"BLAINE!" Kurt caught the boxer as he fell; beautiful, honey eyes wide and shocked and dazed. What was going on? What had happened? There was so much noise and Blaine was on the floor and-

Oh, god.

"Blaine?" Kurt felt his throat closing up and he choked on the words as he slumped to the ground, unable to keep trying to hold Blaine in his arms. "You're bleeding."

Kurt's mind was so fuzzy. Blaine was just staring at him and he was so pale. There was a hole ripped through his shirt and it was red. It was so red it looked fake, but Kurt knew that no one would pull a prank like this.

Oh god, this was real.

Suddenly the loud, abrupt bang that had sounded made sense. Blaine had been shot.

He tried to staunch the bleeding, but was pushed aside by medics and ended up in Blaine's corner of the boxing ring. He attempted to shove his way back in, but the crowd was too dense and then he was being held back, being told that he had to 'calm down' and 'let them do their job'.

Calm down?

Blaine was... Oh, god, Blaine was dying. How could he calm down when... when the man he loved - loved! - was hurt like this?

He glanced up and saw another small cluster of people. Had more than one person been injured? No... that was... that was a gun there. That was the shooter.

"N-no!" A pained gasp. "Kurt!"

The gymnast automatically turned to Blaine, but then realised that the voice, while gruff with strain and warped, wasn't right. It wasn't him. It was the shooter, struggling under the security, reaching towards him and gripping his wildly muscled shoulder with agony etched onto his face.

"Karofsky." Kurt whispered, ice pooling in his stomach, his chest becoming tight. Karofsky had done this? Karofsky had done this. And he'd done it because... because of Kurt?

What?

He felt faint. He was confused and worried and overwhelmed and now he really was crying.

A hand on his arm gave him a shock, and he made to defend himself before he saw who it was.

"Seb. Oh, my god, Seb." Kurt sobbed, and wrapped his arms around him, unable to do much more. Seb had looked lost and anguished, and if it seemed he was hesitant to hug him back, Kurt thought it was probably just because he was as upset as he was.

*

"Three days after the tragic incident, American Olympic gold medallist in boxing, Blaine Anderson, from Westerville, Ohio, has yet to awake from his coma.

He was hit with a 'slug' style bullet, shot from an Olympic issue shotgun, which is rumoured to have belonged to Sebastian Smythe, another Olympic contestant who is reported to be close friends with Anderson. It is as of yet undetermined whether he assisted the shooter, David Karofsky, with his crime. 

Karofsky is now on trial and has been stripped of any Olympic titles, such as his bronze medal just won the other day.

It has not been confirmed whether Anderson will survive his injury or not. It seems that it is just a matter of waiting and hoping for a truly gifted man to pull through such a traumatising ordeal."

*

Wow.

Things were so... fuzzy and strange. Blaine's stomach lurched because this was kind of like how he felt when Seb pushed him down the stairs. So out of it and odd.

He also knew that he was injured, but couldn't quite decide where. He knew that he was in pain, but he couldn't feel it. It was like it was dulled, or muffled; banging on the back door, but unable to sneak in.

He breathed for a few more seconds, then willed his eyes to open. They were heavy and gritty and he almost blacked out again because it was too difficult and he was tired, but a noise stopped him. No, wait... it wasn't just a noise; it was a voice.

"Blaine!" He forced his eyes open, and squinted at the person leaning over him. Deep, darkest blue eyes; glossy chestnut hair; a USA Olympic jacket...

"Kurt?" Blaine knew that the name came from his lips a little slurred and strange, but Kurt must have understood him because he let out a relieved sob and covered his mouth with one hand and cupped the other at Blaine's cheek. "What-" His throat caught and he coughed.

"What happened?"

Kurt moved his hand from his face and opened his mouth to say something, but another sob got in the way. It took a moment as he poured a cup of water for Blaine before he was composed enough to try again.

"Y-you... Karofsky, he..." Kurt looked down then up again, running his thumb over Blaine's cheekbone. "I don't even know why. He just... He took Seb's gun and-"

"He..." Blaine interrupted, eyes widening, completely missing the way which Kurt held the plastic cup out for him to take. "Did he...?" He, with difficulty, gestured to his body; his torso, which he could see now, was bandaged stiffly up. Kurt nodded. "But you're okay, right? He didn't hurt you?"

"No. No, I'm fine. A-apparently he looked like he was just going for you." There was a pause as it sunk in. Karofsky was gunning for him. Just him. 

"H-how the hell did he get Seb's gun?" Words were difficult right now, and it really didn't help that the stuff he was being told was insane. This was crazy!

"I don't know, but he sneaked it into the boxing final." If Blaine's mind wasn't swimming before, then it certainly was now. The final!

"Who won?" He asked, desperately trying to think back to the fight. Had it even ended before things had been messed up? Kurt started backwards, his face completely shocked at the abrupt turn of the conversation. When he only stared and didn't answer, Blaine tried to lean forwards. "Kurt, who won? Who won gold?"

"Blaine, is that really the important thing here? You were shot-"

"I know. But I'm okay; look, I'm awake, I'm talking, you're okay as well and I doubt my life is still in danger." Kurt shook his head.

"But Blaine-"

"Kurt. I need to know. You know how important this is. You understand. So please just tell me." Blaine said, trying to convey how much it meant to him. Kurt faltered then opened his mouth to say something; Blaine's eyes fixed onto his intently, waiting for the news... and then someone burst through the hospital room door, tripping over a chair that was pushed against the wall in their haste.

"Cooper?"