March 29, 2013 8:20 AM

"Hey, Blaine."

The room smelled like rubber. Kurt lingered in the doorway.

"...I'm sorry I haven't been around in a while."

Pastel pink walls.

"I came for Thanksgiving, but Dad said you were spending it in Columbus."

Curtain around the bed, half-open.

Kurt sniffed and walked towards the chair by the bed.

"I should have come home for Christmas. I, um—"

Kurt stopped. There were various machines surrounding Blaine's bed, all whose functions about which Kurt had no clue. Wires were creeping from the machines under a loose blanket that covered most of Blaine. It was pulled nearly up to his neck, and Kurt followed the path of the wires.

He saw his shoulder first, his left shoulder, and though it was wrapped, he could see it sticking out all wrong, too sharp; and then his right arm, encased in a cast; he could make out a bruise on the naked collar between them. Then his eyes went to Blaine's face and he felt cold. A long white bandage covered the top of his head all the way to his temple. His eyes were closed and sunken, his left cheek bruised. A white strip covered part of his mouth and nose, and from the center of the strip, a plastic tube snaked its way into his mouth, forcing his lips to part. His jaw was slack. He looked much thinner than the last time Kurt had seen him, thinner than the last photo he'd posted to Facebook, half a picture, him grinning in the sun with the arm of some unknown cut out boy slung around his shoulders.

Burt had told him it would be bad. Kurt hadn't expected it to be this bad. It was not beautiful. It was not poetic. There was no sunlight wafting through the window to caress Blaine's cheek, and if there had been, it would not have seemed warm at all. Kurt reeled with a sudden wave of nausea and eased himself into the chair beside Blaine's bed.

He breathed hard for a long minute, keeping his head turned away from the bed. Finally, he felt his body relax enough for him to look over. The fingers of Blaine's left hand peeked from under his blankets. Kurt reached for them tentatively and brushed them with his own. He stared at Blaine's hand to keep himself from looking at Blaine's face. He could almost pretend everything was fine, except that Blaine's fingers were pale and bonier than he remembered—he hadn't held them in over a year—and as he stroked Blaine's hand, the heel of his hand kept touching one of the wires that were monitoring him or keeping him alive or doing something else that Kurt didn't understand at all.

Blaine moved, suddenly, jerked in his sleep. Kurt looked at him, alarmed.

"Blaine."

His eyes didn't open.

Kurt let their fingers entwine fully.

Blaine twitched again and a breath shuddered out of him. Kurt yanked his hand back, afraid he'd hurt him.

"Blaine? It's okay."

Blaine's mouth opened and closed around the tube. Kurt reached for his hand again, suddenly overwhelmed by the need to comfort him and be comforted himself.

"Blaine." It was all he could say. His name. He couldn't think of any other words right now, just Blaine, Blaine, Blaine, wake up, Blaine.

Blaine jerked again. Kurt clung to him, but this time he didn't stop jerking, and Kurt stood from the chair and leaned closer, tightening his grip on Blaine's hand. He punched the call button and put his hand on Blaine's head, trying to still him.

"Blaine!" he cried, as if shouting would make it better, but Kurt felt panic rising in his throat and the volume of his voice rose with it and it felt uncontrollable to him. Blaine began to moan around the tube in his mouth and his shoulders rose and fell as if he was being hit again and again, while the various beeping monitors around him were sounding off erratically and frantically. And no one was coming, hadn't he hit that button forever ago, what was taking so long? Why wasn't anyone coming? "Someone, help!"

Two nurses ran in and called out for a third. They didn't make Kurt leave, or maybe they tried and he just didn't notice, because he was still gripping Blaine's hand with both of his while they moved around him and he couldn't hear anything anymore except for his own voice saying, "Stay with me, it's gonna be okay, stay here, Blaine!"

Two nurses rolled Blaine to one side and they spoke but Kurt couldn't listen. Another gently pushed Kurt until he stepped aside so they could adjust the wires and the tubes and the IV.

Blaine stilled. His head drifted down to his pillow and his mouth went slack again. The nurses rolled him back onto his back and opened his eyes, checked his pulse, pulled back one lip to look in his mouth. The erratic beeping slowed and became normal again, a rhythmic electronic pulse in the background that comforted Kurt.

Kurt pressed his forehead to Blaine's chest and murmured thanks to the nurses, thanks to the machines, thanks to Blaine. He kept his hands clasped around Blaine's and his head down and he didn't even notice when the nurses left. He didn't notice his feet start to hurt, he didn't notice the cramp in his arm, he didn't notice anything else until Burt came in and wrapped his arms around his son and tugged at him until he turned and let his dad hold him the way he had when his mom was in the hospital and he couldn't get her to talk to him no matter how many times he said her name.

Burt didn't say anything. He just hugged Kurt. He looked down at Blaine over Kurt's shoulder, and at the hand that was over the covers now, the one Kurt had been holding, and silently prayed.