Chapter 20

Sectionals went smoothly – much more smoothly than the year prior. With nobody to steal their set list this time around, the only minor hurdles were Rachel’s continuous obsessing over Finn’s untruthfulness, and a miscommunication between Artie and Brittany, and Mike and Tina. A little chastising on Will’s part motivated everyone to go out onto the stage despite their personal grievances, and from there, everything went as it was supposed to.

Kurt was slightly disgruntled about not having a solo again, but at least this time they really were showcasing talents other than Rachel’s. He had to admit, Santana’s version of Valerie killed it; Sam and Quinn weren’t bad either. And swaying in the background had its perks, too: he didn’t have to go through as serious a stage fright as the soloists. Though, on the other hand, he definitely didn’t have traumatic experiences to overcome, such as Quinn’s mid-regionals labour last spring.

Blaine didn’t mind being in the background, either. In his case, performing a solo wasn’t much of a stress-inducing experience, so it didn’t really matter, whether the spotlight was on him or not. And he honestly thought that with the set list and performers they had, their chances at winning were pretty high. He tried not to think the win was a sure thing, so as not to jinx it.

The Warblers did a good job, having Nick doing one solo and Jeff the other. Blaine was sincerely happy they finally succeeded getting their leads, and both did quite well, earning a loud applause from the audience.

But still, the New Directions were the undisputed winners of the competition. Mr Schue couldn’t help but beam, as he shook the hands of the Warblers’ council members.

The bus on the way back to Lima was filled with cheerful singing.

***

Blaine shivered as the evening air bit at his face. Goldie had run down the street chasing after a cat, leaving them alone in the semi-darkness. There was no need to worry about her; she’d be back as soon as the unfortunate cat finds a tree to climb on and hides out of her sight. Kurt was walking by his friend’s side in a contented silence for a couple of blocks. His mood hadn’t altered much since yesterday’s sectionals and he was smiling softly to himself.

‘I wonder, what it would have been like, if I hadn’t left Dalton,’ Blaine said unexpectedly, his mind on the same track as Kurt’s.

‘And what do you think would have happened? Who would you cheer on?,’ Kurt asked jokingly.

The question was tough, so Blaine took a moment to consider it, chewing absently on his lower lip.

‘Both, I guess. But I’m glad I wasn’t put in that position.’

Kurt nodded, his thoughts drifting back to the what-ifs.

‘Maybe you would have been doing the solos, and maybe the Warblers would have won.’

Blaine laughed out loud, not really out of amusement, more from the sheer, unadulterated faith his best friend had in him. He appreciated that, though, possibly more than Kurt could ever know.

‘No, I bet if that was the case, it would be a tie,’ he joked.

Kurt chuckled, but a second later his expression turned into a frown.

‘But you don’t regret it, do you? Transferring?,’ he asked, lifting his eyes to look in Blaine’s face.

They stopped in the middle of a typical residential street; the houses were quiet, with a few windows lit up and most driveways occupied by dark, motionless vehicles. Nothing moved within sight, apart from the two boys and tree branches swaying in the gentle wind.

‘No, I don’t. Of course I don’t.’

‘Good to know.’ Kurt smiled fleetingly.

A soft sound of paws on concrete and heavy breathing made them turn their heads. Goldie was running back to them, her ears and tongue fluttering after her. With the dog prancing happily around them, they resumed walking.

‘I’m really happy you transferred, you know?,’ Kurt said, as they were turning the next corner, heading slowly back to Aileen’s.

‘I know.’ With that, Blaine put an arm around Kurt’s shoulders and planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

Neither of them noticed they weren’t alone anymore, until a voice made the presence of a third party blatantly clear.

‘Well, if it isn’t Lady Hummel and his boyfriend,’ the voice said mockingly, terrifyingly familiar.

Kurt’s breath hitched and he felt Blaine stiffen to his right.

‘K-Karofsky?’

The jock stepped forward, directly under a streetlamp, letting his face be illuminated by the orange light. His face was contorted in a mixture of sneer, anger and something looking astonishingly alike to anguish.

‘And I thought you got blinded by your queerness. Good to know that’s not a side effect.’ His tone dripped with venom, but it failed to fully mask the bitterness he was trying hard to hide.

Kurt gulped and grasped Blaine’s arm, as Dave took a step in their direction, hands buried deep in his pockets. The way he was moving was menacing; it had nothing of the uncontrolled rage Kurt had seen in the locker room in it. It was more of an anger kept in check, released gradually in tiny amounts, as to not lose control. But one trigger and the dam could break, setting Karofsky’s hate – whether it was directed at the other two boys or himself – free.

‘Dave,’ Kurt started uncertainly, his voice trembling despite his struggles to keep it steady, ‘we’re really sorry for what… for what Azimio did. I wouldn’t have- I wouldn’t have said anything if it wasn’t for- that…’

Those apparently were not the right words to address Karofsky with. He leapt forward, jerking his hands out of his pockets, revealing they were balled up into fists. Blaine pushed Kurt lightly behind himself, holding his breath as their adversary stopped no more than a feet away from his face.

‘You ruin my fucking life and you’re telling me you’re sorry?,’ he yelled at Kurt, who shrunk in himself, his horror growing by the second.

Blaine caught a sharp breath, the jock’s proximity making his knees buckle under him, but he managed to keep his upright position. He couldn’t freak out. Not now. Not anymore.

‘He didn’t ruin your life,’ he said as firmly as he could. ‘You did. You attacked him. Over and over. If it wasn’t for what you did, nothing would have happened.’

‘Shut up!,’ Dave yelled, swinging his fist in front of Blaine’s face and stopping it just in time not to hit him.

Goldie let out a frightened bark, reminding them she was still there. God, why couldn’t Aileen have a pitbull? Why a freaking golden retriever?!

‘I get you’re confused, and I really understand you must hate yourself right now,’ Kurt started desperately, his voice shaking from fear, anger and strain. It cost him way more than he’d have thought to be around Karofsky again. ‘But taking it out on other people doesn’t make anything better! You’ll just push people away, and make them hate you!’

He screamed the last words, and they echoed around the otherwise empty street. And their result was the exact opposite of what Kurt had intended.

‘Shut the fuck UP!,’ Dave shouted, pushing Blaine aside and aiming his right fist at Kurt’s jaw.

Before Kurt realized what was happening, Karofsky’s bulky frame blocked the light from the nearest streetlamp almost completely, and then he felt something heavy hit him on the side of his face. His teeth were forced together with a clink by the force of the blow, which then sent Kurt’s head backwards, making him lose his balance.

Blaine didn’t know what was going on until the second he saw his best friend falling to the ground and his head striking the sidewalk with a thud. Goldie began to bark again, this time with a rage Blaine would have never suspected her of. A second later, the dog jumped at Karofsky, trying to get a hold of his forearm with her teeth, but failing, when the brawny jock kicked her away. The dog limped aside, whimpering.

And all that was too much.

There was no panic now, nothing to hold Blaine pinned down to the ground. Only the intense need to hurt back.

Karofsky didn’t expect the blow to the gut, nor the following one to his face, full on the nose. Blaine could feel something trickling down his fist as he retracted it; he knew it had to be blood, but he didn’t have to have it confirmed by the sight of red dripping from his knuckles.

Soon, Karofsky recovered from the initial shock, and with a grunt of pain, he thrust his fist one more time at Blaine’s face, though this time, it didn’t stop. For a split second, Blaine didn’t know if his eye was still in place; he only knew the whole left side of his face felt like it had just been struck by a bulldozer.

With a last wave of strength, Blaine willed himself to tear his foot up from the sidewalk, bending his knee and hitting Karofsky straight between his legs. Dave let out a whimper and fell to his knees, writhing in pain.

Hoping the injury would keep Karofsky occupied for the time being, Blaine jumped to Kurt; he hadn’t stirred since the moment he hit the ground. Blaine checked his breath and pulse; he was definitely alive and definitely unconscious.

Some vestige of reason made him reach to retrieve his cell phone from his pocket. Without thinking, he looked down onto his right hand, which was covered in trickles of already half-dried-up blood. Black spots appeared before his eyes and he managed to turn his head away to the edge of somebody’s front yard, just in time not to puke all over his best friend.

Once he was seeing clearly again, he wiped his hand hastily on his coat and began to dial 911, his fingers trembling.