Chapter 24

The bang made Kurt's ears ring.

It was so loud that it reverberated through his core, echoing off each of his bones and sending shockwaves through his entire trembling body.

The horrific high-pitched scream that followed the gunshot chilled him to the bone.

He didn't even realize that the scream had escaped his own lips.

Then came the blood.

So much blood.

He felt it immediately spray up and splatter across his cheeks.

The warm, thick liquid oozed down his forehead and dribbled into his tightly clenched eyes.

Kurt could feel it trickle down his nose and into his mouth.

The coppery flavored life force snuck past his lips, which had been parted for only a fraction of a second, as he released a silent scream.

Kurt remained fixed in his position on the floor, eyes still clenched tight, too terrified to move even an inch.

This is my fault.

Why didn't I just open my eyes?

The monster shot Blaine.

I'm covered in Blaine's blood.

Blaine is dead.

Kurt Hummel hated funerals.

He never really got the point of them.

The person is dead.

It's not like they're going to care if you sing sad songs and bring lots of flowers.

Someone told him when he was eight that funerals were more for the living, than for the dead.

What the hell does that even mean?

How can this funeral be for me?

I'm not laying in that casket.

I'm not the one who is never going to open my eyes again.

I'm not the one who will never speak again.

I'm not the one who is dead.

Maybe I should be, but I'm not.

Kurt shrugged his shoulders, trying to knock the sudden chill that had found its way up his spine.

It was cold.

Too cold.

Too cold to be outside at some stupid funeral.

He felt a hand press firmly on his shoulder.

The feeling of safety and comfort that usually accompanied his father's loving touch was absent today.

He loved his father.

But today he couldn't feel love towards anyone.

Today he hated the world.

None of this should have happened.

Blaine should never have been in that motel room.

He should never have been beaten up by those bullies two years ago.

He should not have been wrongfully accused by Jeremiah.

Stupid Jeremiah.

His parents should never have kicked him out.

He should never have gotten involved with Sebastian.

Stupid Sebastian.

He should have stayed away from the Dalton Fight Club.

He should have never been in that motel room.

This all started because someone couldn't accept the fact that Blaine was gay.

Then everything had spiraled out of control.

Another chill raced up Kurt's spine, causing him to shiver violently, but it had nothing to do with the ambient temperature.

The motel room.

Kurt was certain that he'd never get the images out of his mind.

He absently raised a hand up and ran his gloved fingers over the white bandage that was taped to the left side of his neck.

It should have been me.

Kurt looked across the cemetery at the small group of people dressed in black standing around the large square hole in the ground.

There weren't many people.

He must not have been that important.

Kurt had made his father promise him before they'd even left for the cemetery that he wouldn't have to go close.

He couldn't.

He didn't want to see their faces.

He didn't want to hear their cries.

So he and Burt had stood off to the side; far enough away that Kurt couldn't hear the words coming from the minister.

He didn't want to hear him talk about him.

He couldn't take it.

There had been hundreds of people at his mother's funeral.

Kurt couldn't recall the events of the entire day but he remembered that people kept hugging him, ruffling his hair, and telling him to be brave.

He didn't understand why he needed to be brave.

His mother had died.

Why did he need to be brave?

Would that bring her back?

No.

The only other funeral that Kurt had ever attended was for his hamster that had died when he was eleven.

It was a sad day.

He and his father had stood in the backyard over the tiny grave.

Burt had looked (and felt) awkward, but he'd never tell Kurt that.

They'd dressed up in their finest outfits and had a fitting service.

This was different.

Today was not a fitting service.

Kurt didn't want to even be at the cemetery.

He had better places to be.

Anywhere but here.

Burt had told him it was important that he get closure.

What does that even mean?

Closure.

It's not like I'm ever going to forget what happened.

Kurt instinctively closed his eyes, trying to calm his trembling nerves.

I shouldn't be here.

I should be…

Within seconds of closing his eyes, a wave of fear bubbled in his chest and he ripped them open desperately.

I can't close my eyes.

I have to keep them open.

He hadn't slept since… that night.

Every time he closed his eyes he could hear it.

See it.

Feel it.

It just wouldn't go away.

The cries.

The screams.

The blood.

Kurt looked over as he noticed the people moving away from the hole in the ground.

They were lowering the casket.

He felt a sudden flash of panic flood his chilled veins.

He's going away now.

Forever.

I won't ever see him again.

He's dead.

DEAD.

Kurt began trembling underneath his father's strong grip.

The cries.

The screams.

The blood.

He felt his knees begin to quiver slightly and vaguely heard his father ask him if he was okay.

His breathing became rapid and his head started to spin.

The cries.

The screams.

The blood.

Tendrils of darkness grew at the corners of his eyes.

Please… don't let me fall asleep!

He always comes back when I fall asleep!

Kurt desperately struggled to keep his eyes open, but they felt so… heavy.

The cries.

The screams.

The blood.

Blaine.

Oh god, Blaine.

He felt his father turn him around as he stood on shaky legs.

His knees finally gave out and he felt himself fall.

But he never hit the ground.

He was gasping now.

The cries.

The screams.

The blood.

He could feel the burning in his chest from a lack of circulating oxygen.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a brief flash of Blaine's smiling face, complete with those beautiful hazel eyes entered his vision.

And then there was darkness.

Burt Hummel hated hospitals.

The smell.

The pristine white… everything.

The constant rushed, anxious feeling that flowed down the ancient hallways.

Burt remembered when Kurt was six and he'd fallen out of the treehouse in the backyard while having a tea party with his friend Mercedes.

They'd rushed the bawling boy to the ER immediately where the doctor was able to reset it and place a cast on it.

A pink cast.

At Kurt's insistence.

The gave him a sucker and a Disney Princess sticker (also at Kurt's insistence) and sent them on their way.

Then there was Elizabeth.

Oh, Elizabeth.

Many, many trips to the hospital.

Doctor's appointments, oncologists, surgeries, and then, during the final few weeks, the palliative care ward.

Oh, Elizabeth. I could use your wisdom right now.

Burt sighed, looking back at the face of the pale boy lying curled up on his side in the hospital bed next to him.

I don't know what to do.

You always knew what do to.

Burt adjusted his position in the unforgivingly hard white plastic chair.

His ass was asleep… again.

He should be used to this by now.

Keeping vigil at the bedside of one he loved.

It was eight years ago that his sweet Elizabeth had passed away. Ripped away from her loving family far too early.

Burt had hoped he'd never have to do this again.

He wasn't sure if he could handle it.

Unknowing if the boy in the bed next to him would ever be the same again.

Kurt shouldn't have to deal with something this… awful.

No one should.

Burt sighed again, contently watching the slow rise and fall of the boy's breathing.

I should have done something.

I should have done more.

The boy's breath catches, disrupting the steady pattern of inhalations and exhalations.

Burt's eyes widened when he saw the familiar pale face scrunch up in discomfort.

He's dreaming again.

He reached his hand out and placed it gently on top of the pale, much smaller fingers on the bed.

He couldn't help but notice the similarity in the pigment of the boy's hand and the color of the pristine white hospital sheets.

He gave the cool fingers a tender squeeze, leaned in and whispered softly.

"It's okay… it's going to be okay, son."

After painting soothing patterns into the back of the boy's knuckles with his large callused thumb, Burt moved his fingers up and gently spun the green plastic hospital bracelet around the boy's thin, bony wrist.

He's too skinny.

He's always been too skinny.

"You're going to be okay." He whispered again.

He continued this repetitive routine; gentle whispers of hope and strength followed by tender touches of this fingers.

Burt's exhausted eyelids became heavy, and soon he fell under his own hypnotic spell and quietly drifted away.

It's several minutes later when he wakes up with a start. He instinctively glanced over to the bed once again, but this time he is pleasantly surprised to see a pair of wide eyes staring back at him.

"You're awake!" Burt smiled, clearing his throat. "I thought you were going to sleep forever!"

After receiving no response what so ever, Burt then realized with a pang in his chest, that the large, sad eyes are not staring at him, but rather looking right past him.

They were empty.

There was no focus in them at all.

"Hey buddy, can you hear me?"

Nothing. The eyes continued to stare aimlessly past him.

"It's okay son, you're safe now."

Burt's heart leaped when the sad eyes flickered slightly.

The boy slowly, carefully moved his eyes towards him and this time came to rest equally with his own.

They're still empty.

Lifeless.

Hopeless.

Helpless.

Burt cautiously lifted his hand up and placed it onto of the bed, mere inches away from the pale white one that was now firmly clenching at those pristine white sheets.

Clenching so hard that his knuckles looked impossibly translucent.

He didn't want to scare him.

"It's just me here, okay?" Burt whispered softly. "No one else is here."

The boy's eyes slip out of contact with Burt's and he realizes that he is looking around the room slowly.

"You're at the hospital." Burt affirmed, inching his hand slightly closer to the one clenched on the bed.

After receiving no hint of response, Burt quietly cleared his throat and continued.

"Do you… remember what happened?"

The eyes drifted closed and his eyebrows furrowed deeply as though painfully trying to hide the horrific memories, which plagued his vision.

Several minutes later, the pair of eyes popped open once again and the boy glanced around the room frantically.

Burt doesn't need to ask.

He knows exactly what those pained eyes are looking for.

Or rather who.

Even after all that had happened, he was still so worried about his friend.

Burt sat up straighter in his chair and gently took hold of the boy's trembling hand.

The fingers tremble slightly inside of his own, and he didn't miss the tiny flinch at the initial contact.

The boy's eyes returned to meet Burt's, wide and uncertain.

"He's okay." Burt confirms.

The boy in the bed looked doubtful.

"Kurt just went downstairs to get a coffee. He should be back any minute."

Blaine's eyes instantly relax, just slightly, and his hand became less rigid inside of Burt's.

The elder Hummel's chest ached when he saw the look of relief, mixed with guilt, sorrow and devastation cross the boy's bruised and battered face.

"He's gonna be pissed that you woke up without him."

The boy returned his gaze to the floor, every shred of emotion erased from his face.

"He's been sitting here with you ever since…" Burt hesitated. "… ever since you got here."

Blaine's eyes still didn't leave their fixed position.

"I basically had to push him out the door to go eat after 19 straight hours of him sitting here watching you sleep." Burt said with a chuckle.

There was still no response from the curly-haired boy.

Burt had hoped that his attempted humor would take away some of the sadness from the boy's honey-brown eyes, but it almost looked as though the sadness was now swirled with hints of guilt.

"It's not your fault Blaine." Burt reassured softly. "You didn't do anything wrong."

His heart breaks a little more as he sees the lonely tear stream down the boy's cheek as he nestled himself further into the bed, trying his hardest to keep his eyes averted from the older man sitting next to him.

He just looks… broken.

Burt couldn't understand how Blaine had even survived the atrocities that he'd been living through over the past several weeks.

Or months.

No one was really sure when things had gotten so bad.

As it had turned out, Kurt had wisely taken a friend with him when he'd gone back to the motel.

Nick…something.

As Burt understood it, Kurt had left the other teenager in the car while he went searching inside the motel room.

Apparently that creepy fuck of a motel manager had recognized Kurt's vehicle and had been waiting in the parking lot to attack the boys when they returned to the car.

Burt had been riddled with guilt ever since he'd learned that it had indeed been the manager who'd been hurting Blaine all this time.

He'd known that something had been off with that disgusting pig of a man.

But he'd done nothing about it.

And he'd almost forced his son to…

Burt shuddered.

No. I can't think about that again.

When only Nick had returned to the vehicle, the manager had bashed him in the head with the butt of a pistol, knocking him unconscious and had then gone inside to find Kurt.

Nick had suffered a moderate concussion, but woke up a little while later, and immediately called the police with Kurt's phone that had luckily been in the car.

The police arrived minutes later and once Nick had told them what had transpired, they immediately knocked down the door of the adjoining motel room.

They'd walked in on the man pointing a gun towards Blaine and forcing Kurt to his knees.

The seasoned officers reacted instantaneously and fired off an immediate kill shot.

The monster was dead.

The moment he'd gotten the call from the police that snowy afternoon, Burt had gone into protective papa mode, quickly rushing to the hospital to check on the status of the two injured boys.

Kurt had been brought to the hospital in the same ambulance as Blaine.

Apparently he'd hysterically screamed his way into the back of the truck because he wouldn't let go of Blaine's hand.

Kurt had suffered a deep laceration to the left side of his neck, but fortunately it had missed the carotid artery by less than an inch.

When they'd pulled him out of the motel room, he'd been covered in blood, with his eyes tightly closed.

The police that had arrived on scene said he was rocking back and forth repetitively whispering 'I can't. I'm sorry, I can't.' over and over again.

They said it took them more than fifteen minutes to convince him to open his eyes.

Once he had, Kurt realized that it wasn't Blaine who'd been shot and he'd desperately clung to the unresponsive boy from that moment on.

By the time the ambulance arrived at the motel room, Blaine had fallen unconscious again.

The paramedics said he was severely dehydrated, malnourished and in a complete state of shock.

He was almost dead.

Once they got him to the hospital, he'd been immediately stabilized then moved upstairs to the surgical ward.

He'd required reconstructive surgery to repair the damage to his left shoulder. The doctors couldn't believe how he'd been able to tolerate the pain it must have been causing him for so long.

The doctors also mentioned that Blaine had many other unhealed fractures.

They figured some of the damage was from his attack two years prior.

The rest Blaine had acquired in the months since then.

Blaine also had extensive internal damage where he'd been forced into penetrative sex.

It had taken the surgical team three hours to repair the carnage.

The doctors told Burt that the damage was so significant that Blaine would likely be unable to walk for at least a week.

Maybe two.

Besides being extremely malnourished and dehydrated, Blaine was treated for many superficial injures as well.

His left wrist was severely sprained.

Bruising and burns on his wrists and ankles from being shackled and bound.

Several broken ribs from when he'd apparently failed in trying to fight back.

Deep lacerations across his back from being whipped and flogged.

And a tiny fracture to the right side of his jaw.

Likely from being punched.

But the injuries that the doctors were most concerned with were not broken bones or internal damage.

The emotional and psychological scars would be the worst.

The doctors kept Blaine chemically sedated for six days following his admission to the hospital.

They said if he'd waken up from that kind of traumatic experience in that much pain…

Burt couldn't fathom what had kept the boy alive this long.

He had sat with Kurt in the conference room across from the ER during his son's police interview the morning after he had been brought to the hospital.

Burt had had to bite his tongue and hold back tears of anger, disgust and sorrow listening to his son tell of the horrific events surrounding that afternoon.

Kurt described the room that Blaine had been held in, which had made Burt's skin crawl, but when he'd told the police that Blaine had been kept in a cage… Burt had to immediately excuse himself from the room.

He'd barely made it to the men's room down the hall before he found himself dry heaving into the white porcelain toilet.

While waiting for the nurse to finish checking the stitches in Kurt's neck the following day, Burt had overheard two police officers standing in the hallway discussing the ongoing investigation.

He'd only heard bits and pieces of the conversation, but it was more than enough to make his skin crawl and his blood boil.

Shackles.

Chains.

Ropes.

Whips.

Gags and blindfolds.

Cameras.

A box filled with videotapes.

Multiple sexual predators.

Apparently Blaine had been pimped out to the highest bidder, sexually assaulted numerous times, and the videos sold online.

Burt had turned green upon hearing this new information and had to immediately find a different hallway to wait in for Kurt.

Carole had come to the hospital upon hearing the news. She'd sat with Burt, the pair consoling each other as they waited for the doctor's come out and give them permission to go in and see Kurt.

They'd rotated shifts, one of them constantly sitting at Blaine's site, anxiously awaiting his return to consciousness.

Kurt had left his side only a handful of times to shower and change his clothes.

His son had been devastated to learn that Blaine was going to be unconscious for nearly a week.

Burt could feel the pull that Blaine had on his son.

It was a deep bond like Burt had never seen before.

Kurt remained at Blaine's side the entire six days, aside from his regular check ups and bathroom breaks.

And the funeral.

Looking back, Burt had concluded that his plan to help Kurt deal with the traumatic events by taking him to the funeral had backfired.

Kurt had experienced a panic attack and passed out.

He'd only wanted to show Kurt that the man was dead.

He'd never have to see him again.

He couldn't hurt anyone anymore.

Blaine was safe now.

The Anderson's had yet to make an appearance.

Apparently they were off in France on holidays and weren't able to make it back for another few weeks.

Go figure.

One of the police detectives that had interviewed Kurt said that they'd finally got a returned phone call from Mr. Anderson four days after they'd found Blaine.

His first question: Does the press know it was him?

Burt growled internally as he recalled the look of horror that had crossed the other detective's face when he'd heard that.

He looked back at Blaine, who'd once again closed his eyes and had slipped into a restless slumber.

He grabbed the boy's hand once again and whispered softly.

"I'm never letting you out of my sight again."

Nick had stopped by several days ago to visit Kurt and the then-comatose Blaine after he'd been released from hospital. He'd suffered a fairly significant concussion from the blow to the head.

His doctor had told him to go home and take it easy, that he'd have a pretty nasty headache for a few days.

The police estimated that he'd gotten off easily.

He could very well have been murdered.

The brunette boy had been very shy about popping his head into Blaine's hospital room door. Kurt was sleeping restlessly in the chair besides Blaine's bed and he'd never met Burt before.

But when the Elder Hummel realized who Nick was, he'd all but run to the lanky teenager and held him in a tight embrace, thanking him repeatedly for saving the lives of the two battered boys.

Burt and Nick had made small talk for a few minutes, and Burt promised to let Kurt know that Nick had stopped in when he woke up.

Nick smiled and nodded, and then had promised Burt that he wouldn't tell anyone, aside from the police of course, what had happened in the motel room that afternoon.

Nick's father, Michael Duval, was a prominent lawyer and had advised his son that the media was already going to have a field day with this story, so it was important to try and salvage what little dignity Blaine had left.

After several minutes of silence, Burt was alerted to another presence in the room.

Kurt.

"Hey buddy." Burt said, sitting up in his chair once again and looking at his son with concerned-filled eyes. "Did you find some coffee?"

Kurt nodded.

He padded silently towards the bed, headed towards the chair he'd all but inhabited over the past few days.

As he approached the bed, he suddenly realized that Blaine's eyes were open for the first time in six days.

The cup of stale hospital coffee hit the floor with a splash.

"Blaine!" He gasped.

It was the most emotion he'd showed since his father had brought him back from the monster's funeral.

Blaine's eyes remained fixed on the wall as Kurt moved around the puddle of coffee on the floor and into his line of vision.

"Blaine?" Kurt whispered, leaning into the boy. "Are you okay?"

Of course he's not okay.

Kurt chided himself and tried a different approach.

"I'm here now Blaine. You don't have to be alone anymore."

He gently placed his hand onto Blaine's left shoulder, which remained securely supported in a blue fabric sling.

Kurt's chest ached when he felt Blaine wince and pull away from the contact.

Burt subtly coughed, gaining Kurt's attention, and quietly whispered.

"Just be careful how you touch him for a little while, okay? He's going to be a little jumpy."

Kurt nodded.

"You should probably ask his permission first."

Another sad nod.

Kurt pulled his hand away and turned back to where the lifeless boy remained lying on the bed, unmoving and unfazed.

"It's okay now Blaine." He cried softly. "You don't have to be scared anymore."

Blaine's eyes finally flickered slowly away from the point on the wall that he'd been staring at until they met Kurt's wide ocean-blue orbs.

The lack of life in Blaine's normally gorgeous hazel eyes sent a shudder through Kurt's soul.

He faked a smile and tried his best to look... positive.

"Hi" he whispered. "I'm glad you're back."

Blaine's stare remained on Kurt's eyes for several seconds before it slowly drifted down to the white bandage covering a large portion of his neck.

Blaine's face instantly fell, going from completely emotionless to a pure state of guilt.

Kurt recognized the look immediately and placed his fingers over the bandage.

"It's not your fault Blaine." He whispered. "You didn't cause this."

Blaine stared at the other teen's neck sadly for several seconds before casting this eyes downwards in shame.

"It's not so bad." Kurt said softly. "The doctors did a good job stitching it. But it will likely leave a pretty good scar."

Blaine's face fell further, looking even sadder than Kurt had deemed possible.

Smart move Hummel.

Why don't you just punch him in the face?

Fix this.

"It's too bad that I'm gay." He quipped. "You know they always say that chicks dig scars."

Not even a blink.

Finally after several more minutes of awkward silence, Blaine painfully adjusted his position, intentionally turning his head away from Kurt with a wince.

Devastated, Kurt looked to his father, who'd been sitting next to Blaine, watching the exchange.

What did I do wrong?

Burt couldn't believe the strength in Kurt's voice while he'd been talking to Blaine.

He knew he had to be terrified.

Scarred in more ways than one.

But he was holding himself together for this sad little boy lying on the bed in front of him.

He'd never been so proud.

But right now, his brave son looked shattered.

After days of his almost constant vigil at Blaine's bedside, Kurt had been anxiously awaiting the boy's awakening.

This was obviously not what he'd planned.

Time to intervene.

"Blaine," Burt spoke softly as he stood from his chair, ignoring the shooting pain in his hip from hours of inactivity.

"It's okay now buddy. You don't need to act brave anymore. You're allowed to be afraid and it's okay to cry."

Nothing.

Blaine remained motionless on the bed, curled up on his right side staring straight ahead, tightly clenching his fingers into the pillow under his head.

Burt knelt in front of him, directly in his line of vision.

"You're safe here buddy."

Moisture gathered at the corners of Blaine's eyes, but he turned his body painfully away once again, stubbornly averting his gaze.

He tucked his chin tightly into his chest and nestled his face deep into the blankets around him and forced his eyes closed, allowing a single tear to squeeze its way out.

Burt resigned his efforts and stood up from his place on the floor, causing his knees to pop several times in the process.

He looked sadly and Kurt and shook his head. "I think there's just too much going through his head right now."

Kurt looked at his father for a moment, as if processing this information, then turned suddenly and dashed out of the room.

Burt's heart thudded inside his chest.

Where'd he go?

Surely he hasn't run away?

I hate letting either of my boys out of my sight, even for just a moment.

Is he freaked out that Blaine won't talk to him?

This poor boy has been through so much. He likely doesn't want to talk to anyone.

Ever again.

I don't blame the kid.

Burt anxiously paced the hospital room, and was just about to call someone from the nursing staff to sit with Blaine so he could go searching when Kurt rushed back into the room, obviously out of breath.

"Kurt?" His father asked, looking at his son for an explanation of his sudden disappearance.

"Dad… can you… give us a minute?"

Burt looked at Kurt warily, looked back over to where Blaine still lay motionless in the hospital bed before nodding hesitantly.

"I need to go home and shower." He announced, loud enough that Blaine could undoubtedly hear him as well. "I will come back here in a little bit okay?"

Kurt nodded before giving his father a long, deep hug.

"Thank you." He whispered.

'Take care of him." Burt instructed, nodding towards the bed. "He needs you right now."

Kurt nodded.

"If you need anything, you push the call button. I'll tell the nurses to stay close."

Another nod.

Burt sighed, taking one last look at both of his boys before slowly turning and walking out of the room.

Kurt gingerly walked over to where Blaine lay quietly.

He wasn't sleeping.

Kurt knew that for a fact.

"Blaine." He whispered softly, pulling something out of his pocket. "I have something for you."

Blaine never stirred.

Kurt unwound the headphones from around his iPod and pulled them out. He quickly flipped through, selecting a playlist and finding the perfect song.

He pulled the white plastic chair over closer to Blaine's side.

"I like to listen to music to clear my head." He said gently. "I hope it works for you too."

He pressed play and gracefully began to paint intricate designs on the back of Blaine's forearm in time with the music.

This time Blaine never flinched away from the feather-light contact.

The delicate notes of an instrumental version of 'Teenage Dream' flowed through the silence and Kurt couldn't help but smile when he felt Blaine's hand squeeze gently inside his own.

He laid his head down next to Blaine on the soft white linens and closed his eyes for the first time in far too long.

Both boys drifted to sleep peacefully.

A harsh whimper tore Kurt from his restful slumber about an hour later.

He sat up in his chair suddenly, wincing at the crick in his neck, but his pain was quickly washed away when he saw the state of the boy in the bed next to him.

Blaine's face was tightly screwed up in a mess of agony and fear. His eyebrows were knit so tightly together, that Kurt could barely see any skin between them.

His head was thrashing fearfully side to side and pained, terrified whimpers slipped through his bruised lips.

Kurt quickly pushed the chair back, knelt on the floor by the bed and gently took Blaine's right hand inside his own. With his other hand, he reached up and pushed a sweat-soaked curl out of the boy's face.

"It's okay Blaine. I'm here." He cooed softly. "I'm here."

Blaine's eyes flashed open, startling Kurt, and the boy sat up in bed with a terrified gasp, which elicited even more pain.

He leaned to the side, desperate to catch his breath, falling heavily into Kurt's awaiting arms.

"Shhhh Blaine…" Kurt said soothingly, rubbing circles into Blaine's damp back.

"You're okay. It was just a nightmare."

Slowly, Blaine regained the ability to breathe, albeit through clenched teeth, but he remained sitting up in the bed, in obvious discomfort.

He was too afraid to move, knowing the amount of pain any change in his current position was going to undoubtedly cause.

Kurt remembered the nurses telling him that Blaine was going to be in an immense amount of pain for the next while, and that he would only be able to sleep on his right side.

"Blaine?" He whispered softly. "I'm going to help you lie back down, okay?"

The terrified boy remained upright, with his jaw still tightly clenched and his eyes pressed closed.

A wave of relief flooded Kurt when he saw Blaine nod subtly.

"Okay." He instructed. "Lean into me and I'm going to lay you down slowly."

Another tiny nod.

After a moment of extreme agony, including several loud gasps and cries, Kurt had successfully maneuvered Blaine into his preferred position of comfort.

Curled up tightly on his right side.

He had a small pillow wedged between himself and the side rail of the hospital bed that the nursing staff had been using to keep his slinged left shoulder propped up with. His right arm was bent underneath his head, so his face was nestled deep in the crook of his elbow.

His right hand remained at the back of his head, with his fingers tangled into a mess of black curls.

Blaine's teeth remained clenched and his eyes were still closed tightly as he struggled to control his breathing.

The move had obviously taken a lot out of him.

"Blaine, can I please hold your hand?" Kurt asked, he hated to see Blaine in so much agony.

A weak nod from the other teen was all he needed.

He pushed his chair right up beside him and pulled his trembling hand away from the back of his head.

The moment Blaine felt Kurt's fingers intertwine with his own, he desperately squeezed his hand.

Kurt was surprised by the sudden contact, but encouraged Blaine by giving a reciprocated squeeze.

'That's it Blaine, squeeze my hand. As hard as you need to."

The grip tightened.

Kurt placed his other hand on top of Blaine's forehead and pushed away several more sweat-drenched curls.

"You're doing so good." He whispered. "Keep breathing for me, alright? In and out. In and out."

Blaine followed Kurt's lead and began to focus on his respirations.

After several minutes of coaching, Kurt felt the grip on his hand loosen slightly.

He could see now that tears were streaming steadily down Blaine's cheeks so he moved his second hand to the boy's face and began gently wiping each tear away with his thumb.

"It's going to be okay now, Blaine." He whispered, leaning in and lightly pressing his lips to the boy's forehead. "It's going to be okay."

Blaine finally allowed his eyes to slip open at the gentle contact and looked deeply into Kurt's loving blue eyes.

They stared at each other for several moments before Blaine's lower lip trembled slightly.

"I-I'm sorry" It was the most painful sound Kurt had ever heard.

"Oh, Blaine." He cried. He was shocked that the boy had spoken but not entirely surprised by his choice of words. "It's not your fault, honey."

Kurt moved closer and gently lifted Blaine's head in his arms and held his face into his chest.

Blaine broke.

The tears flooded down his face and he was left in a state of constant, heavy sobs.

Kurt pressed himself as close to the boy as he dared without risking the chance of inflicting further pain.

He gently ran his fingers though Blaine's dark curls, and pressed his lips to the top of his head.

"You're okay now, sweetheart. You're okay."

The cries and sobs coming from Blaine were wracking his entire body, each eliciting another painful wince from the hysterical boy.

"Blaine." Kurt cried. "You have to try and slow your breathing for me again."

Nothing seemed to be consoling him.

"Blaine?" Kurt asked. "Can I please hold you?"

It was another minute before Blaine had composed himself enough to reply.

He looked up at Kurt from underneath his long, soggy eyelashes and nodded.

Kurt gently laid Blaine's head back down on the pillow and made his way to the other side of the bed. He didn't want to risk further injuring Blaine's shoulder, or disrupting any of the numerous IV lines or the urinary catheter tubing by crawling over top of him.

When Blaine felt the sensation of someone approaching him from behind, his mind instantly re-entered panic mode and his whole body tensed up.

Kurt noticed the sudden change and immediately realized what he'd done.

"Blaine, honey." He said, rushing back around the bed until he stood in front of Blaine's panic-stricken face. "It's just me. It's Kurt."

Blaine nodded between sobs before slowly opening his eyes.

"N-not like that." He stuttered. "I h-have t-to see that it's y-you."

Kurt's heart felt weak as he realized the impact behind Blaine's words.

"Of course Blaine." He said quietly. "Can I sneak in on this side?"

Blaine hesitated initially, but then pulled the pillow that was wedged between him and the rail and threw it on the ground weakly, leaving a perfect Kurt-sized empty space in it's wake.

He looked up at the beautiful boy standing over him and nodded.

Kurt's heart flooded with warmth at Blaine's gesture of trust and he slowly lowered the side rail and slipped into the bed beside him, careful to not bump him unnecessarily.

At the new level of closeness, Blaine's heart began to race once again and he closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down.

As soon as Kurt was nestled in tightly beside him, he reached an arm around Blaine's torso and pulled himself closer to the trembling teenager.

"Shhh… it's okay." Kurt whispered. "It's okay."

Kurt pressed his hand gently onto the top of Blaine's left shoulder, still firmly secured into his chest and rubbed gentle circles into his tense muscles.

"I've got you, Blaine." Kurt cooed. "I'm never gonna let go."

He turned his body carefully so he was lying face to face with Blaine, only mere centimeters separating their noses and gently leaned in, until his forehead came into contact with Blaine's.

Within seconds of this new touch, Blaine's breathing slowed and his sobs became less frequent.

Kurt leaned in even further until their noses touched, and gently nuzzled Blaine's with his own.

He closed his eyes.

This time Kurt didn't see the monster.

He didn't feel or even taste the blood.

He didn't hear the screams.

Or the cries.

He felt Blaine.

Pure and beautiful Blaine.

"I'm never gonna let go."

It was about an hour or so later when a young blonde nurse from Blaine's recovery ward stepped inside the room and saw the scene before her.

Blaine was curled up in the arms of the same boy that hadn't left his side since they'd arrived by ambulance so many days ago.

They were both sound asleep.

She tilted her head in wonder, not able to fathom how the damaged boy who'd been through so much devastation, could ever allow anyone close enough to touch him.

Let alone climb into his bed and hold him.

They must have such a strong bond.

Soulmates.

She glanced up and saw Mr. Hummel resting peacefully in the white plastic chair next to the bed.

The nurse wasn't certain, but she could almost swear that there was a gentle smile playing at his lips as he snored quietly.

She quietly tiptoed through the room and picked up the discarded pillow off the floor by the bed.

She gently lifted the man's head forward and was just about to place the pillow behind his neck when he opened his eyes in semi-shock. The nurse silently cursed herself before stepping back from the man and offering him the pillow, which he accepted gratefully.

She smiled and took another peek back at the sleeping boys before leaning into Burt and whispering.

"They're adorable. Are they… together?"

Burt also risked a peek behind the nurse and took in the scene with a grin.

He redirected his smile to the young nurse and answered with a mischievous wink.

"Not yet."