, you know that? My kid that was supposed to be coming home from your house last night." Burt hadn't backed off.

"Burt-" Carol was beside him, a hand on his arm. He ignored her.

"He left when he was supposed to, to make curfew." Blaine managed breathlessly.

Burt stared at him hard, his eyes red and his jaw tight. "You're saying he left your house by ten last night."

"Yes, sir." Blaine cleared his throat. Why was his voice so quiet?

"A cop didn't find him until almost six this morning. He was out there alone all night," Burt's eyes welled up, but still he glared at Blaine. "That is my kid in there, and someone left him for dead. If you know something about this, you tell me now."

"Burt, I don't think-" Carol tried again, looking helplessly between her husband and the small boy in front of them.

"Can I see him?" Blaine blurted out.

Burt stared hard at him. He looked like he slept less than Blaine did.

"Please, sir. Please just let me see him." Blaine looked from Burt to Carol pleadingly.

"Burt, let him go." Carol said softly.

"Not until he tells me what he knows. This didn't happen in Lima. These were not people who knew Kurt." Burt's voice cracked, "They had no reason to hate my son."

"Burt, you're upset," Carol soothed, running a hand up and down his arm, "Just because it was in New Albany doesn't mean-"

"His face," Blaine's voice surprised him as much as it did everyone else, "Did they hit him in the face?"

Burt stared hard at him, his eyes narrowed.

"The left side's a little scratched up, but otherwise it looks okay" Finn spoke up from behind his parents.

"The pavement," Blaine murmured, his stomach clenching, his head spinning, "The pavement does that."

"What are you saying, kid?" Burt growled.

Blaine was still trying to comprehend it. He'd spent the past twenty minutes trying to convince himself that it could have been someone else, anyone else responsible, but this…this made it too real.

Burt grabbed him hard by the shoulders, shaking him. "If you know who did this to my son, you're going to tell me now."

"Burt!" Carol tried to pull her husband away.

"Max Huxley, Michael Burns, Chris Conway," Blaine's voice wavered, "and Eric Marlow."

"You're sure?" Burt maintained his grip on Blaine's shoulders.

"Yes." Blaine whispered.

Burt let go of him and took a step back, his eyes brimming with tears. When he wasn't three inches from his face, Blaine could see that Burt Hummel was a broken man from what had happened to his only child. He stared back at Blaine, blinking away his tears before they could fall. "Did they know him?"

"They knew me." Blaine used all of his energy to not drop eye contact.

Burt nodded slowly. He knew what that meant. They knew Blaine was gay, they knew Blaine was with Kurt, and they'd seen a new piece of prey. His son.

"Would you like to see him?" Burt finally spoke.

"Yes, sir, if I could, sir," Blaine had to clear his throat, but otherwise he felt his voice sounded right.

Burt nodded down the hall, indicating Blaine should follow him.

"I'll wait." Nadia murmured in his ear, moving to sit with Rachel and Finn.

Blaine trailed after Burt, every step made his stomach raise higher in his chest; his heart beat louder in his ears. When they reached the door marked I342, Burt stopped and turned to look tiredly at Blaine. "The nurses tell you anything?"

Blaine shook his head.

Burt took his hat off to rub his head briefly, "It's bad."

"H-how bad?"

Burt returned his hat to his head, his eyes on the plastic number card nailed to the door. "They had him in for surgery before we even got here- something with internal bleeding-"

"Jesus." Blaine closed his eyes for a moment.Center yourself, dammit, this isn't about you.

Burt waited until he opened his eyes to continue, "Eight broken ribs, a broken collar bone, and a shattered ankle. His face though, like you said…it looks good. I-it looks like him."

Blaine reached out a hand to squeeze Burt's shoulder when tears slipped down his face. Burt cleared his throat and placed a hand over Blaine's for a moment, "I'm sorry for all of this, sir, I didn't ever mean for-"

"It's not your fault. You shouldn't have to apologize for being who you are. But them…" Burt shook his head. "How anyone could ever be so hateful…"

"Ignorant," Blaine said automatically, he could handle the role of comfort giver, "Ignorance at its ugliest."

"Well, let's get in there then," Burt cleared his throat again, "The doctor said he was awake for awhile when they first brought him in, but he… he hasn't been awake since. He's pretty drugged up."

Blaine nodded, and when he realized it was going to have to be him who opened the door, he made sure his hand didn't shake. He let Burt go in ahead of him before following, closing the door as quietly as possible and letting his eyes remain on the handle for a few seconds to gather himself.

He walked numbly toward the bed, but stopped a few feet away. He knew the cliché that people looked small in hospital beds, but he felt it was all wrong. Kurt didn't look small; he looked… the way people look in coffins. Yes that was it—like themselves but somehow not right. His face was pale beneath a clear tube laced under his nose, an IV in one arm, the sheets tucked neatly around his shoulders.

"It's all right, kid, you can come closer." Burt had seated himself beside his child, and motioned to a chair on the opposite side of the bed.

Blaine approached it tentatively, but didn't immediately sit down. Closer, he could see bandages poking out from beneath an arm of the hospital smock; he spied the abrasions across his left cheek, he reached out a hand to trace them. He still felt like he was looking at someone at a wake, but feeling that familiar skin beneath his fingers destroyed the funeral detachment. He sank down into the chair, trying to swallow down a sob that threatened to free itself from his throat.

"Why not his face?" Burt looked to Blaine, desperate for something to understand.

Blaine studied Kurt's perfect complexion, "Everyone can see it."

"Were they hoping no one would notice any of this?" Burt's voice cracked as he looked over Kurt's prone form.

Blaine wasn't sure how to answer. He looked down to the limp fingers. He lifted them gently between his own, studying the scabbed over knuckles. "He hit back."

"What's that?" Burt looked up from his son's face that he had set himself to studying for any signs of consciousness.

Blaine hadn't realized he was whispering again. He smiled weakly at Burt. "He hit back. Hard."

Burt looked over at the bloodied knuckles in Blaine's hand and smiled a little, too, "Hope he at least broke a nose or two."

Blaine put the hand back down gently as Carol and Finn joined them.

"Nadia took Rachel home." Finn mumbled, leaning against his mother.

Blaine reluctantly rose from his chair to offer it to Carol.

"Sit down, honey; he'd want you there." Carol motioned toward a little couch under the window. "We'll be fine over here."

Blaine nodded his gratitude and returned to his spot. The group fell silent, the only sound coming from the occasional oxygen burst of the nosepiece and the blip of the heart rate monitor. Blaine studied the silhouette of Kurt's body beneath the thin blanket, wondering over the damage hidden there. He wanted to kiss him, hold him; make everything okay. He settled for reaching a hand up and touching the hair that brushed the top of his ear. Kurt never allowed him to mess with his hair (despite his own near obsession with Blaine's), but now Blaine could smooth the silky softness beneath his hand lightly, an act he didn't feel was too brazen in front of Kurt's family. He smoothed the bangs back neatly, knowing they would only fall back into their previous place, but- before they did- he caught sight of something. He leaned forward, frowning, and brushed the hair back again. He had not been imagining things. He heard the clang of his chair hitting the floor and the next thing he knew his back was pressed against the far wall. His breath coming in shallow bursts and a roaring sound like ocean waves in his ears.

"What?" Burt demanded, staring at him in alarm, "What's wrong?"

Blaine could only shake his head. The sick bastard. The fucking sick bastard. He felt the world tilt on its axis so much that he had to sink down to the ground, his head going to his knees.

"Should I be calling a nurse?" Carol asked from somewhere above him.

"N-no. No nurses," Blaine managed to choke out, his breath still coming like he'd run a marathon, "It's me. It's just me."

He felt a heavy hand on his back, "It's all right, kid, it just hit you hard. You'll be all right."

Burt's voice was calm, gentle, "What upset you, buddy, huh?"

Blaine lifted his head, he knew he couldn't answer that. His hand reached without permission to trace the permanent reminder of his past. He looked to Burt, his voice trembling, "I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill Eric Marlow."

Burt patted him on the shoulder, "Not if I beat you to it."

"Visiting hours are almost up, and I think you've had enough for one day. Why don't you let Finn take you home?" Burt straightened up, offering a hand to Blaine.

Blaine looked hesitantly back to the bed.

"He'll be here tomorrow, and you can be too—you'll need to talk with the police," Burt reassured him, "So say good bye just for now. We'll wait outside."

Blaine waited for the other three to slip out the door before moving back to the bedside. He forced himself to push back Kurt's hair again and look at the thing that had broken his composure. It wasn't from a blow like his own- it was an incision- roughly cut to mirror his own. It had been stitched, but it would likely leave a small scar. Twins. Eric's twins. Blaine gritted his teeth against the fury that threatened to tear him apart. When he found his hold once more, he leaned down and pressed his lips against the spot. His mouth moved to Kurt's ear to whisper through gritted teeth, "I made a promise to keep you safe. I won't break that."