"Holy shi-," Blaine yanked Kurt into a sitting position and managed to choke back the bile that was threatening to crawl up his own throat. He lunged for the phone that was sitting on the coffee table, just next to the couch. He couldn't grasp it right away; it was like the device was taunting him. His hands, they were covered with blood and didn't feel like they belonged to the chaos that made up his body. He looked down at his shirt, also covered in red. He stopped, feeling as though the earth was spinning too fast and that he would be ruthlessly thrown from it at any second. He heard Kurt cough; blood was still seeping from his mouth; Blaine forced himself to shakily dial 911.

"911, what's your emergency?"

He couldn't speak.

"911, what is your emergency?"

The frustration in the man's voice brought Blaine to.

"Yes. My-my boyfriend. He's vomiting blood. It's everywhere. I can't. I need help," he managed to spit the words out.

"Alright. Take a breath, sir. Do you know what may have caused it?" Blaine rubbed his temples and glanced at Kurt. He had laid back down and was beginning to shiver.

"No. I don't fucking know! That's why I called you! I need help!" Blaine shouted, his voice braking.

"You need to calm down, sir. Tell me where you live."

It took him what seemed like an eternity to relay all of the information that the 911 dispatcher needed. His eyes kept going back to Kurt, who just kept lying there. He comprehended nothing that came from the other end of the phone, apart from the fact that the ambulance was on their way. Blaine leaned over Kurt and wiped the dried blood from his quivering chin. As he brought the warm cloth to Kurt's face, the boy spoke;

"Blaine, I-I don't-I'm sorry," he breathed.

"Shh, don't try to talk, love. It's okay. It's all going to be okay," Blaine replied as a tear drop tumbled from the tip of his nose and landed on the corner of Kurt's mouth; Kurt opened his eyes.

"Please, don't cry," he said, bringing his hand up to rub Blaine's pain away, but he quickly recoiled and grabbed his stomach again; another wave of blood flowed from his body.

Blaine stepped back, filled to the brim with horror. Just as he did, the doorbell rang. He yelled for the paramedics to come in and they took over; poking and prodding at Kurt, shouting at each other. Blaine thought they were being too rough. Kurt's so fragile. Be careful. Don't hurt him. Stop. You're making it worse. He stood there. Unable to move. Unable to respire.

A sweet, sympathetic voice suddenly awoke him from his stupor.

"Sir, do you wanted to ride in the ambulance? We need to leave now," she said as she laid a hand on his shoulder.

"No. No, I'll drive."

"Are you sure you can do that?" she questioned, noticing his hands, overcome by violent tremors.

"Yes. I'm fine, thank you."

The woman nodded and pushed Kurt's stretcher out of the house. Blaine followed and watched as they lifted him into the back of the loud vehicle.

As they were closing the doors, Blaine managed to call out "I love you!" and remained , powerless, at the edge of the driveway as the ambulance sped off.

He dragged himself back into the living room and traced the crimson footprints of the frantic paramedics. He closed his eyes. Blood. That was all he could see, even in the darkness. He ran to the bathroom and collapsed in front of the toilet. Clutching the edge of the seat, he cried; cried until he retched.

A few grueling minutes later, he finally withdrew from the icy porcelain and cleaned the last of the vomit off of his cracking lips. Before leaving the putrid bathroom, Blaine spent a moment at the mirror and was repulsed by the sight of his own pathetic reflection. Without thinking, he picked up the heavy soap dispenser and threw it at the glass, studying his image as it shattered into hundreds of jagged pieces.

Blaine walked over the mess with a loud crunch and called his parents. He told them every sickening detail; told them that he was about to drive to the hospital and assured them that they could stay where they were. He hung up and knew that he immediately had to call Kurt's parents; nausea hit him all over again. He slowly dialed the number and after two rings, Burt answered the phone;

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mr. Hummel. It's Blaine. Kurt…Kurt is in the hospital." There was a long pause; Blaine swallowed hard.

"Jesus, boy! What did you do? Did you hurt my kid, dammit?"

"No! Of course I didn't hurt him, sir! He's sick." He heard Burt sigh and hoped that he didn't have to explain and relive the events all over again.

"Oh, God. Carole and I are on our way!"

The call ended.

Blaine still felt as if the world was trying to knock him off of his feet; that with just one more push, he would plummet over the edge.

He ran to his car and drove as fast as he could to the hospital. His surroundings flew by in a blur. He flicked on his emergency lights and paid no attention to road signs or anything of that matter. Don't leave me, Kurt. You can't. Please, be okay. That was the only thing that ran through his mind during the 30 minute drive. He screeched to a halt in the parking lot and burst beyond the ominous ER doors, where he was greeted by an abundance of confused stares.

"I'm looking for Kurt Hummel," Blaine huffed at the receptionist.

"He's still being seen by the doctors, sir, but you may wait right over there if you'd like," she said, pointing to an area filled with groups of monotonous chairs.

He stood there for a moment, to catch his breath, and then went to take his seat. It was firm and uncomfortable; nothing more than what he'd expected. The waiting room was eerily quiet, but he knew that's how it would be. Everyone's filled with hope, until a doctor delivers the heartbreak in a way that's compassionate; yet, somehow still cold.

Blaine heard the troubling ticks of a clock on the wall. He counted them until Kurt's parents rushed in, wide-eyed and flustered. They were directed to where Blaine was seated.

He cleared his throat;

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Hummel."

"Hi, Blaine. How are you?" Carole asked, looking at his shirt. He suddenly realized that he'd forgotten to change out of his blood-stained clothes. He now understood the fear that had quickly flickered across the receptionist's face.

"Oh, uh, I'm fine, thanks."

"Dear, what exactly happened? Can you tell us?"

"I don't know. He just…I-" Blaine was interrupted by the doctor. He was a bit relieved because he was trying to repress the nightmarish memory as much as possible.

"Hi. I'm Dr. Howell. Are you Kurt's parents?" he asked. They stood up and grabbed each other's arms; Blaine rose as well.

"Yes," they replied.

"Will you all follow me, please?"

The doctor led them into Kurt's sterile hospital room. Blaine shivered as he saw Kurt, engulfed by the white sheets. The harsh lights were making him look almost angelic, like he was softly glowing. What a beautiful boy, he thought. Blaine barely noticed when Dr. Howell began to speak. All of his attention was focused on the steady beats of Kurt's heart. Unbeknownst to Blaine, his own heart was about to break…with the compassionately cold delivery of the news.