The day seemingly passes drudgingly slow, for most, but for Blaine it goes faster than a goldfish attention-span. He’s at his locker, clearing out most of his books, humming subconsciously down the abandoned hallway to himself when he hears it; the sharp, strong bang of a gunshot.

Blaine freezes, looks up. He can see Sebastian at the end of the hall, the dimming daylight casting an almost-ominous shadow across his face. He reloads, aims true for Blaine’s chest and Blaine braces himself for another week in the hospital when he’s suddenly on the other side of the corridor, a small chunk missing from the locker next to his.

Blaine smirks.

He missed anyway.

But then Sebastian’s turning again and pulling the trigger and Blaine’s shoulder becomes the pinpoint of all the pain in the world, vacuuming and throbbing and screaming and knees are hitting the floor and Blaine just wants to curl up but god, he doesn’t want to die.

“I made a promise, Anderson.”

A sharp kick to his stomach.

“I intend to keep it.”

Blaine rolls onto his back, coughing and wheezing for air and Kurt.

“You think that little slut’s going to save you now?” Sebastian chuckles. Crouches down next to him, face so close to Blaine’s that he can feel his breath. “It’s just you and me, Blainey.”

Cold metal presses to his temple, and Blaine briefly wonders where Sebastian got the gun before the trigger clicks.

Sebastian curses under his breath, fumbling to reload and Blaine’s head-butting him and ow, fuck and then Blaine’s running towards the entrance, slamming against the doors and clutching at the handle which is locked far too thoroughly for a public high school because seriously, what are people going to steal? Two bags of standard-brand instant coffee? Decade-old textbooks?

There’s slamming against a locker again, an almost-inaudible growl and Blaine’s running back, straight past Sebastian and clocking him in the shoulder as he runs to the football field. It’s really not worth it, though, because pain throbs down to his fingertips  as he scoots through the bleachers and his vision is blacking and-

Dead end.

Fuck.

He runs to the brick wall, on instinct more than anything else, pushing his fingertips along the roughness and feeling nothing but desperation, heart quaking in fear. Footsteps clatter, louder and slower until they finally stop behind him, and he spins on his heel to see Sebastian there, raising his gun and looking victorious and Blaine wants to fall to his knees and scream and beg for his life so he falls to his knees and-

“Where are you, Anderson?” Sebastian calls out, mockingly, waving his gun at the area above Blaine’s head.

What.

Blaine has a small, few-second theory that Sebastian has already killed him and this is his heaven, which is pretty shitty, to be honest. He doesn’t really need to be haunting the halls of McKinley forever.

He reaches down to shift the weight off his shoulder, slumping onto his side and running a hand across the wound to see how bad the bleeding is. Blaine can feel the stickiness of the drying blood, and he brings his hand up to eye level to-

Oh.

There’s no hand there.

That’s reassuring.

Blaine glances down, briefly, at his now blood-covered shirt and-

No.

No way.

…

No.

Gaping, Blaine leans forward, hand outstretched, until he feels solid ground beneath his fingertips. Relief clicks back through him, and he stops trembling.

Sebastian yells at the wall a few more times. Shoots, storms off. Blaine doesn’t want to move, even after he’s gone. He can hear thunder in the distance, though.

“Storms coming,” he mutters to himself.

Blaine tries to stand up, and groans far too loudly for his own liking.

“Blaine?”

He fumbles to get behind a dumpster in time and the voice rings through again, loud and clear.

“Blaine Warbler, I saw yo-“

“-please don’t hurt me.” The words are out before he knows it, and sound much more like a sob than a sentence.

There’s silence, and then footsteps, and then there’s a person next to him, and he’s squeezing his eyes shut as tight as he can because it’s the only thing he can do.

“Blaine, who hurt you?”

Blaine un-squints his eyes, just a little, and is more than a little shocked to see Brittany standing there.

“Brittany? Why are you here?”

She shrugs, her ponytail bouncing.

“I heard you were hurt, and I don’t like it when people are hurt.” She frowns. “Who hurt you, Blaine?”

Blaine hesitates. “Sebastian.”

Brittany nods, scrunching up her face in concentration for a moment before beaming at Blaine, holding out her hand.

“Can I take you home, Blaine?”

“I’m gay, Brittany.”

“I know. I didn’t mean it like that; I need to fix up your shoulder.” She pauses. “I am, too.”

Blaine takes her hand.

“You are?”

She beams brighter.

“Yup.”

“A-and you’re fine with me knowing this?”

Brittany tilts her head to the side.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Blaine looks at her, just for a second, and can see that she trusts him. No obligations. No doubts. No hiding.

He sighs, nods. “You can take me home.”

Brittany squeals, bouncing on her toes.

“Can I make you a costume?”

“What?”

“A costume. It’d be hard to beat up people in jeans all the time, wouldn’t it?”

Blaine splutters. Brittany looks at him with wide, imploring eyes, and he bites back a no.

“Okay, Brittany.” He’s grinning a little, he can’t help himself. “You can make me a costume.”

You’re not gonna use it.

Oh, shush.

Brittany’s smile stretches wider, somehow, and she hugs Blaine for a quick second before practically dragging him to her car. Blaine feels something warm twist up in his chest, something different to when Kurt looks at him.

“Brittany, are we friends?”

She pauses, key in hand, and just smiles at him.

“I think we’re best friends, Blaine.”

They leave McKinley High peacefully, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing ahead.