Say Hallelujah, Say Goodnight

"When you were…you must have been seven. That was the year you fell off the retaining wall out back and broke your arm. You wanted a pink cast and we made you get green instead," John cleared his throat, "Anyway, you, um, you used to come into the office with me every other Saturday and people… God, people always adored you. One week—you had that green cast—one week you found a vacant cubicle, talked to some of my co-workers and the secretaries, and pretty soon you had a whole work set up—a phone, someone's briefcase, files, a bunch of desk accessories; you even managed to persuade someone to give you their stereo. People couldn't get enough of you—there were people coming over to see you that weren't even from our floor. I went down to see you myself to take you to lunch and…

John paused to laugh quietly to himself, "and you were on the phone with one of the secretaries. I sat down and waited and got to listening to you and realized—" John swallowed; cleared his throat again, "I realized you were mimicking things I'd said over conference calls—you even game me the same 'one minute' hand motion I gave you all the time. When you finally hung up and we went to lunch, I asked you if you wanted to be a businessman someday and you looked at me—you were so excited—and said 'no, Dad, it's acting. I wanna be an actor', and I, um… I told you that wasn't practical. I told you, when you were seven years old, that you weren't being practical."

John let out a bitter sounding laugh and glanced at the bed. He quieted, and slowly, carefully, slipped a hand over Blaine's, he brushed his fingers over the back of his knuckles.

"I know I haven't always done right by you Blaine… even before you came out to us, I…I pushed you. I don't regret that—teaching you to work hard to get what you want, but I know I pushed you toward the things I wanted for you." John swallowed; felt his voice waver.

"You just th-think a lot deeper than I do. You dream a lot bigger, and I'm sorry for ever trying to limit you just because I was so limited." He slid his hand into Blaine's and closed his fingers around it tight, "I…if you'll come out of this; if you'll wake up, I—I'll support you in anything you want to do. If you w-want to be an actor or a singer or a goddamn rodeo clown… if that's what you want, I'll support it b-because," John closed his eyes tight.

"You do well at anything you try to do, so m-maybe, if you could j-just keep trying to win this…Just please wake up… I never told you that I loved you as much as I do…I hope you know that; I hope you know how much I love you, how proud I am of you. I hope you'll give me the chance to tell you."

Elizabeth hummed quietly and rubbed a slow rhythm up and down Blaine's arm.

"When you were a little boy—seven, if I'm remembering right—you got food poisoning from a cookout they had at your school," She tucked the blankets in more neatly around his side, "We should have been there, your father and I, it was a family function and you told us about it and stuck that flyer to our mirror, but we were both working and—never mind, that's not what I wanted to tell you. I was talking about how you had food poisoning. You got sick in your bed and you came and stood in our doorway and whispered for me as quietly as you could and you were so horribly embarrassed."

She smoothed a wrinkle in his hospital gown that wasn't there; let her hand linger on his arm, "I left you in the bathroom and went in and changed your sheets and opened up your window, and when I went back to get you from the bathroom, you were crying."

She sniffled; pulled her chair in even closer to the edge of the bed, "Y-you thought I was mad at you and that I was just going to leave you standing there in the bathroom all night in your dirty pajamas… I can still see you—you poor little thing, your arm was still in that cast and you were so miserable. And then when I told you I wasn't angry at all and I tried to hug you, you weren't having any of it. Not until you changed clothes."

She smiled a little to herself, "When I brought you back into your room, you were so excited about those silly sheets, but then you started feeling sick again, so I ended up sitting with you in your bed for hours…and sometime around dawn you looked at me and, God I can still see your face, you were so tired but you were still feeling so terrible and you asked if… if you were going to be sick for forever."

Elizabeth smoothed the sheets around Blaine's side before slowly getting to her feet. She leaned over the bed and pressed a kiss to his forehead, "You won't be sick forever, baby, I promise."

As soon as she was seated, Helen reached out, cupped a hand gently over Blaine's ear and jaw, "You liked that when you were a little boy. You'd grab hold of people's hands and press them against your cheek, and that smile you'd get on your face—no one knew how to resist you. I certainly couldn't, I spoiled you rotten when you'd come to visit."

She sighed, brushed her thumb gently over his cheekbone, "That all changed when you were fourteen, though, didn't it? You were still so young…"

She paused, lowered her hand back to her lap, "It was when your family came to stay at the beach house for a couple weeks during the summer—you spent hours everyday hunched over the tide pools and you had a terrible sunburn on the backs of your shoulders by the third day of the trip. You brought a sand bucket out with you and dragged in all sorts of things—mostly sea glass, you were always so fascinated by that…"

Helen reached into her pocket, pulled out a worn aqua colored piece, smiled a little, "You came in one day—a Wednesday—because it had started to rain. You slid this piece across the kitchen counter to me…and then you told me that you…that you were gay."

She turned the glass over in her hand, smoothed her thumb along the surface, "And you didn't even take a breath before telling me your parents knew. They said they still loved you but you thought your father loved you less and you thought I probably would, too…you didn't give me a chance to respond...you said you thought God still loved you, and then you went right back outside into the rain."

She sniffled, wrapped her fingers tighter around the glass, its soft edged pressing into her palm, "I didn't love you any less, Blaine, I've never loved you any less…I…I can't claim to understand your decisions and I can't condone who you spend your time with…but you are a good boy. A strong boy with a good heart, and no one can fault you for that. If I haven't made that clear to you… then that sin is mine."

"Hey, Blaine," Wes pulled the chair in a little closer. His mouth twitched into a smile that faded back to a frown. He looked around the hospital room for a moment, rubbed his hands on his knees. He looked back at Blaine.

"You know, you didn't look much different than this when you first came to Dalton," His eyes drifted over the bandages on his head, "Not quite so much gauze, and maybe a little hardier than you are now, but not much—you had stitches in your forehead and your arm in a sling and you sort of limped when you walked…I only really remember most of that from a couple of pictures. Mostly you just looked…determined. Everything you did—from how you ate lunch to how you answered questions in class to how you looked when you first came into the common room and said you wanted to audition for the Warblers—you were so intense, like you were daring anyone to try and pull one over on you."

Wes smiled a little. He reached up and rested his hands on the edge of the bed, "I thought once we let you in and you started getting to know the guys that you'd relax, but you didn't. You kept to yourself and you were so…guarded. We gave you your first solo and—I wonder if you remember this, but—you looked genuinely excited for about five seconds, and then you just looked like the same old serious Blaine again, like you were wary of even your own happiness.

"I don't know what went through your head—I wish I…I mean I hope I can still ask you—but you looked around at all of us and we were still applauding you getting the solo and all of the sudden you just blurted out that you were gay."

Wes turned his gaze up to the heart rate monitor, watched the steady blips of light, "You looked around at all of us like you were waiting for something, and we didn't really know what to say to you...I think it was David, but I don't….I don't really remember who, but one of the guys made a joke that they were glad because they'd been worried about competing with you for women, and we all kind of laughed and just went back to work—but apparently something about that worked for you, because you started to relax. And once you relaxed, you started talking and—as we all know now—once you started talking, you didn't stop."

Wes laughed a little, but without Blaine laughing with him, the sound died out. He cleared his throat.

"That night you came over to my room before bed and—God, I can still see the way you leaned in the doorway so you were off of your left ankle—you looked at me and just said 'Thank you for being so understanding…I'm trying to do well here. I won't disappoint you guys.'"

"I told you that you had nothing to worry about. That you seemed like a good guy and we were happy to have you," Wes swallowed down a sudden lump in his throat. He reached out, squeezed Blaine's arm, "But you still worked your ass off—every single day, you put everything into those performances. No one could ever get upset that you got all of the solos because you worked for every single one of them—there was nothing you did that you didn't put your everything into."

"I think…" Wes closed his eyes, "Please just keep putting your everything into fighting this."

"I think the worst part of coming in here to talk to you," Rachel stared down at her lap. Her hands were shaking and her voice shook with them, "is…is that it doesn't feel that strange, you've always been such a good listener—"

She swallowed down a sob, rested her hand on the edge of the bed so that her fingers were just brushing the edge of Blaine's hand, "Remember when Finn and I had that huge fight after Tina's pool party last summer? Everyone said it was my fault, even Kurt— they said that I pushed too much, and I made it impossible not to start something and I r-ruined things with my stupid, petty drama... I tried to act like I was fed up with all of you, and I stormed off to the bathroom. I, I didn't think anyone would bother following me, so I let myself cry before I even got the door closed but…but you stuck your foot through before I could shut it, and I felt so stupid."

She looked up at him, the tears flowing again even faster than that day over a year ago in the Cohen-Chang's basement, "I t-tried to m-make up some stupid excuse, but you just put your arms around me and d-didn't even say anything. You j-just hugged me until I st-stopped and then you smiled at me and it was like…it was like everything was okay."

She wrapped his hand between both of hers, "You've always b-been so n-n-nice. You always s-see the best in e-everyone. You're so…you're so sweet and g-good, Blaine. Th-this isn't f-fair, life sh-should be nice to you t-to after how go-oo-d you've b-been to everyone else."

She searched his face, cried harder, "We all j-just want to s-see you s-smile again, Blaine. Please, please wake up. I m-m-miss you already, I j-just want t-t-to see your smile again."

"I… I don't know what I'm supposed to do in here." Trip sat in the chair beside the bed; he'd pushed it a good foot away. It was safer like that…but he did chance a look at Blaine.

"People…people don't like me…" Trip shifted in his chair; stared hard at the edge of the bed where the mattress met the metal frame, "…when you met me, I'm not even sure if you liked me…but you stuck around anyway."

Trip paused, hesitated. Afte a moment, he scooted his chair in just a little closer…just close enough to rest his hands on the edge of the bed, but not touching Blaine, no, that… that was dangerous territory.

"Do you remember when we went for that walk when we first met? It must have been… the fourth or fifth day you came over. It was fucking freezing, but you insisted we go on your stupid walk…and you smelled like cologne and bubble gum and you had your hair glued to your damn head with all of that gel and you smiled like an idiot the whole time we were walking and, fuck, I wanted to hate you for being so goddamn ridiculous, and I told you that and…and you looked at me and smiled your stupid smile and said 'but you don't'... and you were right. I didn't… You know what the difference is between you and me? Even when you have no idea what the fuck you're doing, you do things just because…because they're good and you're good and…

Trip closed his eyes; bit his lip, and finally, finally, he slid his hand into Blaine's and spoke through gritted teeth, "You have to wake up, all right? I—you're my best friend…you… I have stuff I want to tell you, okay? Stuff that, I think you'd be proud of me, but I can't tell you if you don't wake up. I don't--it has to be you I tell, I need--you're like my--if I I had a brother…never mind, it's stupid... but Kurt, Kurt needs you to wake up and your parents need you to wake up and—"

He swallowed hard before whispering, "…I need you to wake up. Just…please, Blaine, please wake up."

Kurt stroked a hand over the inside of Blaine's wrist, traced the familiar pattern of sun kisses up the underside of his arm—if he followed them right and used a bit of imagination, he'd learned a long time ago that they could form a crude 'K' (they'd traced them once with a Sharpie just to be sure). He closed his eyes, followed the familiar pattern—there's the crook of his elbow, the curve of his wrist, the lifeline on his palm, the scar on his third knuckle, the curve of his fingernails, the callused tip of a ring finger.

He took in a breath, slow and deep and steadying. Over the smell of antiseptic and sickness, the thin, familiar aroma of coffee tickled Kurt's nose. Teased him with memories of long talks at the Lima Bean; the smell of jackets during winter months; the taste of quick kisses goodbye after Friday morning meetings before they had to rush off to their respective schools.

"Do you remember the day after you first kissed me?" Kurt stroked his thumb over the soft skin between Blaine's thumb and index finger; listened to the hitch in his breathing.

"I remember waking up and wondering what I should wear to impress you before I remembered that I had to wear my Dalton uniform… but then I ended up putting all my focus into fixing my hair and making sure my tie was knotted just right and then I got distracted thinking about you, so I was almost late for school…"

Kurt glanced up at Blaine's face. Impassive. Still.

He slid his hand down to Blaine's wrist; pressed his thumb in a little until he felt the quiet beat of his pulse against his fingers, "It wasn't until I got into the parking lot that I realized I hadn't bothered to put cologne on. I was absolutely mortified and there was nothing I could do about it, and you know how I feel about cologne. It's like forgetting to put your pants on."

Kurt mentally filled in where Blaine's laugh would be. The quiet, quick breath between his teeth as he smiled, gave a small nod, murmured a teasing "of course."

"I was stressing about it the entire time I walked into school and I was trying to figure out what to do while I put my books away and then, all the sudden, there you were… do you remember?"

Silence.

Kurt mentally colored in a soft smile; another half-nod, but sweet eyes urging him to continue anyway; just so he can hear it from Kurt's perspective.

"You slipped your arm under mine while I was putting away a book and put a coffee cup on my locker shelf… you wrapped your arms around me, and it was so incredibly amazing—you were so warm and close and so…so you, and I didn't even know how much I needed someone to hold me like that before."

The beep beep beep of the heart monitor let Kurt know that Blaine was at least physically present. His body still warm; his heart still beating, and maybe, just maybe, his ears still open and listening to the world that passed. Listening to Kurt.

"…And for some reason I was scared to touch you back; like if I did, you might change your mind, but you were so warm and wonderful…so I leaned back into you and you tipped your chin down onto my shoulder, and breathed in really deep, and," Kurt let out a strangled giggle that sounded closer to a sob than laughter, "And you said, 'God, you smell amazing.' And I don't think I ever told you how important it was—how it made me feel—to know you liked me… just whatever I was or whoever I was, it was…it was exactly what I needed to hear, I guess."

Kurt clenched his teeth; pressed his fingers down a little harder on Blaine's wrist because he wanted to feel his heart beating stronger. Feel life and promises for tomorrow and brown eyes and taste coffee-tinted kisses and hear sweet whispers that everything was going to be okay.

There was something else that needed to be said. Something important that he couldn't quite properly form on his tongue. He closed his eyes and counted his breaths for a moment; focused on rubbing the pad of his thumb over the smooth half moons of Blaine's fingernails. He sucked in another deep breath, opened his eyes again.

"A second never seems that long, but when I was a kid, I was always in a rush… I guess that didn't change much when I got older, but that's not the point.

"I was maybe the most impatient person anyone could ever have the misfortune of having to spend a long car ride with or, God forbid, the couple of hours of a family dinner over the holidays before we got to open Christmas presents. My mom combated the whole thing by making me count. You know, like she'd say, 'Count to five hundred, honey, and then it'll be time or we'll be there or you can get out of your time out'.

"You know how most kids, for some reason we learn how to count seconds by tagging Mississippi on the end? Like one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi—you know the drill—well, I resented it. I'd never been to Mississippi, I didn't know anyone in Mississippi, and I got tongue tied over that second 's' sound. And, being a bit of a narcissist I guess, I decided to say Kurt instead. One Kurt, two Kurt, three Kurt—the only problem was, Kurt doesn't take as long to say as Mississippi, so I was constantly a few fractions of a second ahead of the rest of the world, and I think all that time added up and now here I am, constantly marching to a beat a bit faster than the rest and pissing everyone off for messing with the formation.

"…But you never minded that, did you? You've always said music makes more sense to you than anything else, so maybe that's why, but you caught right up and fell in step with me and I…I'd never had someone who totally got me; who could do what you did in a couple seconds that passed even faster than I could count them. I trusted you. I trusted you when I didn't know how to trust anyone else because… because people don't come like you, Blaine. You're special… different. You were the proof I needed that people could still give a damn; that I could still be worth something to someone.

"I—I can live without you, I can," Kurt choked on a sob, "I just don't want to. I really, r-really d-don't want to. I wish y-you'd prove me wrong again. Prove to me that th-this isn't how it e-ends."

Kurt lifted Blaine's hand to his mouth; pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

"I know you tried and you're still trying. I know, even if there was absolutely nothing left you could do, you would still try to keep fighting this thing. So…so I'm telling you it's okay to stop; I won't be angry…I—" He stopped; took in another breath but the sob still came out with it, "I love you so much. I love you more than I knew I could ever love anyone and I just—I—I w-want you to know I won't be mad, and I'm saying it's okay. You can g-go, I don't want you to, but if you need to…I…I'll try t-to be okay…but, f-first, I-I promised you something—I promised I'd give you…give you a song."

He let himself cry until he could regain a little control of his breathing. When the tears dried on his cheeks and the lump in his throat migrated somewhere deeper into his chest, he slid onto the bed. He didn't quite fit the way he should—his limbs too long, the bed too small, Blaine too still, but he didn't care.

He slid carefully underneath the blanket and made sure to tuck it back in close around Blaine's shoulder before nesting his cheek on the pillow. He stared at the blur of Blaine's ear—all pink curves and shadowed lines. He wanted to be held; he wanted to be soothed and cuddled and loved, but it wasn't his turn. Not right now.

He slid an arm across Blaine's chest, his fingers following the space between his ribs until he found a heartbeat, quick and steady and drumming against his palm through bone and skin and fabric, and with it he found his song. He inhaled, exhaled.

Yesterday, I woke up

With your head on my arm

My hand was numb, circulation gone

But I dared not move the pretty sleeping one

The sun had painted patterns on your face

As you breathed Sunday air

Rode on to my open arms, I became your pillow

You let me smooth your hair

I will sing you morning lullabies

You are beautiful, and peaceful this way

I know you have to close your eyes on everyone,

Let me help you,

I'll sing you to sleep with morning lullabies

Let me lie in the curve of your body tonight

And I will hear you tumble into sleep

I will watch you heal

I will watch you heal with me

I will sing you morning lullabies

You are beautiful, and peaceful this way

I know you have to close your eyes on everyone

Let me help you, I'll sing you to sleep

With morning lullabies

I know you have to close your eyes on everyone

Let me help you, I'll sing you to sleep

With morning lullabye..bye baby

Close your eyes

And I will sing you

Morning lullabies

He had planed on letting himself cry again when he finished the song, but no tears would come.

His eyes were dry and his head quiet for the first time in a week. He pressed a kiss to the shell of Blaine's ear, to the line of his jaw, to his cheek, his chin, his nose, his forehead. He lifted himself from the bed slowly, carefully, and found Blaine's hand again.

He touched a kiss to the inside of his palm, closed his fingers around it, "Love you forever."