The first thing that I became aware off after passing out into darkness was a steady beep. Beep, beep, beep. The second thing I came aware of was how much my whole body ached. My eyelids felt too heavy to lift and my hearing was muffled. But I could still hear the strangely familiar steady beeping sound. I knew where I'd heard that sound before. Dylan had a strange fascination with watching hospital dramas and had forced me into watching some with him. This beeping was ever present. A heart monitor. I could hear it clearly so I assumed that meant I was hooked up to a heart monitor. Wait, what? Why would I be in a hospital, much less hooked up to a heart monitor? At this thought, fragments of images burst through to the front of my mind. The disco ball. Dancing with Dylan. Breathing in the cool fresh air. Cameron Walker. Pushed. Kicked. Pole. Pain. My eyes flew open and I gasped. I could hear the heart monitor get faster as I began to panic.

"Shh, calm down Blaine. You're in the hospital," a calm unfamiliar voice came from somewhere above me. "We have you on some pretty strong painkillers. You need to rest." And with that, I was out like a light.

But in the dark depths of unconsciousness I clung onto one thought: Was Dylan OK?

The next time I heard the heart monitor I opened my eyes. They no longer felt heavy and the white ceiling came into focus after a few seconds. I tried to look around the room as well as I could, considering my position. I could see the bland white walls, a plastic chair in one corner and a door slightly ajar on the other corner. I closed my eyes once again, trying to concentrate. I could remember everything clearly now. The dancing, the fight. I knew I was hurt badly. I could tell that much from the way my right leg had a dull ache and how my chest hurt when I breathed. But I didn't care about that right now. I just wanted to know if Dylan was OK.

"Blaine?" I heard a worried voice that sounded like my mothers. "Honey, are you awake?" Definitely my mother.

"Mhmmm," I mumbled. My throat felt dry and it hurt when I swallowed.

"I'll go get the nurse. I'll be right back, honey" my mom assured me, squeezing my hand before I heard her footsteps leave the room.

I opened my eyes slowly, ignoring the throb of my head as I tried to raise it. I slowly lowered my head back down to the soft pillows. Hmm, they really were soft. I hadn't noticed that before...

"Good afternoon, Blaine." The unnaturally chirpy voice stirred me. I opened my eyes and saw a young brown haired nurse standing over me with a wide smile on her face.

"Mm, afternoon.." I mumbled, slowly becoming more awake. I watched as the nurse bustled around me, checking the heart monitor and the IV that I could now see that I was also hooked up to. After a few moments she picked up a clipboard and looked at me.

"Right, Blaine. You have quite the injuries list, unfortunately," she began, her voice still chirpy despite the circumstances.

"Go on then" I said wearily. I just wanted to know what was wrong, get out of here and go find Dylan.

"Your leg is broken, a clean break though so we have to get a cast on as soon as possible. We would have done it earlier but we had a more pressing concern with your ribs. You broke one rib and fractured another. We thought you could have punctured your lung but luckily it's all fine. You've also sprained your wrist ad have various cuts and bruises...well, everywhere really. You're going to feel battered for quite some time."

My eyes widened with each sentence. I knew I had been injured, but this was another extreme. Broken rib and a broken leg? Various cuts and bruises? I took a shaky breath and nodded.

"W-what about Dylan?" I asked, worried. If I was this bad, what about poor, non aggressive Dylan?

"The boy who came in with you? Broken arm, fractured wrist and...a moderate head injury," she replied, looking down at her clipboard.

"Moderate head injury? What does that mean?" I asked anxiously.

"That's what it says here. It's all I know kiddo, sorry. He's not been signed under my care" she apologised, putting the clipboard back down. "Just let me check a few things."

I stayed in my own world as she checked me over, asking me to flex my hand or whatever. I was worried about Dylan. A head injury was bad, I knew that. He just had to be OK, he had to.

"I want to see him, he's my son! I have every right - let me through!"

I could hear the angry voice from outside my room a few hours after waking up. My father arguing with one of the nurses. I sighed and looked over at the closed door. Why did he want to come and see me? I knew I was in hospital but over the past few weeks he'd made it very clear that he hated me. So why would he care enough about my injuries to come see me? I could still hear him outside. They probably weren't letting him in because they were just finishing up my cast; a bright purple, hard, already irritating cast from my ankle to my knee. I looked down at the two women who were fussing over the purple covering as it dried, and smiled a little. Even in my woozy state, I wanted to be polite.

"Thank you. It looks really cool," I smiled, reaching down and poking the top of the cast gently.

"No problem, sweetie" the older nurse smiled whilst carefully moving my hand away from the cast. "Don't touch it to much, or poke your hands under it. If it itches or gets too hot under the cast, ask for some ice and place it just above the top of it; it should cool it down. This is going to be on for six weeks so take care of it, and when the times up make an appointment with the fracture clinic and we can get it off."

I nodded as I took in all of the information. I didn't want anything to go wrong so I made a mental note to keep my hands well away from my leg at all times, just in case.

"So will my leg be healed after six weeks?" I asked.

"Just about. You might have to have some physiotherapy for a little while just to rebuild the strength in the muscle, but you should be good to go," the nurse replied, putting away the bandages and things they'd used to put the cast on.

"Luckily your leg muscles are pretty strong, so if you have physio it won't be for long at all", the younger nurse added with a smile.

"I knew playing soccer would come in handy one day" I joked.

The nurses left a few minutes after and my dad strode in just as they left. I looked over as he walked up to me. He was still dressed in his suit for work and had his designer briefcase under one arm. His face was furious.

"What happened? Who did this? I'm going to sue, this is ridiculous. That flipping school, I knew we should have just sent you to Dalton-" he began to rant, sitting down and barely even glancing at me.

"I'm fine by the way, thanks for asking," I muttered, rolling my eyes as he went on. Typical. Of course he'd be here, looking to make money somehow out of this situation.

"-this kind of thing wouldn't happen there. Why didn't you stick up for yourself, Blaine?" he finished, finally looking over at me.

"Well sorry if that's kind of difficult when there's five guys attacking you, clearly trying to kill you for being gay!" I was mad. I was mad as hell. A tiny, almost non-existent part of me had thought that maybe my dad really did care about me when he had shown up. But I knew he was only here to complain about me not defending myself and to make money. I scoffed; incredible really, when his only son was in a hospital bed with broken bones and a broken mind, that all he could think about was getting more money out of it.

"Oh so it was that fairy's fault?" he countered, his dark eyes glinting. He'd found someone else to blame and was latching onto it. "I'm sure we can sue for something then, there must be-"

"Shut up! It isn't Dylan's fault! He's lying in a hospital bed too with a moderate head injury and god knows what else! Have a bit of sympathy!" I shouted. I needed to make him see how much of an asshole he was being. And the only language my father understood was raised voices and anger.

"Who cares? I don't give a damn about that fucking fag! He corrupted you Blaine! You were heading in the right direction then this fairy boy comes and tricks you into thinking you're like him!" he shot back, his face turning red with fury.

"Like him? Do you mean gay? Or should I say 'fag' or 'fairy boy'? Because if that's what you're calling Dylan, then you're calling me that too!" I shouted, spitting out the words that so many people used to degrade me and Dylan - including my own father.

"You're not gay! This is just a phase, you'll get over it. You got over your Power Rangers phase when you were seven and you'll get over this too!"

"I can't just get over it! I'm gay, this is who I am and I'm proud! If you can't accept me for who I am, then you're no father of mine." I lowered my voice for the last sentence, the rage leaving me and sadness taking its place. I knew that he wasn't going to accept me anytime soon but somehow...I felt relieved. I had been hoping that maybe he would change his mind, that he'd realise that his son was more important than keeping up appearances and money, that he would just love me for me. Now though, I didn't have that hope any more. I didn't need him. Not like this.

"I'd like for you to leave now, please," I continued quietly, carefully watching my fathers face. "When you decide to get over yourself and want to love me for me, homosexuality and all...I'll be here. I'll be ready to listen. Just go, please."

My hazel eyes met Johnathan Anderson's brown eyes. He met my gaze coldly for a few seconds with a strange expression on his face, just looking at me. Standing up abruptly his face changed into a blank expression, effectively shielding any emotion from me.

"Right. I'll see you back at the house whenever then." He nodded sharply, turned on his heel and walked out.

Despite everything I felt a tiny twinge of disappointment when he just walked out. I thought he'd at least try and fight my decision, to prove he did love me still. I guess I hadn't read the expression on his face before he left very well. I had been sure that he looked sad.

"You have to be quiet, he still hasn't woken up. If he doesn't wake up within the next few hours, we may have to consider putting him into a medically induced coma to help his head heal," the nurse told me, slowly helping me through the corridors. I was on crutches for my leg and it was slow progress. I had never had crutches before and I was terrified of putting the sticks too far forward and face-planting the floor or simply toppling over. So I stuck to minuscule little steps. It didn't help that my chest hurt when I moved too much, and obviously my body classed the three corridor walk as too much. If it was for anyone else I would have turned around and gone back into my little hospital room. But I had to do this for Dylan.

"But he looks stable right now so that's probably not going to happen" she added, noticing the look of panic on my face.

"That's good...uh, what kind of head injury is it exactly?" I asked, pausing to readjust the crutches.

"He had his head stood on pretty badly and that combined with hitting the concrete caused a lot of bleeding. Head injuries do bleed a lot but this really was a lot. Luckily it doesn't look like there's any brain swelling from the x-rays but we can't be certain about the possibility of brain damage until he wakes up" the nurse explained softly. It was nice that she was trying to make it sound like no big deal so I didn't worry. It didn't work, but a nice gesture nevertheless.

It physically hurt me to see Dylan lying in that hospital bed. My tall dancer friend looked tiny surrounded by all the different machines; more around him than what were around me. The wires drowned his body, but I could still visibly see the blood dried onto his arm and cheek. One of his arms was in a cast and sling, the opposite wrist bandaged up. I slowly hobbled closer, barely noticing the nurse telling me that she'd leave us for a bit and slipped out. My eyes looked over his body, my heart twinning as I noticed different injuries. Apart from the blood, his visible skin was patterned with purple bruises and little cuts. As I slowly sat down in the chair beside his bed I focused on his face. Dylan's eyes were closed and one had a huge purple bruise covering the eyelid and the area around it. I lightly traced a long cut on his cheek with my fingertip. Tears sprang to my eyes. Dylan looked so helpless. Slowly I allowed my eyes to travel upwards to his head. His blonde bangs were swept to the side and a bandage swathed the crown of his head. Overall, he looked a wreck.

"Oh, Dylan" I murmured, leaning forward and taking his hand gently. I didn't want to hurt him even more than he already was. I closed my fingers around his loosely, biting down on my lip as I felt the coolness of his fingers. I sighed softly and settled myself into a comfortable position. I planned to sit here as long as it took.

"You gotta wake up soon Dylan, or you'll miss all the fuss" I began to speak softly, chuckling weakly. "But maybe you're just staying quiet to keep out of the spotlight, hu? I know you, you don't like the attention much. You got the best idea, Dyl." I sighed softly and rubbed my forehead with my free hand. I needed to talk about my dad with someone, even if they were unconscious at the moment.

"My Dad came to visit me. I know...I guess my mom told him. She just kept crying so I told her to go home and get some rest. You know how crying freaks me out. Anyway, I was getting my leg cast on - its purple, super awesome - and I could hear him from outside. Then he came inside and...god, all he cares about is money and how this will affect him. He kept going on about suing and...he called us stuff. And you know what? My father had the nerve to judge me and say that it's just a phase! He compared it to my Power Rangers obsession! Which I don't have anymore by the way, but that's beside the point...I..I told him to go. I said as far as I'm concerned, I don't have a father. He didn't even fight for me, Dylan, he didn't even try."

I was just rambling. I had to get all the feelings out. It was just hitting me. He had walked out. My dad, someone who was supposed to love me unconditionally and irrevocably. He hadn't even tried. I didn't fit into his idea of perfection anymore so he didn't care. I could feel the tears in my eyes but I didn't even try to stop them from falling. The tears began to blur my vision after a while but I just kept crying. My whole body shook with the sobs, sending stabbing pains through my chest. I ignored the pain. I had to cry. I was cleansing myself of my dads influence and I was going to be OK, after I'd cried it out.

I felt a slight pressure on my hand. I brought my breathing under control, still sniffling slightly. The pressure came again. I tightened my hand on Dylan's and looked over to his face. He gripped my hand back tightly.

"B-Blaine?" he croaked, sounding dry and scared.

"I'm right here, Dylan" I replied softly, squeezing his hand softly.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his eyes parted. He settled his emerald green eyes on me, blinking several times as he adjusted. He coughed and squeezed my hand back.

"Are we going to be OK?" he asked quietly.

I thought about the night before and this morning. I thought about how pacifist Dylan had ran into the fight to help me and how his actions had probably saved my life. I thought about the cast on my leg and the cast on his arm, marks of what our life had become. I thought about my mom's tears and my fathers yelling. I thought about myself finally standing up to my father and about him walking away without looking back.

I looked at my best friend and smiled.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think we'll be just fine."