Blaine could do nothing as Kurt collapsed. He pulled the chain, feeling it rub the skin of his ankle raw and sore as he stretched towards Kurt as far as he could. It wasn't enough.

He looked around desperately for anything that could help. He spotted the dragoncat perched on a branch, licking at a small cut on his paw. "Mort! Mortimer! Drag him here!"

Mortimer wrinkled his nose as he leapt to the ground, but he obediently took Kurt's collar into his mouth and tugged as hard as he could. Kurt slid a few inches before Mort released him, sitting back on his haunches. "He's heavy, Blaine," he mewled, heaving for breath.

Blaine growled in frustration. "Try again, Mort!"

Mort whined, pulling at Kurt with all his strength. A couple more inches gained before Mort had to stop and rest. "Blaine, I can't, he's too hea-"

"Do it, Mortimer!"

Mort blinked at him, hurt and confusion in his green eyes. Blaine had never snapped at him like that before. There was a cracking sound in the woods and they both startled.

"Hey Blainers, leave Morty alone," Santana strode out from the trees. "He did the best he could, now let Aunty Tana handle this."

She reached down, wrapping an arm around Kurt's waist and pulling his uninjured arm around her shoulders. With a half stumble, half drag, she managed to get him to Blaine.

Together they hauled Kurt into the cottage, heaving him onto Blaine's bed with no small amount of effort. Santana tore away the rest of his sleeve, making a disapproving tsk as she did so. "Your boytoy got himself cut by manticore spikes."

Blaine swore. "We'll need something to draw out the poison then,"

"Force it out. Violently. Something stronger than the usual, or he's a dead cookie."

Blaine turned to the workbench, but Santana's hand on his arm made him stop.

"You're gonna mismeasure, shaking like you are. Let me do it. Go comfort your eye candy, he's probably gonna start hallucinating any second now."

As if on cue, Kurt whimpered, grabbing at his injured arm. Blaine peeled his gripping fingers away gently, letting them curl tightly around his own. There was a soft pressure on his leg, and Blaine looked down to see Mort butting his head into Blaine's shin and looking up at him questioningly.

Blaine sighed. "I'm sorry Mort," his voice was strained with fear for Kurt, but he made himself continue. "You did really well. I shouldn't have snapped." He reached down to softly run a finger between Mort's eyes. Mort purred, a thin stream of smoke releasing from his nose. He stood up on his back legs, placing his forepaws on the mattress to look at Kurt on the bed. He nosed carefully at the boy's still hand.

"He'll be okay, right?"

"If this potion doesn't kill him, he should be." Santana said grimly, handing Blaine a freezing cold goblet of purplish liquid. He propped Kurt up against the headboard and tilted the potion down his throat. Santana immediately shoved a bucket into his hands. "Trust me on this. It ain't gonna be pretty."

She was right. Kurt jolted, staring at them for a split second before ripping the bucket out of Blaine's hands and emptying his breakfast.

Santana made a face. "Ew."

Blaine, without really consulting his own brain beforehand, moved so that he was sitting next to Kurt against the headboard. He rubbed a hand in circles over Kurt's back, feeling it shift from clammy cold to burning hot and back again.

Eventually, the sickness stopped and Kurt collapsed again, though this time thankfully onto Blaine's chest, and out of exhaustion instead of impending doom.

Santana wrinkled her nose as she took away the bucket. Mort, who had hidden under a chair with both paws firmly over his nose, joined them on the bed and curled up happily in Blaine's lap.

Santana perched on the edge of the mattress. "You know this means we have to tell him, right?"