Chapter 5

Blaine didn't go back to his dorm until shortly before midnight. He'd spent the evening wandering around Manhattan, feeling much lighter after his conversation with Kurt. Still, he dreaded returning to his room, not knowing what to expect from Trent.

He slipped into the dark room, and traced his way with his hands, his eyes unadjusted to the lack of light. Having rummaged out his PJs, Blaine went to the bathroom. The warm water pouring over him in the shower eased the remaining strain in his muscles and washed the gel off his hair.

After fifteen minutes of standing under the shower, with locks of hair plastered to his forehead, Blaine once again tiptoed into the room and into his bed.

He had just slipped under the sheets, when he realized Trent wasn't asleep.

'You know, I have a brother.' Blaine stirred, surprised Trent was talking to him. 'He's older, two years, and his the favourite. It's always been that way. It's always Cameron this, Cameron that. When he got into Yale, they couldn't shut up about it for… They still haven't. But when I got into NYADA… It was just, "Why didn't you choose something more practical?" There was no "We're so proud you got into the best musical theatre program in the country". That's tough, you know?'

Blaine did know that perfectly well, being the brother of Cooper Anderson and so on, but he couldn't grasp what was Trent's aim here.

'Why are you telling me all this?' Blaine sat up in his bed, propping his elbows on his knees.

Trent was silent for a minute, gazing at the ceiling to avoid Blaine's eyes, though they could barely see each other's silhouettes.

'Cameron… He's gay.' Blaine's forehead furrowed. So what was all that homophobic crap about? 'So, I guess… I mean, I'm no Freud, but I guess I'm taking out my resentment on other gay wonder boys.'

Blaine was starting to understand that this was an apology of sorts.

'Just so you know, my parents have always favoured my brother, too,' he said, laying back down. 'And I'm not taking it out on every single blue-eyed, dark-haired, tall guy there is. Calling me names won't change a thing. It'll just make our living together hell.'

A long sigh came from the opposite side of the room.

'You're right.'

A few minutes lapsed in silence, and Blaine began to drift towards sleep.

'I'm sorry.' The two words reached Blaine through the haze of being half asleep, but he could swear he heard them.

***

Somewhere far away a phone started ringing. It was so far… How could he still hear it from such a great distance?

It kept on ringing.

Kurt shifted in his bed, regaining enough consciousness to realize the phone had All That Jazz for the ringtone. Like his phone.

Fuck. It was his phone.

He jumped up, reaching to the bedside table for his cell.

'Hello,' he mumbled to the speaker.

'Kurt, it's me,' Burt's voice announced on the other end. 'I gotta tell you- something's happened.'

'What? What are you talking about?' He was still half asleep.

'It's Finn, buddy. There was a- an explosion- I don't know any details yet. I don't even know, if he's… you know.'

Kurt suddenly snapped out of the slumber completely.

'If he's alive.' He was trying to stay composed. He didn't want to lose any other family member. It hadn't been long since he got used to the idea of having a brother, but losing him… Despite all of his faults – and, gosh, there were many – Kurt really loved Finn. 'Should I tell Rachel?'

Burt was silent for a moment.

'Yeah, but maybe wait till morning? We should know more by then.'

'Okay. Thanks for calling me, Dad.'

'Bye, Kurt. I'll call you when I know more.'

'Bye, Dad.'

It was almost four a.m. Kurt made an attempt at going back to sleep, but ended up only tossing and turning in the sheets. After a short while he figured it made no sense to lie idly in bed and worry about Finn.

So he got up, made himself a cup of green tea and switched on the TV. CNN failed to give him any more information than what he already knew. An Army supply unit going from one province to another… A trap set by a local terrorist cell – or at least that was what they were assuming at this point… One dead, a few injured, no word on the seriousness of their condition. Or even the exact number of the soldiers. No names.

Minutes seeped by, bringing nothing, but what had already been repeated a hundred times. Kurt's anxiety was increasing with each of those minutes. The minutes that turned into hours.

He was starting to doze off on the couch, when his phone rang again. This time it took him a second to wake up, and another to answer.

'Dad?'

'Kurt, just stay calm.'

He would have stayed calm, if not for those exact words.

'Dad, just tell me, what happened to Finn.' His voice trembled.

'He's alive. But he's injured. I don't know exactly what happened yet. Their truck got into the blast, and Finn got hurt. And his condition is serious.'

'Serious, but not critical, right?'

'Really, I don't know. That's all they told Carole so far.'

'Okay. Just…'

'I'll let you know, kiddo, don't you worry.'

Burt hang up. Kurt rubbed his forehead, tears filling his eyes. If he believed in God, he would be praying. But he just kept repeating a cluster of four words like a mantra in his mind.

Let him be well. Let him be well. Let him be well…

A rustling somewhere in the apartment made him look up. Rachel was standing on the threshold of her room, puzzled and drowsy.

'What is it, Kurtie?'

Even in the state of her apparent sleepiness, she could see something was worrying him.

Before he could formulate an answer, Rachel was sitting next to him on the sofa and putting her arm around him. But this also made her turn her head to the TV. And the headlines on the screen screamed US SOLDIERS INJURED IN EXPLOSION.

She gasped, raising her hand to her mouth. A mixture of shock, disbelief and overwhelming fear crept onto her face.

'Finn…,' she whispered. 'Is he…?'

'He's alive, Rache. That's what matters.'

'That's what matters?,' she whispered.

'He was hurt, but we don't know much yet.'

'How did you even know?'

'My Dad called.'

'And why didn't you tell me earlier?!'

'You were asleep.'

'You could've woken me!' She stood up suddenly.

'It wouldn't help, Rache. A moment ago I didn't even had the scanty information I just gave you.' He rose too and pulled her into a tight embrace. She was already sobbing, when he circled her with his arms. 'Shh, he's going to be just fine.'

But as they stood in front of the sofa, him stroking her hair soothingly and her shaking slightly with every sob, Kurt was just wishing he could convince himself.

***

Saturday morning was spent on tapping fingers on tables in impatience, waiting with anxiety for another phone call from Congressman Hummel, and Rachel refusing to eat anything. When Kurt finally managed to shove a piece of toast into her mouth, she ended up running to the bathroom a few minutes later, unable to keep anything solid down. Then he kept on preparing her tea, so she wouldn't get dehydrated from the gallons of tears that were continuously flowing down her face.

Kurt was aware that breaking down at this point was unacceptable; Rachel needed him to be her rock. Again. But even though he needed someone to lean on, a shoulder to cry on, and someone's comforting embrace just as much as she did, he knew his friend was much more fragile than most would think. And certainly more fragile than he was.

As much as the bullying he'd suffered hurt him, it also gave him a strength he would've never thought himself capable of; even after his once impenetrable armour had been torn away, and his core irreparably scarred, he acquired a resilience unique only to those who have been through hell and back. And he had been that way. He knew it all too well.

The phone rang around noon. Kurt and Rachel had been sitting silently at the kitchen table, waiting. So when the ringing filled the room, they both jumped up. For some reason the ringing of a phone is always most surprising when you are waiting for it to start.

Rachel's face became even more pallid than it had already been; a white mask with red, puffy eyes and two rivers flowing below them.

Kurt took a deep breath and picked up the phone. He caught a glimpse of the screen, before answering. It didn't say Dad.

'Hello?' His voice was husky and quiet from being silent so long.

'Kurt? Oh my God, I saw the news and I was thinking… Was that your step-brother? I mean, I am so sorry, if it was, can I help somehow?'

Even without seeing his face, Kurt could tell Chandler was feeling terribly awkward. But then, why would he call?

'Finn's injured, we don't really know how seriously. You can't help, even we can't really do anything. But thanks, anyway, Chandler.' He was speaking like an automaton, wishing only the conversation was over. Not having to say anything kept him calm.

'Okay… But if you need anything, call me.'

'Sure. Thanks again.'

As soon as Rachel realized it wasn't Burt, she sat back down, fixing her gaze mindlessly on the window. She didn't say a word.

***

Finally the phone rang again, and this time it was Burt. Finn's leg got severely injured in the blast and he was being transported to Germany for surgery as they spoke. He also sustained other minor wounds from shrapnel, and there was still some doubt, whether there wasn't any intracranial haemhorrage, but that had to wait for more extensive tests to be determined. As it turned out, more information only increased their fears, but at least they knew now what exactly they were afraid of.

Apart from giving them all the details he and Carole have received about Finn's condition, Burt told his son they were coming to New York. 'Family should be together when stuff like this is happening, right? So we're gonna be together,' he said.

And so they arrived early on Saturday evening. Their visit, that was supposed to be comforting and reassuring, turned into a depressing half hour, filled with Rachel and Carole's sobs, and the Hummels' quiet conversation, during which both were doing their best not to join the women in crying their eyes out.

Apparently, however, the visit did some good to Rachel, who got up on Sunday a little more alive. Her colour was coming back, and so was her appetite. She still teared up every time the speaker on CNN mentioned the blast in a recap of the week's events, but she was far more composed.

Kurt, on the other hand, was beginning to fall apart. Bottling up the need to cry made him feel like he was about to explode, and staying home, with Rachel and the CNN, was not helping in the slightest.

He had to get out, even if just for an hour. He picked up his phone, wondering who could be up for a walk and a talk.

Blaine. That was the first name that popped into his mind.

But what would that guy care about Kurt's family drama? He had his own problems. Why would he even want to glue pieces of Kurt back together? They barely knew each other.

Kurt tapped his call log, and the first name other than Dad and Carole came into view a short way from the top.

Chandler.

***

They met by the Winthrop Shelter Pavilion in the McGorlick Park an hour later. Despite his desperate need to get away from the apartment, he wouldn't dare going further than the few blocks, in case his family and Rachel needed him back immediately. Chandler didn't seem to mind coming to Greenpoint; Kurt was quite sure that behind the polite concern his ex-boyfriend expressed was a repressed satisfaction.

It was late in the afternoon, the sky was overcast, giving the park a gloomy feeling. The wind tore at the leaves and people's clothes. Everyone seemed to be running away, back into the warmth of their homes, away from the more and more visibly approaching fall.

Everyone except from the blonde twenty-year-old waiting by the Pavilion with his hands tucked into his pockets, and his scarf whipped around him by the wind.

And except another young man, with unusually for him dishevelled hair, bags under his eyes, and his arms folded on his chest. He looked haggard, even though he was wearing an Alexander McQueen coat.

Chandler had to take a closer look at him to make sure it was Kurt. He had already figured out his ex-boyfriend was in a bad shape, he just hadn't realized how bad it was.

'Kurt?,' he started shyly.

Kurt barely glanced up at him from a foot away. And then he broke down.

The dam was blown to pieces by an explosion of tears; nothing could stop them now. There was no one to stay strong for, no one to expect him to be brave. All the worry, fear and disbelief began to come out of him in rampageous waves.

And Chandler held him, terrified by the onslaught of tears and sobs.

And Kurt was shaking violently, barely able to catch a breath.

Finally, after almost ten minutes of standing there, Kurt in Chandler's arms, sobbing into his chest, it stopped. Kurt inhaled deeply, unfolded his arms – he never moved them in the last quarter – and raised his eyes.

'Thanks for coming,' he said in a small voice. 'I really needed to…'

'I know.'

Chandler wrapped his arm around Kurt's shoulders and led him to the nearest bench. He knew it wouldn't be easy to be around Kurt in those tough times, but the need to be with him he'd always felt made it impossible to stay away. Especially when Kurt needed him too. If he didn't, he wouldn't have called, would he?

So he let Kurt talk. It was clear he hadn't had a chance to simply let all his emotions flow out of him since the news of Finn's predicament arrived. And Chandler understood that nothing more could be done, so he sat next to Kurt on the uncomfortable wooden bench, held his hand, and listened.

Blaine's weekend passed in an unusual silence. He was sure the room had not been this quiet since before Trent's arrival. They stopped even exchanging the most casual of remarks, only nodding at each other in greeting, barely acknowledging the existence of the other.

Although the uneasiness wasn't easy to cope with, anything would be better than the sense of insecurity Blaine had been feeling for the past week. He was starting to feel relieved. After all, he could never picture himself and Trent as BFFs, but he did not want to be enemies either. He still had next to no one in New York; Kurt and Rachel were so welcoming to him, but he had no desire of being a third wheel in their friendship or force himself on Kurt. There was no denying that he was attracted to the guy; but really, who wouldn't be? The kindness, the hypnotizing eyes, the sweet smile… Not to mention the shapely bum. (Blaine caught himself on staring at Kurt's downside when he saw him a few times in the NYADA hallways. He wasn't exactly sure what he liked better about Kurt: his eyes or his butt.)

Monday morning proved to be equally silent as the weekend had been; a nod for a good morning on each side, as they passed each other by the bathroom door, no goodbye as Blaine went out, leaving Trent behind.

Blaine directed his steps towards Pierre's class, even though he still had some time to spare. He was then hugely surprised to see Kurt and Rachel huddled at a the bottom of the staircase nearest to his class, both looking pale and defeated. At first he thought it would be wise to slip by unnoticed, but then, if the situations were reversed, he'd like someone,anyone, to notice his distress.

'Hey, guys… Is everything alright?'

Kurt looked up with his sad reddened eyes. The concern in Blaine's voice sounded so sincere. Maybe he was wrong then to assume Blaine wouldn't care about his problems?

He sighed heavily, letting the air out as slowly as possible.

'No, um- My step-brother… He's in the Army. And he- he was in that blast on Friday.'

Blaine wasn't following the news very carefully, not as carefully as football or Vogue, anyway, but he had heard about the explosion that led to the death of one American soldier, and severe injuries of four others. He hadn't paid attention to the incident; there had been multiple such occurrences since the beginning of the War on Terror that he grew indifferent. They happened to strange people somewhere far away. Or not really.

'Oh my God… I am so sorry.' He couldn't think of anything appropriate to say. 'I know I probably can't help in any way, but if you – either of you – needed anything, to talk or something, you know where to find me, right?'

Kurt smiled faintly at him.

'Thanks, Blaine.'

Rachel mirrored her friend's expression.

'Yeah, thank you, that's so sweet of you.'

'I'd be glad to help.' He patted Kurt reassuringly on the shoulder, smiled at Rachel, and left them in the quiet of an early morning at NYADA.