Kurt Hummel walks the halls on Monday morning with a refined sense of pride; in the weeks beforehand, he’d prized his Cheerio trophies, his boyfriend and his popularity above all else. Ever since Blaine’s injury, though, he’d felt an overlying sense of emptiness in everything he used to cherish.

Sebastian had turned out to be an asshole. They’d been edging on a six month anniversary before they broke up, and Kurt had had it all planned out.

But then Blaine came along, with his puppy-dog eyes and little smiles that could fuel a star, and Kurt was torn. He was ready to go and hand in his resignation from the Cheerios’ before he remembered where Blaine stood in terms of the student body.

Yeah, he’d been stabbed in both back and heart in one night, but that wasn’t going to interest McKinley High – they’d want to know the story of how one nerdy little loser had managed to break up the school’s gay power couple and get one of them incarcerated within an hour.

As brave of a face as he put on, Kurt Hummel wasn’t ready to defend Blaine from those kinds of questions. He wasn’t ready to commit to something unsure, something that could put him back down at the bottom of the social pit. He remembered what it was like before.

So he sent some flowers, called to wish Blaine better and tried to stay strong for both of them.

It’s the least he could do.

*

Blaine wakes earlier than he expected on Tuesday morning – it’s still a little dark, dawn edging into the sky with a soft, blue-gold glow. It takes him a moment to figure out that his phone is ringing.

Know your score for Credit Rating Today dot com!

Blaine groans – he really can’t handle his brother’s Hollywood antics right now.

The call goes to voicemail, and Blaine sits up to listen.

“Blaine, pick this up when you get it, okay? I heard about what happened. I know I’ve been a shitty excuse for a brother lately, so I’m sorry.”

Blaine freezes. Cooper had been in L.A. for the last month. How had he heard about anything? Reaching over to pick up his mobile, he scrambles to answer the call.

“Coop?”

A sigh of relief.

“Yeah, Squirt, I’m here.”

Blaine takes a breath.

“W-what did you hear happened to me?”

“I heard some jack-assed douchebag tried to kill my baby brother, and I heard that I wasn’t around to protect-“

“-Coop, listen, you don’t need to protect me. I can take care of myself-“

“-that doesn’t matter! What matters is that I haven’t been there.”

Blaine can feel Cooper mentally punching himself in the face over the phone.

“You don’t have to-“

“-but I should. I should be there for you, Blaine, and I couldn’t be bothered to leave L.A. anytime this month to keep you some company.”

That does irk Blaine, a little, but he pushes it down – it’s what he’s good at – and tries to convince Cooper that he’s fine.

“Coop, please, I can take care of myself. I don’t need anyone.”

The soft, small voice in the back of his throat pangs Kurt, but he pushes that down too. Cooper swallows on the other end of the line.

“I have to go to London for a few weeks, soon. Boss wants me to meet the family.”

Blaine almost shouts in protest at that, but he pushes it down.

I’m supposed to be your fucking family.

“He has a son, about your age. Wants me to teach him how to play ball.”

Push it down.

“I was talking to him, the other day. Says his father wants him to take over the company, marry a nice girl. He came out to me, Blaine. Can you believe it?”

Push it down.

“I just really hope I can help him ou-“

That’s it.

Everything erupts from Blaine like a rabid dog set loose – deprived and uncontrollable.

“I am so sick of your shit, Cooper! You think he’s got it tough? You think you’ve got it tough?”

Cooper’s trying to interrupt, but Blaine won’t have it. Not now. He needs to do this.

“I almost died a couple of days ago and you’re stuck on some British kid who’s worried about whether his father will accept the fact that he likes dick?”

“Blaine-“

“No! Fucking –“

Blaine punches at a fly that whizzes past, and feels infinitely stupider. Breathes.

“You know what, Cooper?” He says in a low voice. “Go to London. Adopt the kid. He can fucking have you, because I’m disgusted to call you my brother.”

He ends the call.

Blaine sighs, bounces firmly onto his still-unmade bed. He wants to calm down, wants to lie back and cry and wail into the morning air but he’s still so angry.

He stands, throws a fist at the wall for good measure. He almost falls forward when the wall collapses underneath the force.

Wait.

Blaine manages to glance from the now-broken wall to his fist and back at least six times before he can fully process it.

“Must be weak,” he mutters. He’s not entirely convincing himself, though.

Another punch. More weak walls.

Lots of dust.

Blaine manages to stop himself by the third punch, before he goes and all Hulks out his room. He’s not mad anymore.

He’s kind of fascinated, actually.

After he’s cleaned up the mess, Blaine re-sits down and tries to figure himself out.

Sue didn’t throw those scissors at you for no reason.

She said you had abilities.

Like superpowers?

Blaine almost scoffs at himself, looks at the tarp-covered wall.

Ordinary people can’t do that.

He lets out a breath, sucks in a gasp.

“So, what am I? A superhero?”

It sounds stupid, said aloud, but nothing else really fits the situation.

I can dodge fast things.

I can punch in a wall.

Blaine remembers the smelted, horrid feel that his skin had had for hours last night.

I can…get really hot?

Blaine snorts.

Maybe I can learn to control it.

He sighs, lying back down and hoping for the best.

Maybe I’ll be back at school soon.