When Blaine is finally released from the hospital, the Hummels have already settled into the rented house and are frantically trying to make the place homely enough for Blaine. Carol plans a barbeque lunch to celebrate his return, in the hope that the warm air and perfect view will lighten his spirits.

Burt and Kurt are silent as they drive to pick him up, Kurt had only really left the hospital a few days before, opting to sleep in an actual bed so he could be more awake when he was with Blaine. Not that Blaine had spoken about anything other than leaving since then.

Blaine is already sat, with his bag ready, on the edge of the bed when they arrive. He looks as he always had, his hair gelled perfectly, although he'll never tell Kurt that he had cried when he had to ask a nurse for help; and he wears a blue polo shirt and cargo shorts. The only different is one arm of the polo shirt in sewn together holding his bandage in place and his other hand is gripping tightly to the sheet.

“Are you ready to go?” Kurt asks sweetly, a little scared of the reaction.

Blaine nods and stands up, trying to lift the bag before Burt grabs it off him and swings it easily over his shoulder. He doesn't argue as he usually would.

Neither of them talk as they walk to the car, but Kurt slips in beside Blaine in the back seat and takes his hand firmly in his.

Not knowing what else to do, he starts rambling.

“You know, Carol's made the most perfect lunch. It smelt absolutely divine when we left the house and there's all your favourites,” he keeps on and on trying to fill the gaps, “And there's all the meats for you and Finn and I might even let Dad have some, because I chose the leanest meat.”

He stops, then squeezes Blaine's hand a little tighter, turning to him, “I know we're not properly home yet, but it's a really nice place, and your parents have said they're coming…”

“That's really nice,” Blaine says quietly, interrupting, letting go of Kurt's hand so he can cling to his knee before clenching into a fist. Kurt remembers how he always held his hands
in his lap together when he was nervous and how he now can't see to grip anything at all, “It's just I'm really tired is all.”

“That's ok,” Kurt replies, his voice a little too high, he feels so out of depth like he's in the ocean and Blaine is swimming too fast for him, or maybe he's not swimming at all and the tide is just pulling them apart, “You can take a nap before we eat.”

“No, I mean, I,” Blaine pauses, squeezing his eyes shut, “That's okay, I can make it through lunch.”

***

The thing is, when it really gets to eating, he doesn't know if he can. Everything looks so fresh and bright and he feels off-balance like he might just topple over. Especially when Burt goes to shake his hand and has to swap quickly, and when he hugs Carole it's awkward and weak. He misses feeling comfortable and he misses people acting comfortable around him.

“What's up dude?” Finn asks, with the same words he always does, but with a tone like Kurt is poking him in the back. Kurt isn't of course, he is stood right behind Blaine, one hand warm on his back, “This barbeque, I'm telling you man.”

“Oh cool,” Blaine feels himself respond, “Um can I help with anything?” he hopes his voice doesn't sound as weak as it feels against his tongue.

“Oh no Blaine sweetie, you sit down,” Carole replies, pulling out a chair for him. He gives in and falls into it, tugging his hand across his stomach and holding it tightly. Kurt stands next to him, like his guard.

“You can sit, Kurt,” Blaine tells him, hoping he sounds kind still.

“I just want to be near you,” Kurt says, softly, touching a hand to the soft hair at the base of his neck and rubbing gently. Blaine closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He feels like he is walking on eggshells and stumbling, all of them are.

“Sit on my lap,” he orders, when he opens his eyes.

Kurt looks shocked and drops his hand to his side, his eyes unblinking, his mouth stutters a moment before he can form an answer, “Blaine I can't, you just…”

“Your parents won't mind,” Blaine almost whines, knowing that the just had meant something else entirely. Kurt trying not to hurt him when that's all Blaine wants. He wants to feel the crush of Kurt all around him, remind him that they were made to crush each other until they are one mess, one heart, inescapably.

“It's not that,” Kurt says weakly, “You just got out of hospital, Blaine, I might hurt you, I can't…”

“Please,” he utters, gripping the flesh of his side tightly, trying to feel what he used to feel with two arms wrapped around him, he needs to feel blanketed, safe but he can't not when Kurt won't touch him properly.

“No,” comes the sharp reply, “No, Blaine.”

“I'm going to bed,” Blaine tells him blankly, getting to his feet, he feels the tangle of Kurt's fingers between his own and what sounds like a whimper of closed off tears. He won't look, he can't, “Can you tell me where, please?”

“Second door on the right upstairs,” Kurt tells him, squeezing the pleads he tries to cancel out of his voice into his hand, “I can come with you,” he starts, “Show you where…”

“I can find it Kurt,” he interrupts too sharply, “I haven't lost my mind you know. I'm not broken. And that's what you said so please say what you mean or say nothing at all. I'm sick of you holding back. We're equals remember? We hurt each other, we get angry at each other, and we love each other properly and fully, always, no matter what has happened before. So don't come and show me anything until you can do that again.” His voice shatters halfway through but he carries on, despite how the broken sounds that Kurt tries to hold back cut like shards into him.

He feels the stares of the others on his back as he enters the house and he knows he has broken everything again. Knows he has destroyed something that was only the best they knew how to give. They will never love him like he needs again and he knows that. So why won't they just stop trying. Everything would be so much easier if everyone else stops acting like it was all okay. It's never ever going to be okay again.

***

Back in the garden the silence is broken by Finn's cursing, his fingers singed on the barbeque. Kurt lets out a sob finally and Carole rushes at him, tugging him tightly against her chest. He clings to her the way he had wanted to cling to Blaine. He had wanted to dive straight back into him, press rough kisses into his skin, bruise his fingers into him and hold him like there would be no way back.

But Kurt cannot do that. He just can't yet. Not when Blaine doesn't seem to be coping at all. Not when all he can think about is that shark. He knows Blaine must be thinking about it too. How could he not be? And how could he really be thinking straight after that kind of trauma. No, Blaine needs someone to care for him now. All the rest, later, there is always later.

But lying still in his bed later that night, Kurt can't help but feel the crawling sensation of loneliness; how Blaine had refused to even look at him. He had hurt him, in his best attempt to make sure he was never hurt again. And he can't sleep. He can't sleep because no one, not even Carole, had been able to give him the words of comfort he needed. The words of comfort only Blaine could give.

And he was right next door. Just like he had been all that time at Dalton when they had annoyed their roommates by tapping out wordless conversation through the wall.
He turns to face the wall, pressing his cheek against it and listening. There is nothing.

He takes a deep breath and taps out a melody.

I. Am. Sorry. I. Just. Don't. Know. How. To. Do. This. Right.

There is long pause and for a terrible minute, he thinks Blaine is ignoring him. Then a tentative response.

I. Just. Miss. You. I. Need.

The tapping stops.

Can. I. Come. In?

The tapping returns a minute later, this time closer, through the wooden panelling of the door.

“Please,” Kurt utters softly, waiting for the soft squeak of the door and the pad of covered feet. Blaine always did like to wear socks in bed, especially when he was upset, he said it felt like being tucked in. In his old blue pajamas, Blaine looks quiet and nervous. He clutches the empty sleeve against his chest, and his shoulders jolt like he needs to be holding something else. Kurt shuffles to sit up, patting the bed next to him, “Sit, please.”

“I'm sorry,” Blaine starts as he awkwardly perches next to him, his toes scuffling at the floor as if he's worried he can't touch Kurt any more.

“We were both upset,” Kurt tells him, hoping that Blaine will reach for him again but he doesn't, “I didn't want to hurt you,” He looks at Blaine again but he's turned away, staring at the door, he can see the little scratches at the back of his neck where he was thrown against the rocks, “And I know I did and I'm sorry too.”

“I just want to be with you,” comes the half-broken reply.

“You are with me,” Kurt breaks with him, giving in and reaching both for his hair and the soft cotton of his arm and gently easing Blaine back so he's lying against him, curls tucked under his chin, hot weight against his chest. Blaine lets out a muffled squawk and then a couple of gasping breaths. Kurt lets him settle before continuing, “You are always with me, but I need you to understand that that means I was with you when you were close to dying, I was with you when I practically kidnapped Artie to get you to and I was with you when they wouldn't let me at you in that waiting room. So I need you to understand that I was hurt and scared too and I need time too. And I know that sounds selfish but…”

“It's not selfish, Kurt,” Blaine interrupts, softly, “I want you to be happy.”

“I want us to be happy, but everything feels really tender and hard at the moment and I don't want you to ever think I don't love you the same,” Kurt starts, absentmindedly rubbing
a hand across Blaine back, feeling the warm solid muscles, each indentation of surviving human existence, “Because I know I will always love you and that's why, do you understand?”

He waits for Blaine's retort, not knowing what to expect, anger or sad acceptance like in the car, but nothing comes.

“Blaine?” he murmurs, carting fingers through his soft curls, tinkling a melody against his scalp. The reply is only the deep breathing of calm sleep.

He is not angry, more relieved that this he can still give. He can still comfort with the touch of a hand, he can still calm Blaine into sleep. He is not broken either.