Chapter 9

"How often do you think they cast a stage newcomer as female lead on Broadway?" Rachel was sitting cross-legged at the end of Finn's bed, "I mean, it's not like I'm a newcomer really; I have tons of experience as an actress, dancer, and singer. That's much more than what a lot of stars could boast when they were starting out. I mean, I practically wouldn't even need training—I've studied some of the biggest stars of all time and read their memoirs so that I'm well rehearsed in all their tricks, and—"

"Mhm," Finn was lying on the bed, throwing a basketball up in the air and catching it again against his chest. He half-listened to Rachel's endless stream of chatter, careful to pick up on every few words so he could repeat them back to her and nod his head enthusiastically so she would believe he was listening.

"Finn!" Rachel glowered down at him, "I asked for your opinion."

"Oh, um, right," Finn struggled for a moment before bobbing his head up and down, "Lots of experience, practically on their same level already."

Her frown deepened; apparently he hadn't been listening closely enough, "Were you listening to me at all? I asked if—"

They heard the door slam; Burt's yelling. Kurt must have finally made it home.

Finn couldn't help but smirk just a little, Kurt was never the one in trouble so it was nice to hear Burt's fury directed toward him for a change. Not to mention the fact that the sudden burst of sound had silenced Rachel and maybe even gotten him off the hook. He listened quietly to the sounds downstairs, but then all at once it was over before it had even really started. Finn sat up in his bed, straining to hear more, but the yelling was definitely over.

"Is that…" Rachel was listening too, "Is that Kurt crying?"

Finn didn't answer. He kicked his feet over the edge of the bed and made for the doorway quickly. Kurt had been missing for two days—Finn had initially chalked it up to him having a good time with the Warblers and not wanting to return home. After all, it wasn't like Burt ever really punished him for anything, and Kurt had a tendency to do as he pleased. But, no matter how independent he deemed himself, it wasn't like Kurt to not call home and check in, or at least send a quick 'I'm fine, be back later' text. What if someone had hurt him? Stopped him from making it home when he should have? And Blaine hadn't been answering any of their calls either… Finn quickened his pace down the steps, nearly tripping on the last three.

They found Burt and Kurt huddled in the entryway; Kurt was collapsed in his father's arms, sobbing and choking on incoherent words.

"What happened?" Finn demanded, crouching down beside them to try and get a look at Kurt's face, "Did someone hurt you? I swear to God, Kurt, I'll go find—"

Kurt was shaking his head, but when he opened his mouth to speak, all that came out were more sobs; more slurred consonants and vowels.

Rachel knelt down too, "Kurt, tell us—"

"Leave him alone," Burt said gently, pressing his hand into the back of his son's head, "He just needs a minute. Let him get this out of his system."

Finn slowly eased himself back off his heels until he was sitting on the ground, watching Kurt intently for any signs of so much as a bruise.

Rachel stood and went to the kitchen without explanation.

When Kurt's sobs muted down to hiccups, Burt slowly eased him to his feet and led him to the couch.

Finn stood awkwardly in front of the couch, but Rachel went straight to the spot beside Kurt. She offered a glass of ice water.

Kurt stared at the glass blankly, still sniffling.

"Drink it, it'll make you feel better," Rachel said quietly, pressing the cup into his hand.

He did as instructed, tipping the glass back and sipping from it slowly. His voice was gravelly and quiet, "Thank you."

Burt stood in front of him, his arms folded across his chest, "You ready to tell us what's wrong, bud?"

Kurt looked around at them with red-rimmed eyes before looking back down to his lap, "It's Blaine."

"Did you guys break up?" Rachel's eyes went wide.

Kurt shook his head, "No."

"Did you have a really big fight?" Rachel ventured again.

Kurt just shook his head, his eyes brimming with tears that simply would not stop.

"You need to help us out here, buddy, we can't read your mind," Burt knelt down and squeezed a comforting hand on Kurt's shoulder.

"He's sick," Kurt choked out; he swallowed to steady his voice, "Blaine's sick. Like mom was. He has cancer."

Burt's hand slipped from Kurt's shoulder. He stared at Kurt mutely.

Rachel let out a gasp as though she'd been slapped.

Finn felt…funny; like he was dizzy, "Blaine can't… he can't have cancer; he's eighteen."

The others ignored him. Burt met Kurt's eyes, "What kind of cancer?"

"He," Kurt let out a shuddery breath, "It's a tumor…or tumors, I don't really know. In his head. They did surgery this morning and sent me home until he can see people again."

Burt nodded his head slowly, but said nothing.

Rachel had clapped a hand over her mouth, as though she was afraid of the sound that might break free if she didn't physically lock it in.

Burt recovered first, "Will he need chemo?"

Kurt nodded, he spilled out everything he knew to them- The warning signs; the seizure; the surgery. He was reasonably pulled together until he neared the end of his explanations. The tears started fresh as he dropped his face into his hands, "What if he doesn't wake up? W-what if th-they can't f-f-fix him?"

Finn sank down to the floor, not trusting his suddenly wobbly knees to support him. Rachel and Burt both hovered around Kurt, offering empty reassurances and petting his hair, but Finn's mind was buzzing, his head spinning. Blaine was the sun that Kurt's world revolved around, and Finn saw it as his duty to protect them both. Not that either one needed any particular protection, Kurt was all snark and bitchiness and Blaine had proven he was more than willing to step into a fight even if he had no idea what he was doing.

"Could you please get us some ice, Finn?" Kurt stepped through the door, his clothes disshelved and his hair still dripping with green ice.

Finn glanced up from his place on the couch and did a double take as he jumped to his feet, "What the hell happened?"

Blaine was holding a tissue to his nose that was quickly being stained red, a glower on his face as Kurt tugged him along toward the kitchen, "We got in a fight."

"Correction, you got in a fight," Kurt rolled his eyes, "I was more than happy for us to just go home."

Blaine released the tissue from his nose, ignoring the blood that immediately began slipping down his face, "They deserved it! People can't just—"

"Okay, tough guy, relax," Kurt shoved Blaine's hand back up to his face.

"What happened?" Finn demanded again. He followed them into the kitchen to fetch the requested ice pack.

"Azimio and those guys slushied me and put me in the dumpster when I was waiting for Blaine to pick me up," Kurt shrugged before hitching a thumb in Blaine's direction, "When this guy over here showed up, though, he suddenly decided he was strong enough to take on two football players and a hockey player."

"Dude, you're, like, tiny; what were you thinking?" Finn handed off the ice to Kurt and took the chair beside Blaine.

"I am not that small," Blaine scowled, "and they can't just push people around with no repercussions. It's not fair. And I don't need ice."

"Somehow I don't think you yelling at them and shoving them did much to teach them a lesson," Kurt pressed the icepack to his own heel, "And the ice if for me, not you."

Blaine dropped the Kleenex again to stare down at Kurt's foot in alarm, "You said they didn't hurt you, did they—"

"Oh my God, calm down and keep that thing on your nose, you're going to drip blood all over my pants," Kurt swatted Blaine away from him, "I'm fine, I hurt my ankle getting out of the dumpster."

"So what exactly did they do?" Finn pressed, looking between the two.

"So Blaine got out of his car and started throwing insults around like confetti and tried to shove them around a bit," Kurt threw Blaine a withering look.

"They looked a little shaken," Blaine insisted.

"That's because they have the vocabulary of seven year-olds and didn't understand half of what you were saying, honey," Kurt patted Blaine affectionately on the knee, "if they were properly shaken, I don't think they would have just kept walking."

Finn got up to fetch a clean paper towel for Blaine, "If they just walked away, how'd you get the bloody nose?"

Blaine took the offered paper towel, but looked sheepishly toward Kurt to explain.

"How do you think?" Kurt rolled his eyes, "He kept berating them, so finally Azimio turned around and punched him in the face."

Blaine grumbled something incoherent and folded his free arm across his chest.

Finn looked Blaine over. He really was a tiny guy; like not just short either, he was just… little. Any one of the football players easily had at least four or five inches on him in height, not to mention thirty pounds on him in weight; it would take nothing to beat the living daylights out of a kid that size, "Don't get into anymore fights, Blaine."

Blaine looked to Finn in surprise.

"I mean it, if one of those guys decided they wanted to hurt you, they could really do a number on you… next time, tell me or Puck what happened. We'll take care of it."

"I don't need someone to fight for me," Blaine said through gritted teeth, "I won't let people just get away with hurting me. Or hurting Kurt. I won't just run away from that."

"I get it, man, you're pissed, and you have every right to be—"

"I am not running away," Blaine cut him off, "I won't go out of my way to provoke people anymore, but I will take a bloody nose or a black eye over tucking my tail any day. I'm done with that."

Kurt smiled and reached over to squeeze Blaine's hand in his. The two exchanged a look that would normally have made Finn uncomfortable, but he was too busy thinking.

He was a little nervous—the idea of Blaine really pissing the wrong person off made him apprehensive—but more than that he was… impressed. Dapper, chattery Blaine was a lot scrappier than he had given him credit for. But that didn't change the fact that Finn still felt obligated to watch out for him. He was his brother's boyfriend after all.

"Just know I've got your back, okay, man?"

Blaine's defiance had melted a little, his normal cheery grin blossomed on his face, "Sure thing."

Blaine hadn't listened to Finn's advice to avoid further conflict, a trait that resulted in Finn peeling Blaine off of more than one McKinley jock at sporting events and in the parking lot on the days he came to pick Kurt up from school, but Finn hadn't minded all that much, He didn't even care when he ended up with a black eye after a crew from the basketball team slushied both Blaine and Kurt. In truth, Finn liked Blaine's willingness to be aggressive; to fight for what he wanted. He looked up from his knees to where Kurt was sitting on the couch with his face in his hands, "He'll be fine."

Kurt looked over to him in surprise.

Finn nodded his head slowly, "Blaine fights hard when he wants something. He'll get through this."

Kurt looked a little calmer, maybe even a little reassured. Finn got up and moved closer to the couch. He reached out and squeezed Kurt's knee, "I've still got your back through all of this stuff. And his."

"Thank you, Finn," Kurt sniffled, "I just… this waiting part. I hate it. I hate not being able to do anything."

Finn glanced toward Rachel before looking back at Kurt, "We'll wait with you."

"It's not just an hour or two, Finn, it could be days." Kurt wiped a thumb through the condensation forming on his water glass.

"So that's how long we'll wait," Finn asserted, "We'll keep your head busy."

Rachel squeezed his hand, "We'll call Mercedes and Puck and the Warblers; we'll all wait together."

Kurt smiled despite himself; he scrubbed at his eyes again, "Thank you for the concern… I…"

Finn was not as stupid as people thought. Slow on the uptake, yeah, okay, true enough, but Finn noticed things. Remembered them. Like the fact that Kurt hated being lonely but he liked to be alone. There were rainy Saturdays Finn would find him in his room with a candle lit and music playing while he paged through a magazine, perfectly content to be left to his own devices. But, no, now was not one of those times when Kurt should be left alone; Blaine had warned him about that once—to keep an eye on Kurt when he got too sad. So at least a few people around him… yeah, that would be good, "Maybe for now just me and Rachel; if you want some more people to come over we could call them up."

Kurt looked to Finn gratefully; relieved, "I'd like that."

"I'll give Blaine's parents a call and see if there's anything we can do for them," Burt said gently, "I have to get back to work for a couple hours, I only came back to the house to see if you'd made it home yet. Will you be okay?"

"Finn and Rachel are here," Kurt sank back into the couch, "I'll be fine. Thanks dad."

"Finn?" Burt turned his attention toward his stepson, "could I talk to you for a minute?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," Finn followed Burt into the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder unsurely toward Rachel and Kurt.

"What you did in there for him," Burt pursed his lips for a moment, looked down at the ground, "Thank you. For acting like his brother."

"I am his brother," Finn responded almost automatically.

"Just… keep an eye on him, would ya?" Burt glanced out the doorway toward the family room, "and if one of the Andersons call and say he can come in, would you mind taking him? He shouldn't be driving like this."

"Yeah, sure," Finn nodded quickly, "No problem."

Burt nodded his head slowly; he looked tired. He squeezed Finn's arm briefly as he left the kitchen, "You're a good kid, Finn."

Finn watched Burt walk back toward the family room and couldn't help but wonder if Kurt was the only person they should be worried about.

"Hey, listen, bud," Burt put on a smile for Kurt as he approached the couch, "I'm gonna take off, but I'll be back in a couple hours. Do you need anything?"

Kurt shook his head. His tears had finally stopped, but his pale cheeks and distant eyes were of little comfort to his father and brother.

"Hang in there, kid," Burt leaned over the back of the couch to touch a kiss to the top of his son's head before making his way to the front door.

The hours passed slowly—the sun sank lower, bathing the rooms in pink light, but Kurt didn't move. He remained seated on the couch, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone. Rachel coaxed him into finishing the glass of water, but when Carol got home, arms laden with bags of Chinese food—already alerted by her husband to everything that had happened—and tried to get Kurt to eat, he adamantly refused.

"He needs to eat something," Carol sighed, watching Finn and Rachel fill plates with food.

"He'll have to eventually," Finn shrugged, "Blaine can't stay in the—Rachel, where do they have Blaine?"

"The ICU," Rachel provided.

"Yeah, they can't keep him in the ICU forever," despite his nearly overflowing plate, Finn stuck his fork into a box of rice and stuffed the bite into his mouth.

Carol threw him a disapproving frown but then sighed, "I guess you're right."

"I'm gonna go sit out there with him," Finn balanced a fortune cookie precariously on top of his plate and made for the door.

Kurt had a pillow hugged across his lap, his eyes still glued to his phone, but when Finn plopped down beside him, he wrinkled his nose, "You really need to sit right next to me with that?"

"I said I was gonna wait with you," Finn said around a mouthful of orange chicken, "so here I am."

Kurt looked like he was contemplating bitching Finn out, but in the end he just went back to staring down at his lap.

Finn shoveled in a few more mouthfuls of food and listened to the quiet chatter of Rachel and his mother coming from the kitchen, "Will you at least eat the fortune cookie?"

Kurt shot Finn a contemptuous look.

"Come on," Finn tossed the cellophane wrapped cookie onto the pillow on Kurt's lap, "Maybe it has a good fortune for you in there."

"Those pieces of paper are manufactured by the thousands in a factory somewhere in Pennsylvania. They don't mean anything," Kurt hugged the pillow in closer to his chest; sat up a little straighter.

Finn gave up trying to get Kurt to eat, but he remained seated where he was while he busied himself clearing his plate. When he'd scraped the last few stray grains of rice off his plate (he left some brocolli, because, seriously, who wants to eat the vegetables if there was nothing to go with them?) and waved the fortune cookie in front of Kurt's face, it's plastic wrapper crinkled noisily, "You sure you don't want it?"

"Positive," Kurt responded, his eyes glued to the black screen of his phone yet again.

Finn peeled open the wrapper and set to work trying to pull the little strip of paper out but with little success. He bit down on his tongue as he tried to concentrate on plucking the paper out without shattering the cookie, but it was no use; the more he tried to coax it out, the further it disappeared into the little crease line.

Kurt glanced over at him and sighed, "Why don't you just break it?"

"Because then the fortune can't come true," Finn grumbled, still trying to work the nail of his pinkie finger in.

"You cannot be serious."

"'Course I am," Finn let out a frustrated huff of breath.

"Give it to me," Kurt snatched the thing from Finn's hand and, with nimble fingers, pried the paper loose and handed both over.

Finn took the cookie and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth, talking around it, "Nuh uh, you pulled it out, it's yours now."

"Finn, I told you, I don't—" Kurt let out an exasperated sigh, "Fine, whatever."

Finn watched Kurt as he read the little message. He swallowed down the cookie before speaking, "Well, what's it say?"

"It says 'a good way to stay healthy is to eat more Chinese food from Yu Fong Express'."

Finn traced a finger through the orange sauce still on his plate and sucked it off his finger, "Maybe Blaine should eat more Chinese food."

Kurt's head snapped up to glower at him, "Blaine's in the ICU with a tube stuck in his head so his brain doesn't swell and kill him and you're choosing to joke about it?"

"Dude, I wasn't trying to be—"

"You weren't trying to be what?" Kurt was suddenly on his feet, "Intentionally stupid? This isn't funny, Finn, this isn't us waiting to drive Carol home after a root canal; what part of brain surgery are you having a hard time comprehending?"

Finn stood too, his plate clattering to the floor; staining the carpet, "Dude, chill out! All I've been trying to do is help you!"

"Well you're not doing a very good job of it!" Kurt turned on his heel and stormed up the stairs.

"What's going on in here?" Carol came into the room, a plate in one hand and a sponge in the other.

"I don't know, he freaked out on me!" Finn threw his hands into the air in frustration.

"Maybe I should go talk to him," Carol looked toward the stairwell with a concerned frown.

"No, let me," Rachel moved past Carol in the doorway.

Finn closed his eyes and tried to get a hold on his anger. When he opened them again, he let out a long sigh, "I'll come, too, I sort of… said something I shouldn't have."

"What'd you say?" Rachel looked at him warily.

"I sort of made a joke about the hospital thing and—"

"Finn!" Carol looked at her son reproachfully.

"I wasn't trying to be mean, okay?" Finn raised his hands again, this time in defense, "I'm gonna apologize though, so please don't flip out on me."

His mother threw him another look as he and Rachel jogged up the stairs.

They paused outside the door; Rachel knocked quietly, "Kurt?"

When she received no answer, she opened the door slowly; cautiously. Kurt was sitting on his bed, his back against the headboard and his phone folded between his hands.

"Hey, mind if we come in?" Rachel asked from the doorway.

He looked over to her, his jaw set defiantly, but then the expression faded from his face until he just looked tired, "Sure."

Finn followed her through and tried to close the door as quietly as he could. A slammed door could piss Kurt off even on his most cheerful days. He came to stand beside Rachel, a hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, "Hey, listen, man, I'm sorry, okay? I wasn't trying to be mean; I just… you know I say things sometimes without really thinking about it…and…and I shouldn't have."

Kurt stared at him in silence for a long minute before letting out a slow breath through his nose, "I know you didn't. I shouldn't have attacked you like that, I just… I needed somewhere to put my frustration and you were the closest thing… I'm sorry, too."

Finn felt a tension leave his shoulders, "We're cool then?"

"Yes, Finn, we're fine." Kurt spoke quietly.

An awkward pause followed while they all stared at one another.

Rachel suddenly moved toward the bed, "Scoot over."

"Why?" Kurt raised an eyebrow at her but did as instructed.

She curled herself in beside him, wrapped an arm around his middle, and rested her head on his shoulder, "Because all you ever want when you're stressed out is Blaine to cuddle with you and since he can't do it right now, I will."

He sat rigid beside her for a moment, but then, slowly, relaxed. He tipped his head down to rest on hers, "Thank you, Rachel."

Finn stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, torn as to whether he should leave or remain standing there.

"Finn, I promise I won't claw you to death if you sit down," Kurt seemed to read his mind. Or maybe he just noticed the way Finn was shifting his weight from foot to foot and looking awkwardly between the bed and the doorway.

Finn sat down sideways at the end of the bed and leaned back against the wall. He glanced up toward Rachel and Kurt who were both sitting quietly, their eyes distant and their bodies still. The air was filled with a silence that whispered in Finn's ear that something wasn't being said. It made him feel nervous; on edge. He realized he was sitting up perfectly straight, his back only brushing the wall, but too tense to relax into any sort of normal slumped pose. He was reminded of Kurt in his pre-Dalton days; the tense shoulders, the constant look like he was ready to either stand up and run or stand up and scream. He wondered if this had been how he felt at that time—so tense he couldn't ever bring himself to relax for even a moment. Finn shook the thought and tried to send the feeling living between his shoulder blades with it. He needed to fill that God awful void of soundlessness.

He got up off the bed and went to Kurt's Ipod dock, "Mind if I pick something?"

Kurt shook his head but didn't look up.

Finn shuffled through Kurt's playlists until he settled on one that felt right. He hit play and crawled back to his spot on the bed, earning an irritated look from Rachel when he jostled her and Kurt. He glanced up at Kurt to see if he approved of the music selection, but Kurt didn't seem to hear it at all. The look on his brother's face disturbed him even more than his own relentless nerves. He hadn't seen Kurt look this down since… since when? He couldn't remember anymore. He could remember a time though, when that expression had been Kurt's norm— the guarded exhaustion; the fragile hurt. He'd never realized how broken Kurt was until he wasn't anymore, but to see it there again… Finn squeezed a hand over Kurt's foot and settled in to wait.

Be my friend

Hold me

Wrap me up

Unfold me

I am small and needy

Warm me up and breathe me