Chapter Fifteen

Kurt jiggled his foot nervously, checking his phone for the hundredth time. The bell was due to go for class any minute now, but he couldn't bring himself to walk inside the school. Blaine still hadn't arrived, but he had promised he would be here! Kurt had to know that everything was okay; he had to see Blaine, touch him, kiss him, sense him. He needed to know what was going on with his boyfriend, because at least then he could be prepared.

The bell rang, and Kurt's shoulders slumped. He paused, watching listlessly as the last few stragglers hurried inside. He was about to follow, when he caught sight of a car he recognised. It was the one Blaine's dad drove, the one Cooper had borrowed for those first few weeks. Kurt grinned in relief, jogging partway to meet the car, but then...

As Blaine's dad pulled up, Kurt realised that Blaine wasn't the only teenager in the car.

Sam was there too. Why was Sam there? Sure, Kurt knew that he and Blaine were close, but Sam lived on the opposite end of town to Blaine, and after the dramas of last night...

Kurt's stomach knotted with confusion and, he wasn't too proud to admit it, a nasty barb of paranoia. Still, he tried to keep his face devoid of any sort of negative emotion.

Especially seeing as Sam and Blaine pretty much had that covered between them.

"Remember what I said, Blaine." John Anderson leaned out of the car window. "Hello, Kurt."

Kurt gave an awkward little wave, and he couldn't help but notice how horribly quickly Sam and Blaine's face broke into identical too-bright grins; exact mirrors of each other. But who was mirroring who? "Hey Kurt! Thanks for the ride Mr Anderson."

"See you boys after school. The school's got my number if you need anything." He offered them all a smile, although to Kurt it seemed slightly strained.

"Bye Dad." Blaine called, already slipping his hand into Kurt's, the familiar warmth helping to distract them both from the undercurrent of tension that cracked between the three boys.

"I should head to class." Sam broke in. "See you at lunch? Or... glee? Is glee better?"

Blaine sighed, shaking his head, "Lunch is fine, Sam, seriously."

Sam fidgeted on the spot, dawdling, his eyes flicking uncertainly between the pair, before his lips curved into a soft smile, "Cool, bro. See you then." He paused, before adding, "You too, Kurt, if you want. Crap, guys, we gotta get to class!"

As the three dashed into the building, sophomores splitting from the junior, Kurt cursed his biology project. It was the last day for it, and there was no way he couldn't go. But Sam's casual invite had sounded more than, well, casual. There had been something else hidden there. Something that explained why he had been so nervous asking Blaine if he could meet him for lunch, something that would shine light on those horrible duel expressions of dull resignation and sadness that both boys had borne when they had driven up.

At least, Kurt reflected, Blaine didn't look too worse for wear after yesterday. The skin under his eyes was still bruised with tiredness, and there was less energy to his movements, but he had to be feeling good enough to be in school, or there was no way his dad would have let him come, let alone his mom.

Right?

00000

Kurt was haphazardly stuffing his books into his locker when his phone buzzed. It was from Tina, which was odd in itself because while they were friends, they weren't exactly on the random texts level of friendship.

To be frank, Kurt wasn't really on that level with many people at all. The list probably comprised of Blaine, as well as Mercedes when she remembered him, Rachel when she needed something, and more recently Finn who was genuinely trying to make a brotherly effort.

Where are you? Get to glee NOW!

Kurt stared at the screen in blind confusion, already slamming his locker shut and heading off towards the choir room as fast as his stylish yet rather impractical boots would let him. He cursed his French teacher for wanting to talk to him about his last report. He wasn't late for glee, but he also wasn't early, and by now most of the others would be there and –

"Mercedes seriously, leave it!" Tina's furious voice snapped down the hall, rising above the general ruckus that echoed out of the choir room.

"You don't know what you're talking about. Kurt would never do that to Blaine!" Quinn's voice that time, passionate and defensive.

Kurt rounded the corner, and froze in the doorway, not entirely understanding what he was seeing but definitely not liking it.

Mercedes was sitting way too close to Blaine, her face righteous and compassionate. Blaine wasn't moving, but Kurt could tell even from a distance how hard he was gripping the edge of his seat, knuckles white. He was focussed intently on a random spot on the floor, hardly blinking, clearly trying to ignore the world around him.

"Blaine honey, I'm just saying – and I love Kurt, I do; he's my boy and I'd do anything for him – but do you really think that this relationship is healthy for you? You're clearly not feeling that great, and that's gonna happen. It's not Kurt's fault, or yours, but you just gotta accept that maybe you should each look for someone who's a bit closer to your own level, you know?"

Tina threw up her hands in disgust, "I cannot believe you just said that!"

"As much as I hate to say this, I agree with Mercedes. There are tested studies that cover how couples with very different ES levels are doomed to end in heartbreak and trauma," Rachel broke in knowledgeably.

"When from? The nineteen hundreds?" Quinn asked incredulously.

Kurt was shaking. He saw red, his vision tunnelled until only the targets of his wrath were visible to him, "What the Hell? How dare you?"

A chilling hush fell over the choir room. Kurt had never thought that he was one of those people who could go speechless with rage, he was normally so good at cutting people to ribbons with well placed words, but at that moment, he just couldn't get the words to form on his tongue. What made it infinitely worse was the horrible understanding that came with what he had heard. The blasé attitude and misplaced concern, and the deep down knowledge that Mercedes' lecture to Blaine was coming from a genuine place of caring and honesty.

His fists clenched, nails digging painful half-moon pits into his palms.

"Oh my god, enough!" The tension broke, and everyone flinched. Blaine actually curled into himself a little bit, his hands coming up to hold his head. Sam was on his feet, and Kurt didn't need a high empathic sense to read just how furious and upset Sam was. "Kurt and Blaine are amazing together! None of you know what you're talking about!"

"Sam... you don't..." Blaine raised his head a little, although it looked painful to do so. His voice was ragged and cracked, his eyes wells of pleading agony.

"Yes I do, Blaine! You've been amazing this week, the best friend a guy could want, and all you've gotten back from me is..." Sam choked, waving his hand in Blaine's general direction. He jumped down from the second level of seating to face the stunned glee club with disappointed contempt. "My dad lost his job last month. The bank took everything from us – we've been living out of a motel room these past few weeks while Dad looks for a new job; me, my parents, my baby brother and sister..." Sam's voice choked, "And none of you noticed. No one except Blaine, and Quinn. I'm the reason why Blaine's not been feeling that great this week, because he actually took the trouble to notice me! So now you all have your gossip, you can leave Blaine and Kurt alone. I'm outta here." Sam threw up his arms as he stormed out, leaving the whole club speechless.

Finn turned to Quinn, "You knew? And you didn't say anything?"

"It wasn't my place." Quinn responded coolly, "Our families go to the same church. I think some of you owe Kurt and Blaine an apology. Not to mention Sam."

Apologetic and uncomfortable expressions flittered across many faces, but Kurt still couldn't form words. He couldn't move. Why couldn't he move?

Because you think Mercedes is right. A nasty little voice hissed in the back of his mind. What if he really was bad for Blaine? What if he was harmful, what if he made Blaine ill?

"Please, please stop it!" All heads snapped to Blaine. He was shaking – genuinely, visibly, obviously shivering. He staggered to his feet, weaving sideways away from concerned hands that reached to steady him. "Get out get out! Get out get out get out!" Blaine yelled at them, his voice wretched and jarring.

Kurt was across the room in a heartbeat, the nasty voice locked away deep down in the dark where it couldn't get in the way of helping Blaine. He wrapped his arms solidly around Blaine's body as the smaller boy collapsed into him, struggling for breath, "Blaine! Blaine, baby, it's okay, I'm here, it's me..."

Blaine struggled, panting haggardly in sharp snatches, twisting in Kurt's grip to find Mercedes, "I don't care! I don't care if you're sorry I don't I don't stop making me feel sorry stop making this okay because nothing about this is okay!"

Mercedes reeled back at the sheer venom in Blaine's voice, completely not like him, just like Sam's pain and anger earlier had been so strange to hear from one normally so happy. Exactly like.

"Okay, we need to get you out of here," Kurt said with absolute certainty as a horrible spike of something laced up his spine. Pityapologyguiltsorryfearconcernsorrysorryforgive-

Kurt blinked rapidly, realising with morbid fascination that he had just sensed Blaine. No, not Blaine, everyone else. He had felt what Blaine was feeling; an overwhelming flood of remorse and regret as the other teenagers' emotions were literally forcing Blaine to forgive them when really all he wanted was to run and scream and cry.

Or did he, or was that still Sam?

Kurt head spun, and he bodily hoisted Blaine close to him. He felt rather than saw the other boy fumble at his shirt as his knees gave out.

Kurt's whole world narrowed to Blaine. He was dimly aware screaming at Finn to go and get Mr Schue, Miss Pillsbury, someone! He vaguely registered the automatic action of fishing out his phone and dialling Blaine's dad, the number that had been programmed into his phone a few weeks ago. He had no real memory of yelling at the others to get out-

Get out of the room, get out of Blaine's head, get out get out get out!

What he did recall, with stark clarity, was the way Blaine felt in his arms as they sat entwined on the choir room floor. How as he sat there, cradled to Kurt's body, his shivering had become less pronounced, his grip less tense, his breathing less laboured.

Slowly, steadily, step by tiny step, Blaine returned to him in the silence and the quiet, in a stillness punctured only by Kurt's murmured comforts and their frantic heartbeats.

TBC