Sebastian ran a hand over his face as he stepped out of the Westerville police department. The sun had set while he’d been inside, so he was left to descend the steps and head over to his car in the dark. He shrugged uncomfortably, rolling his shoulders to loosen stiff muscles as he unlocked his car and slipped into the driver’s seat. He pulled out his phone and checked his messages; there were a few from various Warblers asking for updates that he ignored; he’d talk to them when he got back to campus. Nothing from Kurt, though, which he assumed meant there’d been no change.

Blaine had been in and out since his first resurgence into consciousness the day before, but he had yet to recognize anyone in the few moments he was awake before going back under again. The nurses had assured them that it was normal, but they’d still been running tests as they waited for him to fully come to. It could be any time, they said.

And Sebastian wanted to be there, though the room was filled with tension whenever he and Kurt were there together, and he got the distinct impression that Blaine’s brother didn’t like him either. He had no idea if the elder Anderson knew about the slushie or not, but Sebastian wouldn’t put it past Kurt to tell him to get Cooper to kick him out after the argument they’d had the day before—after all, it was something Sebastian would’ve done the previous year.

Sebastian shook his head and sighed tiredly as he contemplated whether it was worth heading back over to the hospital for a couple of hours of tense vigil or just going back the next day. Burt Hummel, at least, didn’t seem to hate his guts—much to Kurt’s chagrin—so the room was tolerable when he was there, but he’d been around less since Cooper had arrived. Sebastian had no idea where he was going, but he found himself missing the man’s presence. He could understand why Blaine raved about him now.

Sebastian slumped back in his seat and glanced back at the shining lights of the police station. He’d been sitting in Blaine’s room with Kurt and Cooper that afternoon when the police had come by—the same ones Sebastian had given his statement to the night of the attack. Apparently they’d spoken to Kurt as well, because he’d recognized them. They’d introduced themselves to Cooper as Officers Andrews and Mendoza before asking Sebastian to come down to the station with them.

Panic welled up in Sebastian’s chest as he looked between the two men. Was he in trouble? Did they think he’d attacked Blaine now? Oh god…

“You’re not in trouble, Mr. Smythe,” Andrews said quickly, apparently reading his expression. “We actually have some suspects in custody and were hoping you’d be able to identify them.”

Sebastian blinked, mind working overtime to register what he’d just heard.

“You have the assholes that did this to my brother?” Cooper asked sharply.

“Roy Matthews and Nick Hewitt are in custody,” Mendoza said. “We have Sebastian’s and Kurt’s statements corroborating that they threatened Blaine the night of the attack.”

“And I heard them on the phone,” Sebastian added quietly, thinking of the phone call that had been haunting his sleep since Monday night. “It was them.”

Andrews nodded. “We had enough evidence to arrest them,” he said. “And we received an anonymous tip that led to the arrest of a third suspect, but we need more than what we have to keep him.”

“We were hoping you’d be able to identify the voice of the third suspect,” Mendoza added to Sebastian. “You’re our only other witness besides Blaine.”

And there was no guarantee that Blaine would be able to identify his attackers when he woke up. Memory loss was common in head injuries, the nurses kept reminding them. And that was the best case scenario for Blaine once he woke up.

Sebastian swallowed, feeling all the eyes in the room on him. He glanced over at Blaine, who slept on, before nodding. “I— Yeah.”

“Can you remember the third voice from the call?” Andrews asked, watching him seriously.

Sebastian’s stomach turned. “I’ll never forget it.”

He’d ended up meeting Andrews and Mendoza at the police department, and he’d been ushered behind a one-way mirror to check out a line-up of men. He’d heard about these types of proceedings from his father’s work, but he’d never seen it done for himself. A detached part of him found it fascinating, but mostly he’d been a sweaty mess as he waited.

Eventually they’d given each man in the line-up a line to speak—words, Sebastian realized, he must’ve told the police the third guy had said during the attack. And when the fourth man said, “Dressed like that, might not even know you were a homo if we didn’t have history,” Sebastian tensed and his breath caught in his throat. That was the voice he’d heard on the phone, the one that had barked laughter and called Blaine “fucking faggot” as he…

Nausea churned Sebastian’s stomach as he’d whispered harshly, “That’s him. That’s the third guy. I’d recognize his voice anywhere.”

There’d been some paperwork, waiting, and speaking with the officers again, and more waiting before he’d finally been allowed to leave. And while he thought he should feel better about giving evidence that could put away the bastards, he only felt tired. A heavy weight had settled on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Fucking Ohio,” he muttered as he stuck his key into the ignition with more force than necessary and turned on the car. He was getting hell out of this homophobic hellhole as soon as he possibly could.

He pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to Dalton.

-----

The first thing he was aware of was voices. He’d been floating in the darkness, a warm embrace that was slowly letting its grip go. The voices were indistinct, but the tones were familiar; he wanted nothing more than to drift back into the arms of the darkness, content in the safety that radiated from the sounds around him.

But then there were beeps mixing in with the voices and a sharp smell that he knew from somewhere…

And then feeling slammed back into him; his head was pounding and everything else ached. It hurt to breathe. He groaned in protest of the sudden sensation and the voices fell silent.

After a moment, he heard a high-pitched voice from somewhere above him ask, “Blaine?”

Blaine. Why did that word sound so familiar? He turned toward that voice, something in the back of his mind telling him it was safe.

“Hey, can you hear us, kiddo?” a different voice asked from his other side.

He knew that voice, too. He leaned toward it in turn; he wanted to reach out, but his body felt weighted down.

“Can you open your eyes, Blaine?” the second voice asked gently.

Blaine. There was that word again. He knew it meant something important…

Open your eyes… Eyes. He could do that. Slowly, he opened them, but it was suddenly too bright and he slammed them shut again with a faint whine.

“Easy there, tiger,” the second voice encouraged. “It’s okay. Just open your eyes, Blaine.”

No. He didn’t want to; he just wanted to back into the dark where it was safe, where it was warm and comfortable. Out there it was bright and sharp and everything hurt.

“Come on, Blaine,” the first voice whispered, almost a reverent plea.

Oh.

He opened his eyes again, carefully this time, squinting against the brightness. Everything was out of focus, a white blur surrounding him, and his ears picked up the incessant beeping again and his nose twitched at the sharp clean smell. But then there was a dark figure in his eye line. He blinked a couple of times and gradually the figure came into focus.

The figure smiled widely, looking relieved. “There you are,” he breathed.

“Coop?” he asked, voice rasping. The word fell off his tongue before he knew what it meant, but the figure’s face lit up and suddenly he knew.

Cooper. His brother. Blaine’s brother. Because he was Blaine.

“Hey, little brother,” Cooper said, teeth showing in a wide grin.

“Are you with us this time?” the first voice asked from somewhere on the other side of Blaine.

Blaine would know that voice anywhere. He turned his head, grimacing when even that small movement sapped his energy. His entire body was just so heavy…

“Kurt?” he murmured.

Kurt was half out of his chair, and a huge smile spread across his face when his eyes met Blaine’s. “Hi,” he exhaled. Blaine licked his lips and Kurt’s eyes widened. “Oh, right!” He jumped up, and Blaine tracked his movement across the room to a sink where he filled up a cup. Kurt walked back and held it to Blaine’s lips. “Water,” he said, tipping the cup.

Blaine took a tentative sip that turned greedy once the liquid spread across his tongue and down his throat. It was heavenly. Once he’d drained the cup, Kurt set it down on the table next to the bed. Blaine blinked, feeling life slowly coming back to him. He looked around the room then, taking in the white walls and machines that surrounded him, inhaling the scent of antiseptic.

Hospital.

He glanced down and saw his arm in a cast. He blinked in confusion. When had that happened? He assessed the other aching parts of his body, and while his head and ribs were the worst, it felt like there was something on his knee as well. But there were blankets covering his legs and he didn’t have it in him to try to move them to check.

Confused, he glanced between Kurt and Cooper, who were both watching him carefully. His brain was trying to reconcile all the pieces but coming up empty.

“W-why are you here?” he asked finally, the words feeling strange on his lips, as though he hadn’t spoken in a while. He didn’t understand… His head was still pounding and his thoughts were muddled.

“Blaine, you—” Kurt started, but Cooper cut him off with a look that Blaine couldn’t decipher.

“What do you remember?” Cooper asked, leaning toward him.

Blaine frowned and cast back into his hazy memory, as though trying to push through a curtain. He remembered saying goodbye to Sam after school on Friday because Sam was going home for Spring Break. He’d gone to brunch with Tina on Saturday and then had gone home. After that…

“I remember watching basketball on Sunday,” he said slowly. “And working on my audition piece.” He blinked a couple of times, his eyelids feeling heavier. He remembered sitting at the piano in the library, sheet music spread out in front of him. “That’s it.”

He watched curiously as Kurt’s face fell. “Blaine, it’s Thursday night,” he whispered.

Blaine’s eyes widened, weariness suddenly forgotten. “What?”

“I came home on Monday,” Kurt told him, voice wavering slightly. “I came to see you.” He swallowed. “We spent the evening together.” Cooper coughed and Kurt looked up, an unreadable expression crossing his face as he clenched his jaw and fell silent.

Blaine frowned. There was something off with Kurt’s explanation, but he couldn’t quite place it. He knew all of Kurt’s tones and facial tics and there was definitely something he wasn’t saying…

“But… why am I—” He cut himself off as a wave of pain hit him, running through his nerves like a current. His muscles tensed and it hurt just trying to take a shallow breath. Fuck. He shut his eyes and rode it out, breathing through his nose until it passed. When he opened them again, gray was seeping in around the edges of his vision. He blinked a couple of times, willing it away until he could see again, before looking back up. Cooper and Kurt were watching him in concern.

Blaine took a couple more shallow breaths, since that was all he could manage, before finishing his question. “Why the hospital?” he asked, deciding the fewer words the better. Obviously something had happened that made everything hurt, that had put him in a hospital bed again, but what? What had he lost between Sunday and Thursday?

Cooper and Kurt exchanged another one of those looks that probably should have made sense but Blaine was too tired and sore to think about.

“Blaine, honey, you were…”

“You were attacked,” Cooper finished when Kurt trailed off.

The breath caught in Blaine’s throat. There was something in the back of his mind, some kind of itch at those words…

“You’ve been in and out since yesterday,” Kurt added quietly. He looked tired, Blaine thought as he studied Kurt’s face.

“Oh.” He didn’t really know what to say to that. He thought he probably should have more of a reaction, but he just couldn’t muster the energy. He yawned as heaviness settled over him, pulling him back toward sleep.

“Looks like the morphine’s kicking in,” Cooper said, his voice echoing as Blaine started to drift again.

The last thing he heard before being pulled under was Kurt humming.

----- 

Kurt groaned as he flopped face-first onto the couch in the Andersons’ living room, sinking into the cushions.

“I doubt Blaine would mind if you took his bed, Kurt,” Cooper said from the doorway. “It’s more comfortable than the couch.”

Kurt shook his head as he sat up. He couldn’t bring himself to sleep in there, especially after having a breakdown on the floor in there a couple of nights before. “The couch is fine.”

Cooper shook his head but didn’t argue. He was clearly exhausted as well. “I’ll get some blankets and pillows then.”

Kurt nodded as Cooper disappeared down the hallway. His bag was in the guest room with his dad, who’d come back to the house earlier than the rest of them, but he didn’t have the energy to go up the stairs and get it. He was contemplating sleeping in the jeans and undershirt he was wearing when his father appeared. Kurt blinked in surprise when his dad put his suitcase on the floor next to the couch and dropped a couple of blankets and pillows onto the coffee table.

“Dad…”

Burt sat down and pulled Kurt into a hug. Kurt melted into the embrace, savoring the feel of his father’s safe arms before finally pulling back.

“Blaine?”

Since Blaine had woken up the first time, there had been tests and constant check-ins from the staff as Blaine’s visitors also rotated. Cooper had gotten in a couple of hours after Blaine had woken up the first time and hadn’t left his side. Sebastian had left once Cooper had arrived, and Burt had been in and out depending on how strict the nurses were being with the two-visitors-per-patient rule. Kurt had come back from the bathroom to find Cooper and his dad talking in hushed voices more than once, but his dad had just shrugged when Kurt asked what it was about and Cooper had shot him a wan grin.

And then there had been the police visit earlier in the afternoon… He supposed he should check in with Sebastian to tell him Blaine was awake and find out what had happened.

Mostly, though, they’d just kept vigil over Blaine. Burt had left around dinnertime that evening; he got tired more easily these days as a side effect of his treatments, and Cooper had volunteered to drive Kurt back later.

But then Blaine had woken up for real. He’d been tired and clearly in pain, but he’d been Blaine. It had been the best thing Kurt had seen in a long time.

Kurt had called his dad after leaving the hospital so he knew Blaine had regained consciousness, but he nodded anyway.

“He was awake for about five minutes before he fell asleep again. But he was aware, Dad. He was talking, asking questions.” Kurt felt tears forming in the corners of his eyes and he wiped at them surreptitiously.

His dad gave him a knowing look but nodded. “I’m real glad, Kurt.”

“He, uh, doesn’t remember what happened,” Kurt told him. “The last thing he remembers is being at home on Sunday. They said memory loss is common with head injuries, but they don’t know if he’ll get the memories back or not.”

“That might be a mercy,” Burt replied gently.

Kurt nodded absently. Part of him was desperate for Blaine to get those memories back, to remember that Kurt had come to talk to him, but another part didn’t want him to have to suffer from the memories of being attacked. Again.

“They’re going to move him from the ICU into a private room tonight,” Kurt added, pushing those thoughts from his mind.

“That’s great news,” Burt said, face lighting up.

“Yeah.”

“Did you hear from Sebastian?”

Kurt shook his head, grimacing. After their fight the day before, there’d been a lot of tension when they’d been in the same room together. Kurt knew Sebastian had made some fair points, but he’d also been an asshole about it, and Kurt just didn’t think he’d ever be able to get past how Sebastian had hurt Blaine the previous year. They would never like—or trust—each other. But Blaine cared about both of them, so they were making concessions.

“I should probably call him. It’s late, but…”

Burt inclined his head. “He’ll want to know.”

Kurt nodded. Burt gave his knee a squeeze before getting to his feet. “Call him, Kurt. Then get some sleep.”

“I will.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Dad.” He smiled at the blankets and pillows. “And thanks.”

Once the sound of his dad’s footsteps disappeared upstairs, Kurt sighed and grabbed his phone. He scrolled to Sebastian’s number. His finger hovered over it for a few moments, but finally he sighed and called.

“Kurt?” Sebastian answered on the second ring despite the late hour. “Did something happen?”

Kurt couldn’t help but smile as he spoke. “He woke up.”

----- 

“Westerville PD has just announced that they have three suspects in custody in the Blaine Anderson attack case. Witnesses were initially able to point police to Roy Matthews and Nick Hewitt of Westerville, but an anonymous tip received yesterday led authorities to arrest a third suspect.

“Eric Mitchell, also of Westerville, was arrested Thursday afternoon. A witness identified him in a lineup as the third man who allegedly attacked the 18-year-old Anderson in the parking lot of the Westerville mall Starbucks.

“Anderson is currently in critical but stable condition at Westerville Memorial.”

Josh Sanders clicked the television off, slumping back into the pillows on his bed. As glad as he was to hear that the assholes had been caught—and maybe now they’d finally pay for what they’d done four years earlier as well—he still felt sick.

He’d been so shocked to see that first news report about Blaine on Tuesday. It was only by chance that he’d seen the news that night, having come home for Spring Break from Bowling Green. He’d been channel surfing in his boredom when he’d seen Blaine’s picture on the local news.

He hadn’t talked to Blaine since the night of the Sadie Hawkins dance—Josh’d had a concussion and had been fitted with a cast for a broken wrist. Otherwise, he’d just been bruised to hell and had been released that night. But Blaine had been admitted to the hospital.

Roy, Nick, and Eric had lost interest in Josh when he’d gone down after a couple of blows from a bat and crowbar, landing hard on his wrist and banging his head on the concrete. He must’ve lost consciousness because they next thing he knew, all three were focusing their attentions on Blaine. He was crying out in pain, whimpering pleas for them to stop, but the blows had just kept coming. Everything had been hazy to Josh, the world unsteady around him, and he hadn’t been able to move or even shout for them to stop.

The sounds of Blaine’s cries and the cracking of bones had haunted his nightmares for years after.  But the worst had been the moment Blaine had gone silent. There’d been a loud crack and then nothing.

Roy, Nick, and Eric had cursed before running off, not sparing a glance for their victims. Josh had wanted nothing more than to get to Blaine’s side, to call for help, but when he tried to move, the world spun around him and he’d nearly thrown up. As he was recovering from his dizziness, his dad had arrived.

Josh would later find out that his dad had called an ambulance and had ridden with Josh and Blaine to the hospital, but Josh only remembered watching Blaine, pale under all the blood and unmoving, during the ride to the hospital. The last view he’d had of his only friend at Westerville High had been him being wheeled into the emergency room.

Josh’s parents had never been happy with the idea of having a gay son, but the attack at the dance had apparently been the last straw. They’d withdrawn him from Westerville High that Monday and he was attending a Catholic school in Columbus by the end of the week. Josh always assumed his parents were just waiting for an excuse to get him into parochial school, and a gay bashing was a perfect reason to send him somewhere that would try to straighten him out.

The nuns had tried and failed, much to his parents’ dismay.

He’d also been forbidden from getting in touch with Blaine, so he’d never heard what had happened to him. He thought about Blaine occasionally, but mostly tried to put that night out of his mind and had succeeded for the most part, minus the nightmares—that is, until his senior year when he’d read an article in the Westerville Times about the Dalton Academy show choir going to Regionals for the first time in a decade, complete with a picture.

And Blaine had been front and center of the group, blazer and all, giving the camera a polite smile. He’d looked healed for the most part.

Josh wasn’t surprised that Blaine had ended up at Dalton; his family was well off and Dalton had a zero tolerance bullying policy that Josh had wanted to escape behind more than once during his time at Westerville. But his parents couldn’t afford the tuition.

No, he was more surprised to see that Blaine was referred to as a sophomore in the article. He’d only been a year behind Josh at Westerville High. When he realized that Blaine must’ve had to repeat a year because of the dance, Josh had felt sick all over again. But after school he’d looked up Blaine on Facebook and found an active profile filled with friends from Dalton and a lot of posts from a boy named Kurt in particular.

Boyfriend? Josh had wondered. He hoped so; Blaine was a good guy and if anyone deserved to find happiness in the wake of what they’d been through, it was him. He’d checked up on him every now and then, when a phantom pain would run through his wrist, and other boy had mostly seemed happy, and that had given Josh the peace of mind to move on as well.

But that news report, complete with sketches of two of the faces that had haunted his nightmares, had sent Josh back to a parking lot his sophomore year of high school. Shaken, he almost hadn’t heard the reporters add that they were looking for a third attacker in the case. But he’d known. He’d ended up on his knees in front of the toilet, dry heaving when the report had finished, memories coming back in full force.

He’d debated with himself for the next day and a half whether to get involved or not. He knew his parents would want him to have nothing to do with the case—they’d blamed Blaine for the attack since he’d asked Josh to the dance in the first place—but after seeing a newspaper article about the attack on Wednesday, complete with Blaine’s senior picture, he’d given in.

In a compromise, he’d called Westerville PD with an anonymous tip about Eric Matthews, sharing that he’d been the third member of the gang the first time Blaine had been attacked before hanging up.

With a heavy sigh, Josh grabbed his laptop to check the visiting hours for Westerville Memorial.