Blaine didn't bother checking the clock to see if it was too early. He ignored Tucker when he whimpered beside him to come along. He didn't bother stretching out his legs or walking to the end of the driveway. He didn't bother looking up for the possibility of some loitering stars; he knew better- low clouds had been drenching New Albany all night and the distant rumble of thunder had not yet fully faded. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, he took off, his shoes resounding on the pavement. It was still slightly dark- streetlights remained glowing and dew and rain reflected off lawns. Five days. Five days and the most Kurt had done was wake long enough to scream in pain until the nurses sedated him.

Blaine ran faster. He'd witnessed only two of the screaming sessions—the first on the Friday visit with Finn, and the second just the evening before. He'd been asked to leave by one of the attendings; well, he had more so been forced out the door- the sound of Kurt's cries filling his ears and his nightmares. Faster.

Burt had called him later to tell him they'd gotten the whole thing under control; reassuring Blaine that he'd witnessed much worse earlier on in the hospital stay. Blaine was not comforted by the thought of worse agony for his lover than what he'd witnessed.

Faster. Faster. Faster.

He didn't care where he was going. He ran until his ears rang, his vision blurred white at the edges, and all at once his feet refused to move any more. He tripped over his useless limbs and fell, his knees scraping against the pavement.

He remained on his hand and knees for a moment, panting to catch his breath. He could feel the drum of blood pulsating behind his eardrums. When his body found some more satisfied state of equilibrium, he took in his surroundings.

The parking lot behind the park.

He felt no thrill of fear and no dread in the pit of his stomach. After all, it was only…he didn't know what time it was, actually, but he knew he wouldn't be encountering anyone with the exception of maybe an avid marathon trainee or some small wildlife that made it's home in the foliage. He sat cross-legged in the middle of the lot and looked around. This is where it had happened; he was sure of it. There were a few lots behind the park, but when the police had mentioned finding Kurt in such a lot, Blaine had known exactly which one. It was smaller than the others and tucked in a little further away from the main road. He'd been dragged here only a few times, but those few trips were enough to cement the place in his memory. This was a place he visited in his nightmares. This was the place the boy he loved had been left for dead.

Blaine drew his knees up, dropping his head between them when a wave of nausea hit him hard. He waited for it to pass before finding his footing and walking back toward home. The walk back took considerably more time than the run outward had (then again, he hadn't really had a concept of time while he sprinted away from his demons), so, by the time he slipped back through the door and into the kitchen to search out a bottle of water, the light behind the retreating rain clouds was a milky pink and yellow. He took a long drink from the bottle he'd found in the fridge, not caring that the icy water felt like a kick to his stomach.

"Blaine! What happened to you?" His mother had suddenly appeared through the kitchen door.

Blaine blinked at her vacantly, and then followed her gaze down to his legs. Blood snaked down his shins and into his shoes and socks. Funny that he hadn't felt it. "Tripped when I was running."

"Sit down; I'll get the medical kit." Shannon Anderson disappeared from the kitchen once again.

Blaine complied with her request, settling down in a kitchen chair to watch the sky brightening out the window above the sink.

His mother returned with the gaudy black box and fussed over him. He didn't object; he was content to let her deal with this mess she could actually clean up. He did note, however, the lack of his father's presence in the kitchen that morning. He glanced at the clock on the microwave. 6:30. His father would be up by now… "Where's dad?"

His mother glanced up at him, "Business trip to New York until Thursday, baby, you knew that."

"Right, guess I forgot." Blaine watched his mother pour antiseptic onto a washcloth.

She pressed it to each knee and then looked up at him; concern lining her features. "That didn't sting?"

That was the expression Blaine had sworn he would never cause on his mother's face. He smiled and laughed a little. "I'm not seven, Mom, I don't cry every time I just see the bottle with the red cap."

She smiled too, but still looked troubled. She went back to tending his knees- she bandaged them up and insisted on throwing away his socks, but upon returning to him, she sighed. "Oh Blaine, look at your hands."

He did so. The bottoms of his palms were almost as torn up as his knees. He offered another smile "I had to catch myself, and it was either my hands or my face that were going to do it. I think I made a good choice."

She smiled and let out a fluttery laugh. "Let me see."

He held out both hands to her without objection. She pulled a chair up and set to work pulling out bits of gravel and washing them clean before wrapping them in white gauze. "There; all done."

"Good as new." Blaine agreed.

She took each of his hands in hers. He cringed at the softness of her voice. "Blaine."

He reluctantly met her gaze. He hated seeing her look so worried.

"Blaine, what's going on with you?"

"What do you mean?" Blaine furrowed his brow in the best mock-up of confusion he could think of in that moment.

"Don't you give me that, Blaine Michael Anderson." She searched his eyes. "You don't eat, you're going on these ridiculous runs before the sun's even up, and you look like you haven't slept in days. Tell me what's bothering you, baby."

Blaine wanted to collapse in her arms and cry. Sob out everything, so he didn't have to carry it anymore. He wanted to be five years old when his mother could still make everything all better.

He let out a long breath, a little irritated with himself when his voice wavered. "You know my friend Kurt."

"The boy from your singing group. The one with the lovely soprano voice." His mother nodded.

"Yeah, that's him." He paused. What was he supposed to tell her? She had met Kurt on maybe two or three occasions; all well before their relationship had begun. "He- some people hurt him. Really, really bad…he's been in the hospital and it's just- it's been hard, I guess."

She was silent for a long time, her hands still wrapped around his. "This boy, Blaine, is he…special to you?"

Blaine nodded and swallowed. "Very."

Another long silence and finally she raised a hand to his cheek. "I would ask if you were special to him, but I already know the answer to that one."

He smiled feebly for her. She really did try.

"I'm sure there is an excellent medical staff caring for him, and I'm sure he has a family member or someone who loves him, you know that, right?"

He nodded.

"I understand you're upset, honey, that your…friend…is in the hospital. But that does not explain all of this." She traced the dark skin below his right eye.

"It was just hard at first, mom, I'm fine. I haven't been having nightmares, right? That's always good." He didn't mention that he didn't have nightmares because his didn't sleep. Instead he smiled reassuringly.

When she still looked conflicted, he added, "I'll ease up on the running if it makes you feel better, it's just been a good stress outlet."

She nodded slowly. Then smiled. "Will you let me make you breakfast?"

Her smile made him smile. "Sure, mom."

He tried to get up to make coffee, but she shooed him out of the kitchen to the family room where she forced the TV remote into his hand. "Be a normal teenager and be lazy for a change. It'll be good for you. I'll let you know when food's ready."

Blaine felt his heart ache for his dear mother. He'd have to do better in the future. For the time being, he was content to mollify her by turning on the television and resting his head on Tucker's side when he jumped up on the couch.

When he was allowed to re-enter the kitchen, he forced a smile. "Smells good."

She had made strawberry and banana pancakes. A strange obsession he'd had somewhere around the age of six, and never really thought to eat after the phase had ended. They laughed over the creation and he let her reminisce about when he was a little boy while he cut his food into smaller and smaller triangles, surreptitiously feeding them to Tucker below the table.

She rested her chin in her hands and smiled at him, "This reminds me of when you were a little boy and your father would leave for business trips."

"You used to let me sleep in your bed." Blaine smiled. "What's with all the childhood throwbacks, anyway?"

Her smile dipped a little. "Oh, I don't know… I guess it all started with this book we did for book club. It was about a mother who lost her three year old at the airport and didn't get him back until he was much older… she felt like she recognized him, but didn't know him at all."

"I have never been lost in an airport." Blaine replied with a grin.

"Blaine, that's not funny." His mother said softly.

Blaine mentally kicked himself. Humor was not the approach to take with an emotional mother. He reached out and rested his hand on hers. "I'm still me."

"You just grew up so fast." Shannon smiled sadly, "When did that happen?"

"You blinked." Blaine smiled. "Thanks for breakfast."

"Thank you for humoring me." She moved to take his plate.

"I've got it." He sniped her plate from the table, too, and took them to the dishwasher. "You want help cleaning up?"

"No, honey, go take a shower." She moved toward the stove and then glanced at him again. "On second thought; be creative- don't get your knees wet."

He laughed a little for her benefit as he made his way up the stairs, but once in the bathroom he opted to pull the bandages off his hands and knees so he could shower. He didn't have the energy to be creative, and he could always get new Band-Aids from the hall closet.

He tipped his face up toward the icy downpour of the faucet for a few minutes, liking the way it stung his face and shoulders, before turning the temperature hotter. He noted the pink tinted water running down the drain and studied his knees for a while. He'd really done a number on his left one; he bent it a few times experimentally before turning off the tap and moving to finish getting ready. He was re-bandaging a hand when his phone went off. Finn's name came up in bold, black font on the screen.

"Hello?" Blaine felt his muscles tense; prepared to hear the worse.

"Hey, man, what's up?" Blaine couldn't read Finn's voice. It was as awkward and slightly confused as ever.

"Nothing. Is everything all right?" Blaine wasn't going to exchange social pleasantries when there was something potentially wrong with the boy he loved.

"Oh, yeah, um, really good actually. Kurt's up." Finn paused. "Well not like up walking around, but he's awake and he's doing pretty good- he talks and stuff."

Blaine swallowed hard, a wave of relief nearly overwhelming him. "That… that's wonderful."

"He… he was asking about you, so, um, I guess if you're not busy with stuff-"

"I'm on my way now." Blaine dropped his phone down and stripped off his Dalton suit shirt. He flipped through his shirts until he found the black Armani Exchange shirt Kurt had given him a few weeks earlier (clearly pleased with the find), but he gave little attention to his shorts- pulling the camel colored cargos off the floor and still trying to get them on as he jogged down the stairs- Tucker nearly tripping him on the way.

"Don't you work today?" Shannon was scrubbing off the skillet, but turned to watch Blaine rush around the kitchen on a quest to find his keys.

"Kurt's awake. I'm gonna go to the hospital." Blaine replied, still searching. "Have you seen my keys?"

"Did you call into work to let them know you won't be there?" She kept scrubbing.

"I'll call on the way; seriously, any idea where my keys are?" Blaine pulled open the fridge in desperation.

"Honey, take a breath." His mother frowned at him briefly. "They're hanging up in the laundry room."

Blaine darted toward the laundry room, letting out a cry of victory to let his mother know he'd found them. He dashed back into the kitchen, kissed her on the cheek, thanked her a second time for breakfast and jogged out the door. Once on the road, he was restless sitting so still in the close confines of the vehicle. He turned on the radio and let music soothe him.

He scribbled his name in the visitor's log- a B with an incoherent loop after it- and hurried down the hall. Despite all his rush, he paused outside the door, taking a breath. He shouldn't get his hopes up, if Kurt had been up and talking earlier he was probably exhausted and already back asleep. It might just be another day of sitting at his bedside studying the drip from the IV. He opened the door.

Everyone turned to look at him—Carol and Finn were already on the couch, Burt on the right side of the bed. And Kurt. After nothing but unconsciousness interrupted by agonized screams for days, Kurt was looking at him.

"Kurt." Blaine felt breathless. "You…you're awake."

Kurt smiled weakly. "Are you going to come see me or just stand there?"

Blaine realized he was still in the doorway. He crossed the small space and sat down slowly in the vacant chair on the left side of the bed. He couldn't take his eyes off Kurt's.

"Why don't we give you two a minute?" Carol nodded at Burt to indicate they should leave.

"We'll be back in a minute, 'kay, buddy?" Burt touched Kurt's arm.

"Make it at least five, please." Kurt's voice was raspy.

Burt smiled and nodded. He turned his head twice to look over his shoulder at his son before letting the door close behind them.

Kurt watched the door close before directing his gaze back at Blaine; he smiled again. "Hi."

Blaine let out a shaky laugh, his hand going to Kurt's face. "Hi… Oh God, Kurt, you have no idea- I thought- well, I mean-"

Kurt watched Blaine with fascination. The way he bit his bottom lip, set his jaw, blinked a few times, and finally had to look away. Had he ever seen Blaine cry? He wasn't sure- he could barely remember the day of the week let alone if he'd ever seen his boyfriend cry- but he still wanted to hug him close. He reached an arm up to touch Blaine's hand on his face, but let out a whimper of pain instead, dropping his arm back to the bed.

The potential tears disappeared quickly and Blaine was half on his feet immediately. "Easy. Your collar bone's broken; just relax."

Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, letting the pain ebb to a dull ache he could handle.

"Shh, you're all right." Blaine was murmuring, stroking his cheek, and running his fingers through his hair.

Kurt remembered- fuzzily- how much he'd longed for that exact comfort lying in the dark on a night that felt so strangely distant. "I'm so glad you're here."

"I'm not going anywhere." Blaine murmured; his fingers laced between Kurt's.

They sat in silence for a long time, so long, that Blaine was sure Kurt had drifted back to sleep, but then he spoke again, his eyes still closed. "I had a dream this morning that my foot was stuck in a bear trap."

"Probably from your ankle. Does it hurt?" Blaine glanced down at the cast.

Kurt ignored him. "I was stuck and I was screaming for help, and you came… but your foot was in one too; you'd pulled the chain out of the ground so you could walk around though."

Blaine studied Kurt's face; he could see the red line across his forehead below his bangs. "Kurt."

Kurt opened his eyes, a little groggily, to stare at Blaine. "Hmm?"

"Did they…" Blaine swallowed. "Eric- he-they… They just… hit you, right?"

"Well when you put it that way you totally minimize it." Kurt smiled a little sardonically.

"Kurt," Blaine wasn't looking for a joke; he needed an answer if he was ever going to sleep again; "I mean, they- that's it though, right?"

Kurt looked a little more cognizant. He studied the intensity on Blaine's face. "I guess so…. what else would there be, Blaine?"

Blaine felt a perceivable weight lift off his shoulders. He smiled. "Dunno. I guess I've just had a lot of time to sit here and think of stuff."

Kurt narrowed his eyes at Blaine, but then cringed. His ribs burned terribly.

"What hurts?" Blaine's voice was silk, his hand smoothing Kurt's arm.

"My chest." Kurt muttered through gritted teeth.

"Breathe nice and slow." Blaine murmured; he fanned his hand across his sternum the same way he had in the last attack. "Follow my hand."

Kurt did as he was told, trying to let his ribs rise only so far as the hand above them. Soon, the sharp sting abated, but he was exhausted. "Thanks."

Blaine read his mind as always. "Go to sleep. You've had a big day."

Kurt groped for Blaine's hand until he found it. "Can you do something for me?"

"Anything." Blaine squeezed his hand gently.

"Stay until I fall asleep… maybe you could sing?" Kurt's voice wavered; he didn't like the idea of being alone.

Blaine felt an ache in his chest. "Of course I will."

He rested the side of his face on his arm at the edge of the bed, his other hand in Kurt's. He sang him Candles- knowing he'd like the reminder of their duet-and when he was sure he was asleep, he sang him a few verses of whatever came to mind: bits and pieces that moved through his head that had finally slowed down for a few minutes.

Light up, light up

As if you have a choice

Even if you can not hear my voice

I'll be right beside you dear