The paramedic in the ambulance asked him a question, but Blaine simply continued to be lost in thought. It was a habit of his, going over the situation in his head again and again until he could make sense out of it. While doing so, everything in the outside world didn’t matter very much. Blaine faintly heard the man in the ambulance say something along the lines of ‘the other boy’ and ‘critical condition’. After hearing that, three words began taunting him from within his own mind.

Kurt could die.
Kurt could die.
Kurt could DIE.

Before long, Blaine was being wheeled into the hospital. The harsh smell of lemons, disinfectant, old people, and floor wax his him like a truck. He hated hospitals. He’s hated them ever since he’d broken his arm in three places on his sixth birthday. That alone was awful, but the even that really stuck was when he tried to find the cafeteria and ended up in the ICU. A little girl only a year or so older than him had passed away before his very eyes. Blaine really hated hospitals.

~~SEPARATION LINE~~

Three hours, a couple of stitches, and a few shouting matches later, blain was told that he had a mildly sprained wrist, many bruises, and a few cuts that were deep enough to need stitches. He didn’t care. He just wanted to see if Kurt was okay. The doctors wouldn’t hear any of it. They kept saying things like ‘delicate’ and ‘dangerous’ and Blaine’s least favourite, ‘crucial’. This only proved his earlier thoughts to be possible;

Kurt could DIE.

He went to sleep eventually. All this waiting was excruciating. His dreams were filled with blood, shouts, a gunshot, and Kurt. Needless to say, it wasn’t restful. Blaine was later awakened by a very nice nurse who brought very nice news.

“You can see him now, if you like.” The young African-American woman said with a shy yet sad smile. “He’s in room 37A.”

Blaine was up and down the hallway as fast as his aching body could carry him. He didn’t care about the pain, or the fact that his hospital gown was way too small, or the breeze he felt in places he should never be feeling breezes, or the stares he was getting from quite a few women (not to mention the men). The only thing that kept him going was that Kurt was alive.

He opened the door slowly as to not disturb who might be inside. When he saw Kurt, the small smile he had earlier vanished immediately. The once happy, carefree boy looked, for the lack of a better word, broken. Bandages were covering most of his visible skin, his breathing was more shallow than normal, and he was (somehow) paler. Blaine couldn’t tear him eyes off of the bandage wrapped around his sweat drenched head. There had to have been a serious wound under that bandage, otherwise the doctors really liked gauze.

Blaine looked toward a man wearing a lab coat in the corner. Words wouldn’t come, so he just threw his most questioning look he could manage. The man seemed to understand and began to explain the situation.

“He has several sprains, a concussion, a broken finger on his right hand and a bullet that we removed from his left shoulder. The gunshot wasn’t serious but…”the doctor paused while Blaine was ready to explode with all of the tension. “If Mr. Hummel wakes up, there is a very large chance that he will have some severe memory loss.”

Blaine was stunned. “How severe?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

“It could be anywhere from a month to his entire life. He’ll get most of it back in time of course, but it will be awhile.”

The news hit him hard and fast and he sunk to the floor.. For one there was the word ‘if’ entailing that Kurt may never wake up, and then there was the issue of amnesia.. A whole year of memories flashed before his eyes. The staircase, the kiss, their first ‘official’ date, when Kurt transferred back to McKinley and Blaine tagged along, they could all be gone. He let out a whimper and some new words began repeating themselves.

Kurt could forget me.