"She almost died!"

"Rumor has it her hemorrhage should have left her brain dead."

"I can't believe Sue did that in the first place."

"She is so lucky."

That was all Kurt heard walking down the hallway. He restrained himself from rolling his eyes in Blaine's direction. Brittany wasn't even home yet, but word had a tendency to spread fast. Reaching into his pocket for his phone, Kurt immediately started talking when he pressed it to his ear.

"I'm going to have to visit her again," Kurt said, stopping at his locker.

"That'd be good. I want to see if Santana's back yet," Blaine replied, leaning on Kurt's neighboring locker.

"So you think she's coming back then?" Kurt asked.

AS Blaine was about to answer, Kurt's phone got ripped out of his hands. Glancing up, the two saw Karofsky stomping by, holding the phone in his palm.

"I see you're talking to no one again," he scoffed, walking away and then dropping the phone into the trash can.

He didn't even look back at Kurt; that was what set him off. Balling his hands into tight fists, Kurt went chasing after the bully. Karofsky was pushing intothe locker room as Kurt caught up. He was opening his gym locker when Kurt busted through the doors. Surprised, Karofsky's head shot up. When he saw it was Kurt, he sighed and rolled his eyes.

"WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?" Kurt screamed.

"Calm down, Kurt," Blaine cautioned, reaching out but not touching him.

"Did your feelings get hurt?" Karofsky asked mockingly.

"Do you not have any tact at all?" Kurt demanded, marching towards Dave. "Were you born a barbarian?"

"Don't push me, Hummel! Lady-boys like you don't get to talk back without meeting my fists first."

"Is that so? Because I think you're all talk," Kurt said, getting right up in Karofsky's face. His heart was pounding, hoping he was calling the right bluff and that we wasn't about to get the crap kicked out of himself.

"His angel said he doesn't agree," Blaine interjected, tense.

Kurt glanced at Blaine for a second; he looked worried.

"No, you know what? I'm sick of you prancing around this school like you own it, Hummel! We already have a prom queen; we don't need a princess, too."

"You can say whatever you want, Dave, but it's not going to cover the fact that you're just a sad, scared little boy, and I apparently threaten you," Kurt spat.

"Threaten me?" Karofsky laughed. His fist met the locker, hard. The bang echoed across the locker room and made Kurt jump. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"If you're going to hit me, then hit me!"

"Kurt," Blaine whispered.

"Because I'm not scared of you. One day, I'll be out of this cow town, and you'll be stuck here: thirty, single, wondering why you didn't make anything of your life!"

"Hummel-" Karofsky warned, his face rising in color.

"And you'll be a distant memory to me: the high school bully, whose best days consisted of kicking the crap out of people he didn't think were good enough for his standards. Well, you're the one who's ordinary, Karofsky."

Kurt didn't even have a second to breath before Karofsky was lunging towards him. He shut his eyes, expecting the worst. Arms tightened around his shoulders, heavy and big. Then suddenly, there was a mouth forcing itself against his own. Kurt tried to gasp, but the lips were too strong. Opening his eyes, he saw it was Dave, and his skin crawled.

Kurt pushed as hard as he could, but the boy didn't budge. Suddenly, Dave went flying backwards. He tumbled over the bench and onto the floor. Someone grabbed Kurt's hand and then he was being pulled out of the locker room, not even getting an opportunity to look back at Karofsky, and then he was pulled into an empty supply closet. The naked bulb above his head flickered on and he saw Blaine looking worried.

"Blaine-" Kurt choked.

"Kurt, are you okay?" Blaine gasped, reaching up to cup Kurt's face.

He nodded, quickly, then grabbed at Blaine's arms.

"You keep touching things. How do you keep touching things?" Kurt breathed out, his heart hammering through his chest.

"Kurt, it doesn't matter. Did he hurt you? Are you okay?"

"I- Blaine!"

"I almost took his head off for touching you like that!" Blaine hissed. He looked like he was about to start punching the concrete wall.

"Was that you who pushed him?" Kurt gasped. "I mean, of course it was you. I didn't do it."

"If he comes near you again, Kurt, I swear-"

"You will do nothing!" Kurt stressed.

"Wha- did you miss what he did to you? He hate-kissed you! Now it makes sense why he's been treating you like you're the dirt under his shoe for all these years!"

"Because I'm gay?"

"Not just that; because you're confident being who you are, whereas he's just scared all the time," Blaine explained but then he shook his head. "But that gives him no right to touch you like that!"

"You touched him, Blaine. How did that happen? Are you going to disappear like Santana?" Kurt choked out, fear stewing through his body.

"No, I'm fine," Blaine said dismissively.

"No, you are not! Let me see your wings."

"What?"

"Your wings. I need to see your wings."

Blaine stared at Kurt for a second. When Kurt jerked his head, wordlessly saying, I'm not joking, Blaine squared his shoulders and extended his wings into what little space there was to spare in the closet.

Kurt gasped.

"What?" Blaine questioned, looking over his shoulders.

His whole body slumped forward as he gasped. Behind him were a familiar set of wings, but all the white had been taken over with dark brown.

"It doesn't matter," Blaine said immediately, turning his head back to Kurt.

"It does so matter! Santana's gone!"

"But I won't be," Blaine vowed.

"Blaine, you don't know what's going to happen to me. You don't know what extremes you'd take to keep me safe."

"I'm your angel," Blaine replied as if the statement would solve any miscommunication.

"I don't care. I don't want you to get hurt. I don't want your wings to get any darker. I don't want you to disappear! Can't you see that I care about you just as much as you care about me? If I lost you, Blaine-"

"You won't."

"You don't know that!" Kurt yelled, a broken sob ripping through his chest.

Blaine closed the space between himself and Kurt, holding onto his shoulders tightly. Kurt dropped his head into the crook of Blaine's neck, letting tears soak the fabric of Blaine's shirt.

"I can't lose you, Blaine."

The words stuck in Blaine's head, and then he went rigid.

"Blaine?"

All around him was white. Pure. Clean. Untouched.

Gasping, Blaine rocked into the soft pillowed wall. Not toget away or resist though. It was far too late for that.

"He's not crazy," a woman sobbed.

Blaine looked towards the voice, hidden behind a door. Throughthe glass, he could see two men and the crying woman.

"Mrs. Anderson, he isn't right," the man in the white jacket said simply.

"Come now, sweetheart, maybe they can fix him," the other man said, grabbing the woman's shoulder.

"He's not broken!"

Blaine was on the floor, rocking back and forth. Kurt grabbed at him, trying to keep him still.

"Blaine," Kurt cried. "Blaine, please, what's happening?"

Blaine walked down the hall. He passed a crippled woman sitting in a wheelchair gnawing on her own hair. He stifled a whimper and looked away.

"Blaine, who let you out? Get back to the community room. We'll be taking everyone outside in a bit," a lady (a nurse?) behind the front desk said hastily.

"It's time for recess, like I'm a seven year old," Blaine said out loud, not to the nurse as much as the hallway itself.

"Blaine, I'm right here. Come back to me. I'm right here!" Kurt chanted, holding Blaine as he rocked.

Someone was screaming from another room. The nurse and doctor doing Blaine's check up exchanged a glance andnodded briefly to each other.

"Blaine, stay put," the doctor ordered before both ran out, leaving him in an empty exam room. It was just an elevated table and a rolling chair. There were no gadgets, no equipment. As Blaine counted how many seconds it took for the screaming to stop, he noticed a folder tucked under the cloth covering the table.

Blaine glanced towards the door, then quickly grabbed the folder. Sitting it on his lap, he pulled it open.

"BLAINE!"

Jumping, he dropped the folder and all of it's contents onto the floor.

Blaine was screaming. Kurt tangled his fingers in his hair, shushing him.

There was a hand grasping his. Blaine could feel it, but barely. He could barely feel anything.

"How much longer, Doctor?" a woman (his mother?) asked. Everyone else was standing at the foot of the bed.

"I don't think he's going to last the night," the doctor answered.

"I heard the Influenza was spreading, but I never thought it'd reach here of all places," a man (his father?) said.

Suddenly, a crippling pain tugged at Blaine's stomach and he was coughing. Against his white hospital gown, Blaine spluttered red. His lungs crumbled in his chest as he ached for a breath that didn't come.

"I'll see you again," a voice whispered. It was like the end of an echo; Blaine wasn't sure if he heard it at all.

But it was the last thing he remembered.

Suddenly, Blaine stopped rocked, stopped breathing, just stopped.

"Blaine?" Kurt whispered, holding Blaine's face to look into his wet eyes. "I'm right here."

"Ku- Kurt, I-" Blaine was gasping for air, like he was never going to take another breath again. "K- Oh, Kurt. I saw- I think I saw-"

"What? What'd you see?"

Blaine took a long, staggered breath. "My death."

Teaser for Next Chapter:

Brittany smiled sweetly, reaching to place a hand on Kurt's.

"You were the one who saved me," she said finally. "I heard the doctors. If you weren't here, if you didn't notice my heart acting weird, I would have had a brain hemorrhage."

"No," Kurt said slowly. Blaine stopped breathing as soon as Brittany started saying it was Kurt who saved her. Surely, Santana talked to her about this.