-.-
Most of what I remember makes me sure
I should have stopped you from walking out the door
You could be happy, I hope you are
You made me happier than I’d been by far

Somehow everything I own smells of you
And for the tiniest moment it's all not true
Do the things that you always wanted to
Without me there to hold you back, don’t think, just do
-.-
You Could Be Happy; Snow Patrol



Sometimes, Blaine thinks he’s invisible.


When he was smaller—and things were easier, or at least, easier to understand—Blaine used to think it was his superpower. He was never a vivacious child, shy and precocious as a toddler and only a tad more outgoing as a child; he was always overlooked for someone bigger or louder or smarter than him from active charismatic Cooper to the lousy classmates he had in every class from kindergarten on.


He’s tired of being overlooked, so so tired of being ignored and disregarded for someone bigger and better. He doesn’t know how to fix it, and he has yet to discover how to make it stop. He wishes there was a cure for something like this. He thought he had something with the Warblers, they had brought him back to life when he struggled the most, believed in him and then they had dropped him without a thought when Sebastian entered the picture.


He had been able to pick himself up then. He had had Kurt—sharp tongued, courageous, beautiful Kurt. Kurt had been able to pick him up from the rubble that the Warblers left and hold him close. He had been heartbroken, of course, but he had someone that loved him unconditionally.


It’s all different now. Blaine doesn’t have him. He doesn’t have anyone. He tries to forget that he really is alone.


It really shouldn’t be as reassuring to Blaine that things really haven’t changed much since he was little. His parents are on a Mediterranean Cruise and Cooper is somewhere in the California filming. Kurt is actually in Lima—but he doesn’t like to tease himself. Kurt doesn’t belong with Blaine anymore. He’s stronger, better and more incredible. He deserves New York and fame, not Blaine and his high school problems.


He figures that it should bother him more that no one is really socializing with him or even acknowledging his presence. He knows it’s not about The Break Up—as everyone has taken to calling it—he’s just not good enough friends with them to deserve their attention. Mike fist-bumped him earlier, but immediately went over to Tina; Santana eyed him in a particularly frightening manner before ignoring him to talk with Brittney and Sam, who had been a really good friend the last few weeks, had darted straight to Sugar with a question after warm ups. Marley and Jake are making heart eyes at each other and Ryder is speaking in the corner with Kitty. Unique and Artie are bickering beside him about something, and Blaine isn’t a part of it. He really isn’t a part of anything anymore.


But today, Blaine’s got too much on his mind, and the fact that today’s Sectionals has absolutely nothing to do with it. His stomach really hurts, and he has a throbbing headache. All he wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep off whatever bug is plowing through his immune system, but he can’t because he’s somehow still the lead of New Directions. He was chosen out of the club to lead them; he knows he can do it. He’ll power through the searing stomach pain and rolling nausea with full-fledged avoidance like he does with all of his problems, except somehow, he predicts it might not work out so well in his favor.


“—am I right?”


Blaine looks up from the linoleum to find that Unique, Artie and Joe are watching him expectantly, all eyes on him. He starts, clearing his throat and wincing when somehow the vague motion makes the ache in his side burn deeper. He presses a hand to side as he shrugs apologetically, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”


Unique sighs and gestures impatiently toward Mr. Schuester. Their old glee club teacher is talking frantically to Finn with a wide smile on his face. “Grease was a much better choice, right? I’m so glad I suggested it.”


Artie’s watching him and it takes a minute for Blaine to get it. They exchange confused looks, both a little hesitant to correct her. They’re all a little wary of Wade and Unique’s double diva personality. Sometimes, she seems even worse than Rachel on a bad day. Blaine quirks an eyebrow, “I’m pretty sure Finn was the one to suggest that.”


“Well then I seconded it,” She corrects with a wave of her arm. She’s already off with another rambling comment about something Blaine really doesn’t care about and Blaine drifts again, ignoring her spiel. He watches with a vague sense of d�j� vu as Tina and Mike in the far corner lean closer toward each other. There’s a sad, sweet smile on Tina’s face, and her eyes look more watery than they should. Hesitantly, Mike reaches out and intertwines their fingers, which makes Tina smile for real. It takes barely a second before Mike drags her close to his body and wraps her in a full bodied hug. Blaine turns away before they start making out.


All of the other couples—or not couples—are talking quietly. Santana is whispering with Brittany, tears shining in both of their eyes, but there’s an uncomfortable amount of space in between them that Blaine’s not used to seeing. They’re both shockingly awkward and it makes Blaine very sympathetic. His own heartache joins the laundry list of aches he has when he thinks about Kurt.


That’s another story in itself. Kurt is supposed to come back to Lima for Sectionals and Thanksgiving as a present from the Berrys for keeping Rachel company in New York City, but with the not so recent developments in their relationship Blaine wonders if Kurt will try to avoid Sectionals. It’s a lame excuse, but truth be told, he’s terrified what will happen if Kurt shows up. He doesn’t think that he’d be able to control himself from blubbering heartfelt apologies.


Blaine closes his eyes for just a second. He’s fine—perfectly fine—he’s just having an awful off day. He had woken up late when his alarm didn’t go off, and spent almost ten minutes searching for his missing tie. Once he found it, he tried to force down some breakfast only to conclude his horrible morning by throwing up spectacularly in the bushes outside his house. The awful stomach pain had haunted him from the moment he woke up, and even two hours later, the pain is almost blinding. His head hurts, he’s dizzy and nothing seems to be going well today.


But the crux of the matter is that his stomach hurts so bad that he’s actually thinking that he should tell someone. He doesn’t want to, he’s not the kind of person to expose any weaknesses, but he doesn’t know if he’ll survive prancing around the stage. He presses a flat hand against his side, and nearly groans out loud when the sharpest twinge hits him hard. It feels like his stomach wants to jolt out of his body and Blaine really cannot deal with any more vomiting. He just wants to sleep.


Or sit down.


Honestly, he thinks he’s up for anything that isn’t dancing and performing for a crowd of people who will totally notice if he faints in the middle of a song. He’s thinking about sinking into a chair for some desperately needed rest when suddenly there’s a wave of giddy shouts and enthusiastic squeals. Blaine can’t help notice it, but immediately disregards it when he spots Rachel Berry’s head in the center of the crowd. The glee club had cheered when Santana had walked in, and the same had followed when Mike ambled into the room. It’s nothing new.


It’s a few seconds later, when he’s wrapped both arms around his stomach that he hears it. Tinkling, familiar laughter that almost almost makes Blaine throw up right then and there. He jolts forward, eyes wide and face paling even further.


His eyes race through the crowd expectantly. At Rachel Berry’s elbow, preening under the attention, is Kurt Hummel. Somehow, in the space of two months, Kurt has aged beyond eighteen, looking to all of them like a high class New York socialite. He looks sophisticated and put together and worlds away from poor Blaine, dressed in all black with an outrageous highlighter blue bowtie that matches the other club members. Blaine realizes, with a pit in his stomach, that he did the right thing that awful, horrible night in New York. He doesn’t belong with Kurt.


Kurt’s dressed immaculately—not that Blaine expected Kurt’s fashion sense to wither away without Blaine in his life. He’s wearing extremely tight steel gray skinny jeans and knee high black boots with a thin, soft looking black sweater with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He has a silky gray, black and red printed scarf wrapped around his throat, and just one look at his long pale neck almost sends Blaine reeling backwards into Sam who had come up behind him. Blaine swallows hesitantly as he lets his eyes drift over Kurt’s face, drawing himself into the delicate laugh lines and sweet smile. Even from across the room, Kurt’s eyes are sparkling. Blaine bets, at least, for the moment that they’re a green-blue in the light.


It takes longer than he imagines it would for Kurt’s eyes to find him. His ex-boyfriend—a word that to this day is still hard to swallow—on a second look, actually appears a little nervous. He’s fidgeting just noticeably enough for Rachel to place a gentle hand on his back; they’re clearly both looking for ways to support each other if the way she keeps glancing at Finn is any indication.


Blaine wants to say something. He wants to throw himself into Kurt’s arms and apologize over and over again. He wants Kurt to hold his hand and rub the back of his neck like he always does when Blaine’s sick. He wants to feel loved by Kurt again. He just doesn’t want to be so desperately lonely anymore.


He doesn’t do anything like that and instead, meets Kurt’s eyes hesitantly and offers him a faint nod and smile. Kurt’s eyes are crestfallen, and Blaine looks away, training his eyes on his fingers and desperately trying to ignore the hushed quiet that has fallen over the group as Kurt breaks away from Rachel and cautiously approaches him.


“Blaine?”


He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes against the tears that are suddenly burning. He doesn’t want to cry but just hearing the soft, sweet voice of Kurt speaking to him is enough to make the stabbing pain in his side quiet momentarily. He smiles shakily, looking up at Kurt through his lashes, “Hey, Kurt.”


Kurt stands up a little taller, taking a deep breath like he’s prepared to say something and then deflates, eyes trailing over Blaine’s too pale face, and hunched over position. He seems to change his mind as soon as his mouth opens, words stilted but concerned, “Are you okay? You’re really pale.”


It hits Blaine like a load of bricks that Kurt Hummel—the estranged boyfriend of two months who Blaine cheated on—is the only person to actually ask Blaine if he’s alright. He wonders how it’s possible for Kurt to be so incredible. No matter what’s he’s done, or how pissed off he must be, or how many times he’s probably practiced a speech with Rachel, Kurt still manages to be the only one in a room full of their ‘friends’ who actually cares about him.


He shifts slightly, wincing when the pain deepens unexpectedly, “Just a little sick. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine to perform.”


“We’re gonna kick ass!” Sam crows over Blaine’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around him. He pulls Blaine close to his shoulder and Blaine’s instantly assaulted with a pain that lances up his side as soon as he’s pulled far too fast from his relatively comfortable position.


Kurt seems to notice the grimace that appears on Blaine’s face, lurching forward unconsciously to help Blaine right himself. The others have already moved on or are finally attempting to give them some privacy, and Kurt looks at him more closely. “You look like you’re going to pass out, Blaine,” he gives him a look, one that’s all too familiar and all too painful, “Don’t be a martyr, the glee club can survive without you.”


It doesn’t have quite as much bite as Blaine thinks he intended it to have. He knows that Kurt’s upset still, but the two of them have always had a connection and unfortunately, two months apart aren’t enough for either of them to forget that they cared about each other.


“It’s just a stomachache,” Blaine says in a low voice. He wraps his arms around his stomach again, making sure that his right side is protected from onslaught, “I’ll be okay.”


“Just talk to Finn. He won’t—“


“Kurt Hummel!”


Kurt’s head snaps to attention, eyes gleaming at the sight of Mercedes Jones entering the choir room in a beautiful dress Blaine’s sure he saw in some fashion magazine. And just like that, Blaine’s forgotten once again. Kurt flounces to Mercedes’ side wrapping her up in a huge hug. Sam leaves to watch Mercedes with big sad eyes and Artie rolls off to greet Quinn as she appears a second later in the doorway.


There’s commotion from the large group that’s formed with all of the members; they’re all getting to know each other—newbies mixing with the graduated veterans—and it almost seems picture perfect to Blaine. He’s lost, of course; he’s not one of the original members, and he’s not a new addition either. If he hadn’t made mistakes, if he hadn’t been so weak he could still be their friend. He could still have Kurt’s love, and the glee club’s friendship. He wouldn’t feel so alone


He stands awkwardly on the side, feeling like he’s twelve years old again and lost in the sea. He tries—he always does—but his heart’s not in it, and it’s obviously showing by how many of his old friends only offer a few words before they ignore him. Blaine swallows the hurt and leans against the wall for support, the pain in his stomach reaching a point that even he can’t handle. It doesn’t help that the entire time his eyes are glued to Kurt’s figure, admiring the grace of his body and a beauty of his laugh. It almost hurts worse than the stomach pain.


He’s never more thankful when Finn glances at his watch and claps his hands, “New Directions! We’re on in ten!” His hands are spread wide and the smile on his face is absolutely priceless. Rachel is watching him with a soft smile as she leaves arm in arm with Kurt and Mercedes. “I just want to hear the introduction to Some Nights and then we’re off!”


There’s a scattering of noise as Blaine cracks his eyes open. Artie is spinning in his chair, belting out his solo part and Sam and Tina are harmonizing on the “oh whoa, oh whoa, oh whoa, oh” as the rest of graduates leave the room, laughing and talking excitedly. It takes him a minute, but eventually he pries himself from the wall and gingerly takes his place beside Unique in the semi-circle. She looks at him closely, eyeing his too pale face and splotchy fever-struck cheeks before taking a decisive step toward Artie.


“I’m so excited. This is my first time performing for a crowd!” Marley takes her place next to him, smiling excitedly with all teeth. She fixes the bright neon bow in her hair, and turns to look at him, her smile slowly turning into a frown. She brushes his shoulder with her hand, concern etched onto her pretty features, “Blaine? You okay?”


He wraps his hands around his aching stomach once again, closing his eyes for a minute before giving a noncommittal shrug and a very faint smile, “My stomach hurts.”


“You poor thing,” She cooes, shaking her head, “You look awful, Blaine. Are you sure you can perform?”


He sighs softly, consciously aware of every single body part that moves with him. He flashes a smile anyway, grateful for her compassion. Of all of them, he never expected that only Marley would be aware of how badly he was feeling. “I’ll be fine, Mar—“


“Good luck New Directions!” Mr. Schuester shouts, tearing through their little group to give Finn one last hug goodbye. He looks at all of them, lips pursed in fond expression. “You’ll beat ‘em! Good luck!”


A rousing cheer comes from the group, all of them—but Blaine—whooping and shouting words of encouragement. Marley’s already turned away from him in favor of batting her eyelashes at Ryder and Artie’s double knotting his matching tie. Blaine’s never felt so alone in a crowded room.


“Anderson! Come on, where’s your pep?” Somehow, Mr. Schuester still hasn’t left the room and is watching him with a disappointed expression, “Where’s our lead soloist? Uncross those arms, straighten up!”


“Come on, Blaine,” Finn adds with an encouraging smile as he reaches passed to grab some of sheet music, “Show us what a real soloist looks like.”


“Follow Rachel’s footsteps!” Mr. Schuester cheers with a slightly manic look to his eyes. His old teacher looks like he’s going to dive right into the middle of their huddle at any second. Blaine’s actually preparing himself for another pep talk when Ms. Pillsbury appears with a fond smile and drags him out of the room. Blaine can only be so thankful for the little things.


He thinks it’s ironic. He’s feels like he’s on his way to an execution when normally he’s ecstatic by any chance to perform. He doesn’t want to sing today. He doesn’t want to dance. He doesn’t want to do anything other than fall into his bed in a dead sleep. He hurts and twirling to the beat of some song isn’t going to make the sharp ache in his side any better. Blaine shake his head with a sigh, and tunes into the conversation just as Finn begins to tap out the beat, gesturing vaguely at Brad to play the chord.


Blaine clears his throat and forcibly pulls himself straight with his chin high. He takes a slow breath, joining in just as the group sings the opening phrases. “Some nights I stay up cashing in my bad luck, sometimes I call it a draw. Some nights, I wish that my lips could build a castle. Some night I wish they’d just fall off.”


Ryder and Jake step forward, and the rest of them fall back, twirling into another wider semi-circle. Blaine’s barely going through the motions; his heart is in his throat. He just wants to sit down.


He bumps into Tina as they spin, thrown a step or two off balance in his haste to hurry the beat. She comes to a stop immediately, hands grabbing at him to prevent him from crashing to the floor. He doesn’t even notice at first that everyone is watching; he’s too concerned with making sure he doesn’t wind up sprawled across the floor, or worse, covered in his own vomit. The pain that had gripped him this morning as he climbed out of bed is returning in full.


Tina’s got a firm grip on his arm, and before Blaine realizes it, he’s bent double with his hands on his knees and his eyes tightly shut. He can feel, more than hear or see, someone come up behind him and place a steadying hand on his back. Finn is mumbling, and someone pushes him gently toward the seats with their bags.


When he’s finally seated, taking slow easy breaths, the pain lessens enough and his head clears enough that he’s able to raise his head and nod slowly at everyone circled around him. Finn is kneeling in front of him, pulling his head upward. “Blaine? You with us? What happened?”


Blaine clears his throat, nodding gratefully as one of the newly added freshmen members thrust a water bottle into his hand and scurries behind Unique. His hands are shaking as he uncaps it, but he manages to look reasonably okay as he meets Finn’s eyes, “I’m alright. I promise. I just got a little dizzy.”


“You were spinning,” Brittany adds helpfully with a head nod, “Lord Tubbington loves to spin.”


“Do you need to sit out?” Finn asks with his eyes closed, obviously hating that he even has to ask.


“No,” Blaine answers immediately, “I’ll be fine to perform. I just need to rest a minute, I swear.”


“Rest and we’ll see, okay?” Finn’s staring him down, mouth downturned in a frown and gives a short nod, “I don’t want to pull you from the number but if you’re feeling this bad we may need to.”


The others begin to whisper, and the comments he’s imagining are enough to make Blaine jolt into a straighter position, “I’ll be fine, you won’t need to. I promise.”


Finn gives him a dubious look but nods and turns back to the group at large, ordering them to start again without Blaine. There is a faint huff of annoyance and a few eye rolls from a few of the newbies, mostly Kitty and her last minute cheerio friend. Blaine hates being a disappointment, and with a pang of guilt he closes his eyes as they begin the opening vocals. He wishes he was strong enough. He’s heard tales of how Quinn was able to dance through the entire program of Sectionals a few hours before giving birth and he witnessed firsthand Mercedes belting out Lady Gaga after she had severe food poisoning. Even with nausea rolling in his belly, he swallows it down and closes his eyes. He just needs to rest; he’ll be fine.


For the next six minutes, he sits quietly on a hard plastic chair, half-listening as the New Directions sing ‘Some Nights’ and hoping that he doesn’t actually throw up. He thinks about his solo and tries not to think too desperately about needing Kurt. When Finn calls them together for a huddle, Blaine gingerly takes to his feet, answering Finn’s unasked question with nod.


They step soundly across the stage, the rest of New Directions arranging themselves in the proper positions to harmonize for Blaine’s very personal solo piece. Blaine stands in front of the most central microphone and grips the stand for extra support. The band begins to play as the lights rise and Blaine has a few bars to push his nerves and fears away before Brad starts the piano part. He automatically searches through the crowd for Kurt, but the spotlights are too bright and he feels a little bit dizzy. He’s still searching when he begins to sing,


A warning sign
I missed the good part, then I realized.
I started looking and the bubble burst
I started looking for excuses

Come on in
I’ve gotta tell you what a state I’m in
I’ve gotta tell you in my loudest tone
That I started looking for a warning sign
When the truth is, I miss you
Yeah the truth is, that I miss you so


******


The performance induced high Blaine anticipated would carry him through the judging period with no pain ends as soon as he steps into the backstage area following their performance. The others are cheering and babbling compliments, while Blaine hangs back, finding that he’s chilled to the bone and the fierce ache that had fleetingly disappeared in a rush of adrenaline is back with a vengeance.


His fist is clenched in the material of his pants, and he can barely keep a murmur from leaving his lips when the pain crests at an almighty high. He’s finding it comes in waves, dizziness and pain washing over him like a tide and leaving him wrung out and shaking. His heartbeat is rushing in his ears, and his head is spinning so badly that Blaine slowly folds his upper body over his legs, breathing hard.


He tries to edge away from the group as he doesn’t want to ruin their happiness at a good performance, but his legs are like jelly and all semblance of control falls apart when he manages to accidentally lean against Sam. Someone touches his shoulder and someone else slings an arm around his back. He knows people are talking, but it takes too much energy to listen and Blaine’s concentrating far too hard on staying upright.


A strong, warm hand cups his chin, and when he flickers his eyes open, Finn’s standing right in front of him, eyes wide in panic. Finn’s speaking, but it’s garbled to Blaine’s ears. The throbbing pain that had been manageable before, is now cracking his self-control now. It’s fiery sharp and stabbing—easily the worst pain Blaine has ever felt in his life and he’s been through a lot of pain.


Finn grips his chin, giving him a little shake, speaking low and intently, “Blaine, what’s wrong?”


He takes a shallow breath, and murmurs unsteadily, “Don’t feel good.” His chin falls to his chest again, tears prickling in his eyes, even as Sam and that new kid—Ryder maybe, he’s not really sure—wrap their arms around his shoulders and take more than half his weight between them.


They’re helping him to the green room he’s sure, even though Blaine isn’t really directing his body in any particular direction. It’s slow going, but before he quite realizes it, he’s in the green room and gently being placed on the old saggy couch. Marley takes a seat beside him, leaning close enough to point his face toward her. She’s unsurprisingly gentle as she places a tiny hand on his forehead and frowns, murmuring, “You’re very warm. You probably have a fever.”


Blaine murmurs back unintelligibly, cracking open tired hazel eyes and watching her turn away from him to whisper something to Finn. Tina takes a seat on his other side, directing his attention away from the crowd of glee club members watching him worriedly. She arranges him gently onto her lap, nestling his head on her knees.


They’re all whispering about him, but Blaine’s passed the point of caring. He wants to sleep and never worry about the pain again. He just wants to feel better. Tina gently taps his temple, “Blaine? Can we call your parents? Are they in the audience or at work?”


Blaine thinks for a second trying to remember where his parents are this time around, “They’re in Greece.”


There’s a beat of silence before Tina asks, “What about your brother?”


“California.”


“Who’s taking care of you then?” Sam asks with a frown.


Blaine winces closing his eyes, as he answers so he doesn’t have to watch their faces, “Me.”


“But tomorrow’s Thanksgiving,” Marley adds faintly, her voice tinged with disbelief and confusion. “You can’t be alone on Thanksgiving.”


Blaine squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to answer any more questions. It’s bad enough that a few of them have listened in on some tense phone calls from his father; he doesn’t want them to know everything about his family. Tina’s on him immediately, placing a hand on his shoulder and soothing the frown lines that grow on his forehead, “Ask him questions later, guys. I think he needs to go to the hospital.”


“Hospital? Please I don’t want to go,” Blaine begs, jolting forward into a seated position, eyes rapidly widening and face paling. It’s stupid on his part and burns the pain deep in his belly once again. He has to curl over, settling a palm firmly against his side as it sears. A low moan leaves his mouth before he’s able to rein it in, and Tina and Marley are eyeing him like mothering hens.


Tina’s immediately shushing him, soothingly running fingers through his curls and rubbing his back, while Marley is watching him critically. Neither is enough when he feels like his insides are making a break for the outside world. He doesn’t want to throw up. He hates throwing up.


It must show on his face because barely a minute later, a plastic trashcan appears in front of his face. He almost tries to pull back, but in a show of surprising strength—though it’s not particularly surprising given how sick he seems to be—Tina holds him over the can and rubs his back, whispering faintly, “You’ll feel better if you do.”


Blaine wants to make a comment, anything to maybe save a little bit of his dignity, but he’s too weak and his stomach hurts so bad. Hiss throat keeps going dry and all he wants to do is curl up in Kurt’s warmth. He falls a little forward in the trashcan, tightening his shaking hands around the handles and finally gives in, violently vomiting into the can.


It seems to take hours instead of seconds. Tina’s moved back to only hold him roughly over the can and it’s so achingly familiar. It reminds Blaine so painfully of when he got sick from the anesthesia after his eye surgery. Kurt had held him during the roughest moments post-op and had cuddled with him most of the night until Burt forced him to go home. He’s having a hard time stopping—he can’t stop gagging and coughing even after there’s little else but bile coming up—and his stomach hurts so bad. A whimper uncoils from his throat and someone thrusts a water bottle in front of his face. He takes a small sip and spits it out a second later when his side sears painfully and tears rise to his eyes. He closes his eyes, sagging against Tina as he waits for his stomach to settle and tries a few tiny sips of water that thankfully stay down.


When he looks up, everyone is watching him and somehow there are approximately five people who don’t belong in the green room. The few graduated members of New Directions are watching him and mumbling to each other in a small group, words garbled to Blaine’s ears.


“So hospital,” Finn begins cautiously, creeping a step closer to the couch. “You definitely need to go.”


Blaine thinks about objecting just on principle, but his stomach hurts just thinking about moving again. He’s learned his lesson enough to not object that actively. “I don’t want to go. Please, don’t make me go. Can’t I just go home?”


“Well, maybe,” Finn hedges, eyes wandering to Rachel expectantly for the final say.


Tina’s the one who answers, laying a heavy hand across his chest to keep him prone, “You almost passed out, Blaine. You’re in a lot of pain, and you have a fever. You need to go.” He nods shakily, wrapping his arms around his aching stomach, and closes his eyes. Tina sighs when Blaine presses his face to her knees.


“Someone needs to stay and watch the competition,” Mr. Schuester begins.


“We’ll call an ambulance.”


“I don’t want to go in an ambulance,” Blaine whimpers. His dignity doesn’t matter anymore and he resorts to begging, turning big, wet puppy dog eyes on Finn, “I’ll do anything but an ambulance. Please.”


“I guess I could drive him.”


“But we took a bus,” Someone else protests.


“I don’t want to leave.”


None of them sound particularly interested in driving him to the hospital and it makes real tears tear in the corner of his eyes. He knew that he wasn’t a favorite, per se, but he thought he was at least well-liked enough that his friends—his teachers—would at least try to help him. He swallows roughly, and tugs himself away from Tina with a catch of his breath, “I can just drive myself. Don’t worry about me.”


All of them stop talking and Finn reaches forward to help Tina ease him back down, “Are you serious?”


Blaine nods resolutely, not meeting anyone’s eyes, “I’ll be fine. Go watch the performances.”


“Blaine, we can’t do that—“


“I’ll take him.”


There’s a beat of silence that follows the statement and finally, Blaine looks up to find that Kurt Hummel is standing among the five old members that came to visit. He had been silent thus far, and Blaine had been too preoccupied to notice him in the midst of the group. Kurt is staring directly at him, eyes wide but sure. He clears his throat, “I have a car to drive and I really only came to watch New Directions and poke fun at the costumes. I can take him.”


“Are you sure?” Rachel asks beside him. She had been surprisingly quiet most of the time, but Blaine can see the wariness in her eyes. “I’ll come with you.”


“You don’t have to,” Kurt insists, his eyes locked with Blaine’s, “We’ll be fine.”

-.-

All this feels strange and untrue
And I won’t waste a minute without you
My bones ache, my skin feels cold
And I’m getting so tired and so old

The anger swells in my guts
And I won’t feel these slices and cuts
I want so much to open your eyes
‘Cause I need you to look into mine.
Open Your Eyes; Snow Patrol
-.-


It’s a process to get Blaine into the car. Kurt and Finn gently maneuver him into the car relatively quickly and Tina slides in behind Blaine without protest. It takes almost twice as long for Kurt and Tina to cajole Blaine into moving once they reach the hospital. There’s relatively little wait—surprisingly so—and Blaine’s quickly moved into a little cubicle off the main hallway. Tina takes off to try to ask questions about the necessary insurance paperwork and leaves Kurt to ease him onto the gurney.


The room grows eerily awkward, and neither Kurt nor Blaine even attempt to make small talk. Blaine thinks, as he watches Kurt intently pick at every nonexistent cuticle on his fingers, that Kurt definitely regrets ever taking him to the hospital. Blaine had thought the ride over—filled with Blaine’s muffled groans and Kurt’s apologies when they hit a few potholes— had been awkward, but the silence is almost ten times worse.


He thinks about closing his eyes and pretending that he’s curled in his bed and not about to be poked and prodded by tons of doctors, but his stomach bleats angrily and the immediate wooziness sends him whirling. Blaine turns his head just slightly to look at Kurt and realizes that his fever must be getting to him. Kurt looks ethereal, his hair glinting blonde and light brown—a masterpiece even after all of the panic.


It’s another moment before either of them say anything, Kurt clears his throat roughly, “Blaine?” He nods and closes his eyes again. He wishes that Kurt hadn’t wanted to drive him; it makes harder and harder to pretend that he doesn’t regret meeting Eli. There’s a pinched squeak as the stool slides closer to him, “Are you alright? Do you need me to make a fuss and get a nurse? Shouldn’t someone be here by now anyway?”


Blaine shakes his head, “I’m okay,” Kurt doesn’t answer, biting his lip. He turns back to his nails and feints nonchalance that Blaine knows better than anyone is a lie. He tries again, “Thank you for driving me.”


“It’s nothing. You needed to go and I have a car.”


“I meant with our past,” Blaine interrupts.


Kurt swallows and makes a weird head jerking gesture, “I had planned to ignore you at sectionals but I couldn’t.” He takes a deep breath, seeming to convince himself, “We’re adults. I think we need to sit down and talk about it civilly. I need closure to ever move on.”


Blaine’s stomach lurches in a totally not-sick way when Kurt speaks, and he has to grip the side of the examining bed to regain his equilibrium. He blurts it out before he can think about it, “I’m so sorry, Kurt. You need to believe me. I’ve never been more sorry about anything in my life.”


Kurt freezes, his eyes closing momentarily before he begins to shake his head fiercely, “I am not talking about that now. You’re really sick and I don’t want to think about it.” He unclenches his hands and unsuccessfully tries to pretend that he’s okay.


Blaine knows that he’s not.


“I didn’t mean it,” Blaine whispers, jerking his head up in urgency, “He was nothing compared you and I didn’t do it to hurt you. I could never hurt you.” It doesn’t matter if he’s not with Kurt any more, it breaks his heart to see Kurt upset. Blaine looks a little like a wild man. His eyes are wide and glassy—the fever finally taking a toll on him—and his hair is a mess of knotty curls. His forehead is clammy and his face is wan. He’s scrabbling with the blankets, disjointedly trying to sit himself up and simultaneously lay flat.


Kurt is only given a moment to gain his balance before Blaine is curling over his abdomen, clutching his side and moaning through clenched teeth. For a second, in his dazed mind, it looks like Kurt deliberates whether to help Blaine or not. It’s fitting if nothing else; Blaine deserves his comeuppance after being such an asshole to Kurt, but Kurt is much too compassionate to ignore Blaine when he’s in pain and launches to his feet.


Immediately, cool hands curl around his shoulders, one hand comes up to cup his clammy cheeks and then smooth back his sweaty hair. He’s humming something familiar and Blaine leans into the touch, trying to breathe through the wave of pain. His hands are clenched and his head bowed to his chest. When he can finally breathe again, he manages to choke out, “I’m so sorry, Kurt.”


Kurt doesn’t answer.


When the nurse finally arrives just a few minutes later, it’s more of a blessing than Blaine ever could imagine. Blaine’s tired of feigning sleep to avoid looking at Kurt. He hurts too much to actually sleep and Kurt’s not paying attention to him anyway. After Blaine’s freak out, Kurt had gently pushed him back onto the bed and turned away to stare out the window. Blaine had finally accepted that they weren’t going to talk—not that he really thought he had the strength too—and shut his eyes, curling a little tighter into a fetal position.


The nurse who comes to care for him is a petite young woman, barely five feet and already chattering a mile a minute as she walks through the door in pale pink scrubs. She’s holding a clipboard in one hand and dangling her stethoscope from the other. “Hey there, Blaine Anderson, right?” At his faint nod, she continues, “I’m Christina. What seems to be the problem?”


Blaine manages an awkward shrug, and squints at her, “My stomach really hurts.”


“Care to elaborate?” She quips with a grin, “I’m just gonna take your vitals real quick,” She leans over to grab a thermometer and swoop it over his forehead. She does just that, laying her fingers over his pulse point too and watches as the numbers appear onto the digital screen, “Hmm. 102.3.”


“Is that bad?” Kurt asks quietly, appearing to focus as he settles into the seat beside Blaine again. There’s an awkward amount of space in between them that Blaine tries hard not to focus on.


Christina looks up from the chart with a frown, “Who are you?”


“The friend that drove him in,” Kurt answers tightly, his hands noticeably locking. “He’s eighteen. I’m allowed to be here.”


“It’s not a problem,” She acquiesces, quickly and efficiently taking his blood pressure and recording it. “So, where’s the stomach pain?”


Blaine begins to gesture, but stops moving with a groan, “By my hip on my right side.”


Christina nods in sympathy, tugging lightly at his tucked in black dress shirt and pants, “Can I take a look?” Blaine nods, struggling to sit up, pressing his arm tight to his side. She stops him almost instantly, ever so gently just tugging the material free of his pants and belt. She lifts up the material and then tugs his dress pants just a little off his hip to reveal pale skin. There’s a rush of cold air over his belly as the nurse runs her fingers lightly over the space between his hip and belly button. He manages a tight groan, squeezing his eyes shut when she probes the skin.



She palms the rest of his stomach first, palpitating his left side and upper abdomen gently to his great relief. She presses a tiny bit harder just below his navel and the pain sears again. He doesn’t make a sound, but he bites his lip, closing his eyes as she murmurs something under her breath. He preparing himself for the pain, but it’s absolutely nothing compared to the pain that crests when she presses down fully in the space between his hip and his belly button. The pain Blaine had imagined could never get any worse increases a tenfold in that split second and draws a long, low whimper from Blaine. It’s so intense—rising from a sharp, stabbing ache to a stab wound from a fire poker—that shameful tears well in Blaine’s eyes. He’s biting his lip so hard that he can taste blood, when he feels a soft hand slip into his grip. He can smell Kurt’s cologne near him and it gives him just enough strength to take a shallow breath and whisper “yes” when the nurse asks if it’s the spot of the most pain.


She doesn’t let go and he opens his eyes to see her watching him apologetically, “I’m sorry for torturing you, sweetheart. Does it hurt more if I let go?”


He has a second to think that it couldn’t get any worse before she adjusts the pressure on his side. She removes her hand completely and his vision whites out. The fire poker seems like nothing compared to his insides wanting out of his body. He’s moaning low and pitiful, crying out from the onslaught. He couldn’t have imagined anything that hurt more, and finds himself blinking and panting, curled once again in a fetal position. One hand is wrapped around his aching stomach and the other is clenched around Kurt’s hand. Kurt is on his feet behind him, using his free hand to rub soothing circles onto Blaine’s back.


Christina pulls away looking grimly satisfied, making another mark on her clipboard, “Any nausea or vomiting?”


Blaine can only draw a whimper from his throat, and Kurt winds up answering instead, “Yes, he got sick about half an hour ago.”


“Morning too,” Blaine murmurs into the mattress, allowing his eyes to drift up to meet hers.


“How long have you been in pain?” She asks softly, eyeing him pointedly.


“Woke up with it and it just got worse,” Blaine mumbles.


“Alright,” she says with a sympathetic smile, reaching for something in one of the cabinet’s shelves. She pulls out a blue and white checkered gown and places it on the bed within Blaine’s reach, “I need you to slide into a hospital gown, honey. I’m going to talk to the attending physician, and lucky for you, it’s a slow afternoon, you’ll be looked at soon,” She smiles at him sympathetically, pulling out another blanket when he shivers violently, “Another nurse should be in shortly to draw some blood.”


She leaves, shooting Blaine a sympathetic smile. Blaine groans as soon as she’s gone, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing out through clenched teeth. Kurt smooths back sweaty curls, murmuring a word of reassurance, “Come on, we’ll change you into the gown and then you can try to sleep.”


“Don’t think I can move,” Blaine finally huffs. He cracks his eyes open, and reaches for the gown, wrapping fingers around the thin material. It’s slow going when he drags it toward his chest. With shaky arms, he levers his upper body up a little bit further, struggling to reach his bowtie. He can’t really balance himself, before he lets himself fall back onto the pillows panting and clutching his side.


“Let me help,” Kurt murmurs, one hand reaching for Blaine’s shoulder. He undoes it easily, tugging one end while beginning to unbutton the black shirt. ”I can help, just let me help you.”


Blaine lets his arms fall bonelessly to his sides, closing his eyes as Kurt gently unbuttons his shirt before sliding it off his shoulders. It’s not sexual in the slightest—Kurt’s way too gentle and apologetic when he has to help Blaine sit up—but it makes Blaine ache for their past. He wants to curl into Kurt’s side for warmth and be comforted when he gets nauseous again. He’s left only in his dress pants, when Blaine suddenly gets gun-shy, blushing red when Kurt’s hands come up to grace his belt buckle. Kurt stills instantly, and anxiously juts up to meet Blaine’s eyes. Blaine doesn’t have much dignity or much strength, but he nods hesitantly.


“I’ve undone your belt before,” Kurt teases far more gently than he should knowing Blaine’s ever so recent sexual history. He undoes it easily, watching Blaine’s face for discomfort and eases the pressure immediately when Blaine squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip.


“I’m so sorry, Kurt,” Blaine whispers.


Kurt still doesn’t answer, helping slide off Blaine’s pants and gently guide his arms into the gown. When Blaine’s settled once again in bed with a quilt wrapped around him to stave off the shivering, Kurt sits down on the rolling stool, hands clasped in his lap. “Please, stop apologizing.”


“I can’t,” Blaine whispers all heartfelt and bright-eyed. He’s too earnest for his own good and Kurt looks away. “I’m just so sorry, Kurt. I was just alone, so alone in McKinley and you weren’t there and nothing mattered anymore,” He swallows back a sob, “I thought I was holding you back and that you were going to leave me alone and it didn’t matter how much I loved you because I wasn’t in New York.”


Kurt makes a motion like he wants to interrupt but Blaine’s definitely affected by the fever and rambles on. “I just love you so much and you had better things to worry about and I didn’t want to get left behind. ” He curls up tighter in the blanket, eyes glued to Kurt even as he blinks back tears. He’s swaddled in blankets up to his nose, looking fragile and breakable with his hair sticking out in tuffs with fever pink cheeks, “I just really missed you and I couldn’t take it.”


Kurt is leaning a little closer when Christina opens the door carrying a small tray filled with instruments. “Are we ready?” She bustles around the room, oblivious to Blaine’s teary eyes and Kurt’s expression. “I’m going to draw some blood and then a doctor will be around any minute to officially examine you.” She smiles at Blaine, and gently unwinds him from Kurt’s expert swaddling. She turns to her tray and holds up an empty tube in her gloved hands, “Ready? I’ll be very gentle I promise.”


Blaine shrinks back into the blanket, closing his eyes as the nurse expertly ties a tourniquet and swipes an alcohol pad at the crook of his elbow. She punctures the skin easily, and Blaine winces, making a soft squeaking noise that makes Kurt step closer to him for solidarity. He’s quiet as she quickly fills a few tubes of blood and finishes within minutes, covering the wound with a bandage.


“Not that bad, right?” She asks with a smile as the door opens to reveal a tall, balding man, studying Blaine’s chart. He looks up from the paperwork and nods at them.


“I’m Dr. Bennett. Can I take a quick look at you?” He moves swiftly at Blaine’s nod and palpitates his side routinely, barely wincing when Blaine turns even paler and moans. He carefully makes a mark on the chart as Blaine curls onto his side and reaches for Kurt again. He waits for Blaine to quiet down, “You have a textbook case of appendicitis. We’ll arrange for you to be admitted and you’ll be in surgery within the hour.”


He leaves just as quickly as he arrived, and Blaine turns wide-eyed to Christina who’s shaking her head at the doctor’s departure. She pulls a wheelchair over to the bed and begins the complicated process of unwinding all of the blankets Kurt draped around him, “You have absolutely nothing to worry about; an appendectomy is a routine surgery. You’ll hopefully be in and out of surgery within an hour and a half.”


“Surgery?” Blaine whispers, settling into the wheelchair. “Are you sure that I need surgery? What if it’s nothing?”


“Normally, we’d also issue a CT scan to double check, but you have classic symptoms of appendicitis. It’s better for it to be taken out.” She insists as they roll out the door and toward the pre-op room waiting for him. “So that means that I’ll take you up to a pre-op room now, where you’ll get settled and be given an IV, and very soon you’ll be taken into surgery and come out feeling much better.”


Blaine doesn’t know what else to say or object and settles nervously into the wheelchair. The pre-op room is small and quiet when they finally get there. Christina helps him into the bed and leaves quickly. Blaine closes his eyes the second he’s laid in bed, breathing slowly to stop himself from panicking. Kurt begins to hum, something soothing and innocuous, something that Blaine just can’t recognize in his state of mind.


He thinks he hears Tina arrive, whispering anxious words to Kurt, but her voice is gone within minutes and quiet returns to the small pre-op room. He quiets his mind, ignoring his fears about surgery and needles and IV, and listens to Kurt next to him. The humming is familiar, achingly so, and he gives himself a minute of weakness to take Kurt’s hand in his own. He pretends for a second that nothing ever happened between them and realizes that maybe for now, at least until he’s out of surgery, that it’s better to pretend.


******


“Hi, I’m Kurt Hummel. I’m calling in regard of Mr. Anderson’s son; he was recently admitted to Lima Memorial with appendicitis and no one’s been able to get in touch with him.” Kurt stops his pacing as a vapid secretary mumbles out some excuse, “Well, yes, I know that he and his wife are on a Mediterranean cruise, but his youngest son is on his way into surgery now. I was hoping—“ Kurt is cut off again as the woman interrupts and firmly avoids Kurt’s questions. Kurt can’t help the snark that enters his voice, “I’m sorry for wasting your precious time.”


It takes all of Kurt’s will power not to throw his cell phone at the wall. It physically pains him sometimes that Blaine grew up with parents who didn’t support him or even seem to care about him. He hates that Blaine feels like he doesn’t matter to them. He’s tried three times to call Mr. and Mrs. Anderson and neither of them have answered, and the bored secretary at Mr. Anderson’s workplace was unhelpful and irritable. Cooper had answered, at least, but he was stuck in California until wild weather calmed down.


Blaine’s utterly alone.


“No luck?” Tina asks quietly from where she’s perched on a couch with very old Redbook magazine.


“Of course not,” Kurt manages to spit out, “His parents aren’t ever around.”


“We’ll figure something out.” Tina says, pulling out her phone. She sighs when no new messages appear and pats the cushion next to her. Kurt dramatically throws himself onto the seat, leaning his head back against the wall to stare up at the ceiling.


“If my dad knew that I was sick in the hospital he would drop everything to help me, to make sure I was okay. No matter where I was, or the cost to get there, he would be there the second he could to make sure I wasn’t alone.” Kurt closes his eyes, rubbing them tiredly, “I just don’t understand how someone could be a parent and care so little for their own child.”


“I think Blaine’s use to it,” Tina offers hesitantly. “He’s been a lot quieter this year and he doesn’t ever talk about his family. I don’t think they’re close at all.”


Kurt snorts, and blinks his eyes open to give Tina a look, “I was with Blaine for almost a year and a half, Tina. His parents love him, they just—“ He pauses to searches for the right word, “have better things to do. He doesn’t concern them. They give him money and shower him with expensive gifts, but they’re never around when it actually matters. ”


“I overheard an argument between him and his father a few weeks ago about grades. He’s on track to be salutatorian and his father was belittling him for a failing quiz grade.”


“Another quality character trait,” Kurt quips, “His father is some pushy lawyer in Cincinnati and his mother was an accountant before she became a trophy wife. They think he’s wasting his time with singing and should pursue law or medicine. Blaine isn’t interested in either.”


“My parents support me even though there’s a huge possibility I won’t make it. Even Mike’s dad finally gave in and you know how crazy strict he is.”


“Every day I’m thankful that my father believes in me,” Kurt whispers back with a sad smile on his face, “He believes in me on days when I don’t and sometimes that’s all that keeps me going.”


“How does Blaine walk around with a smile on his face?” Tina asks quietly, “I mean, the last few months have been awful for him,” She glances nervously at Kurt, but she continues, “but he’s still is put together and optimistic and kind.”


“He hides a lot,” Kurt answers, folding his arms across his chest. He’s known for a while that Blaine is damaged and broken and so scared to be left alone. He felt awful in New York when he couldn’t talk to Blaine, but everything was happening so fast and he just wanted to experience all the good things the city had to offer. He tried to be there for Blaine, but it hadn’t been enough.


Tina tries to shake off the admission, and continues talking, “And tomoroww’s Thanksgiving. What’s he going to do without his parents?”


“I don’t know,” Kurt whispers, “When I was here it was a lot easier for him, but I left him and we broke up. I don’t know what happened to him.”


“I’m still shocked he cheated on you.” Tina adds.


“Me too,” Kurt mutters falling back into the couch. He takes a deep breath, half-listening to the television playing bad game shows in the corner and thinks about Blaine. He knows that most of it never would have been said if Blaine had been in a healthy state of mind, but it’s too raw for Kurt to ignore. Blaine had babbled about his loneliness and clung to Kurt’s hand. When the anesthesiologist arrived, Blaine had gripped him tight until the surgeons gave them a minute of privacy, and whispered ‘I love you’ as they took him down the surgical corridor.


Kurt can’t get it out of his head. He misses Blaine with his whole heart. There are so many times that he has to stop himself from texting Blaine anecdotes of his day or calling him when Rachel’s incessant singing gets on his nerves. It hurts so bad to have to stop, but when he gets a minute to breathe, it’s a lot worse when he remembers exactly what Blaine did to him. He wants sometimes to ignore what happened, but he had spoken to friends, swallowed his tears and gained enough closure that he thought that one day he could move on.


But this hospitalization is only making it worse. When he had come back for Grease, Blaine had seemed exhausted, but Kurt assumed that Blaine was making his own closure. It seems that he was very wrong. If anything, Blaine seems wrecked and miserable and way more alone than he had ever expected. It’s especially bad if even Tina noticed that something was up.


He thinks about asking Tina her opinion, but before Kurt can say a thing, there’s a commotion as most of the glee club appears through the surgical waiting room’s double doors. They’re chattering anxiously, seeking out Kurt and Tina in the small room and thrusting a tall trophy in their faces as they take seats around them. An older couple seated at the opposite side of the room sends them dirty looks at their rudeness, but it doesn’t stop their excitement. Tina’s already squealing with Sam and Artie excitedly, and Kurt manages to get trapped by Finn’s massive arms as his step-brother comes up beside him.


“How’s Blaine?” Finn asks in a low voice once he lets go of Kurt. He casts a look at Mr. Schuester who sits beside Finn with Ms. Pillsbury in tow, and inclines his head toward the surgical doors, “We heard from Tina he’s getting surgery.”


Kurt sighs, “He has appendicitis, and he’s in surgery now. I don’t know what they’re doing but the doctor said that it’s a common procedure and he should be out soon. He was in a lot of pain and he had a fever, but they’re treating it and hopefully when he wakes up he’ll feel better.”


The three nod in understanding, but Ms. Pillsbury seems concerned, “Where are his parents? I’d feel awful if my child were alone in a hospital.”


Kurt takes a short breath, “I can’t get in touch with them at all. They’re on a Mediterranean cruise and they won’t be in contact for at least another few hours.”


“Should I try?” She asks with pursed lips, eyes narrowing in understanding as she fills in the blanks.


“If you want,” Kurt offers. He knows that it won’t be any better, but Ms. Pillsbury looks sad and sympathetic and Kurt doesn’t want to hurt her feelings.


“What about his brother?” Finn asks, “Wasn’t that guy that came last year his brother?”


“Cooper’s stuck in LA until they resume air travel. There was an earthquake this morning and the aftershocks have been pretty severe. He can’t leave.”


“So he’s alone?” Mr. Schuester says solemnly, shaking his head. “He’s only eighteen. He shouldn’t be alone at a time like this. His parents didn’t make any provisions?”


“None,” Kurt answers shortly. He rubs his forehead to ward off a headache and says simply, “I’m here.”


“You also broke up,” Finn points out, “I still love Rachel but I wouldn’t be the one she wants if she’s sick.”


“I’m what Blaine wants,” Kurt argues, “I can’t leave him and I won’t. He needs someone to be there when he wakes up from the anesthesia. I was there for him last time; I’ll do it again. This isn’t exactly new, Finn. His parents are never around. They’re always working or on vacation or traveling for business. He’s always alone and this time, I’m not going to let that happen.”


“That’s very sweet of you, Kurt.” Ms. Pillsbury says with a smile.


Kurt hums noncommittal in his throat. He knows it’s more than he should even think to offer Blaine, but he’s beginning to think that Blaine deserves his forgiveness. Blaine knows that he made an awful mistake. Kurt knows that he regrets it every second of his life. It hadn’t been the easiest to shake off his anger and hurt, but it’s been long enough that more than anything Kurt just wants to know why. He’s willing to at least to listen to Blaine.


Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury are talking in whispers when Kurt tunes back into the conversation and Finn is telling the newer glee club members about the last time they went to the hospital after Sectionals. Most of the group is split evenly, half listening to Finn and the other half talking quietly about something, and only Rachel remains, training a critical eye on Kurt from one of the other chairs.


Before she can say anything, a nurse in maroon scrubs enters from the surgical doors and peers through the large crowd of people, “Kurt Hummel? Is there a Kurt Hummel here?”


Kurt immediately rises to his feet, walking around the throng of now silent glee club members and. “Yes, that’s me. How is he?”


“The surgery went very well,” She smiles at him, “He’s a little disoriented from the anesthesia, but comfortable. He’s running a slight fever, but it’s just the lingering infection. I can take you to him now if you want.” Kurt follows her down the narrow hallway and doesn’t look back at the quiet crowd. He’ll send a general text once Blaine’s calm and sleeping, but for now, he doesn’t want to think about what Rachel has to say or what Tina wants to tell Blaine. It’s a quick walk to Blaine’s cubicle in the recovery room and the instance he steps into the little room, he’s struck with how small Blaine looks. He knows it’s a clich�, but Blaine’s impossibly pale against the off-white sheets and bundled in so many blankets that he looks tiny and fragile. He’s connected to a heart monitor on one side of the bed with an IV on the other. The beeping’s a little eerie, but reassuring after all the time spent in the waiting room, worrying, pacing and thinking. He knows there’s more waiting ahead, but he settles himself into the sagging armchair near the bed as the nurse issues a few instructions.


It’s about twenty-five minutes later that Blaine makes a snuffling noise and twitches in his sleep. Kurt leans forward, dropping his months old People magazine and gently places his hand over Blaine’s, waiting for him to move. It takes a few seconds, but eventually Blaine’s eyes crack open and a low, raspy moan leaves his lips. He’s still shifting restlessly but he turns toward Kurt in confusion, and moans louder as his eyes fall shut again. Kurt debates leaving Blaine’s side to get a nurse, but he doesn’t have to do anything. An unfamiliar nurse pops her head in, and goes about her business, shushing Blaine and whispering questions. When she’s satisfied, she injects him with something and nods politely at Kurt when she leaves.


Kurt doesn’t really know what to expect, if anything he thinks the drugs will put Blaine immediately to sleep, but Blaine keeps glassy eyes trained on Kurt. For at least a minute, he stares blankly into Kurt’s eyes before he tries to move again and whimpers, shutting his eyes against the sudden pain. The grip Blaine has on his hand is painful, and Kurt leans forward to brush fingers through his curls as the Blaine tries to tuck himself closer to Kurt. Blaine looks awful, really; there are purple bags under his eyes and the slight stubble only enhances the awful paleness of his face. He looks exhausted, more so than usual, and he lets out a little moan and snuffles until he’s close enough that his warm forehead is pressed to Kurt’s exposed forearm.


“How do you feel?” Kurt asks, soothingly running fingers across Blaine’s head, “I can get your nurse again if the medicine isn’t working.”


“Hurts,” He whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut.


Kurt hums sympathetically, pulling the armchair closer to the bed so he can sit comfortably and still reach Blaine with ease. He clasps Blaine’s hands between his and rubs them gently when he whines again, “Try to sleep.”


“Hurts too much,” Blaine whispers turning watery hazel eyes on Kurt. “Want my mom.”


Kurt shushes Blaine before he can think of a lie that might damage Blaine further. It hurts to think that Blaine’s sick and exhausted and his mother can’t even call to make sure her teenage son is alright. Kurt takes a deep breath, “Try to sleep a little. I know you can. What if I gave you a head rub?” He begins to hum again, the same song that he was humming before, a tune that he just can’t get out of his head, and slowly snakes out a hand that Blaine isn’t monopolizing to methodically rub Blaine’s head. He arches from the back of Blaine’s neck to his temples, massaging out stress induced frown lines and releasing his clenched teeth.


He thinks Blaine’s falling asleep, when he looks back down and realizes Blaine’s watching him with bleary eyes, “Better?”


Blaine licks his lips, staring at Kurt blankly, before nodding, “Maybe.”


“Maybe?” Kurt teases, leaning against the bedrail and snaking his free hand through the bars to rest against Blaine’s, “Only maybe? My head massages are world class.”


Blaine smiles at that, vaguely turning his head to watch something unseen in the corner of the cubicle. He smacks his lips, leaning back to place a messy kiss on Kurt’s forearm. Kurt doesn’t say anything and Blaine sighs, “Better.”


Kurt chuckles, shaking his head in amusement, still massaging Blaine’s head, “I’m glad I can be of assistance.”


“Head rubs—“ Blaine yawns just a little, and lets his eyes flutter shut, “Mr. Peacock… ”


Kurt snorts, swallowing a louder laugh and grins as he tries to help Blaine move, “Who’s Mr. Peacock?”


“Likes headrubs,” Blaine mumbles, “Me too.”


Kurt rolls his eyes but smiles at Blaine’s confession. “I’m glad to know.” He tugs the blanket tighter around Blaine’s frame, avoiding Blaine’s wandering hands and tucks it around his shoulder. Blaine makes another unintelligible remark, snuggling into the pillow looking the calmest Kurt has seen him in a while. He never noticed just how exhausted Blaine seemed to be.


“Sorry,” Blaine murmurs sleepily.


Kurt blinks out of his thoughts at the words, taking a seat again at Blaine’s bedside, “What?”


Blaine cracks his eyes open, and nods, “I…sorry.”


“For?”


“Hurtin’ you.”


Kurt leans forward with his elbows on the bed, shaking his head, “Let’s wait, Blaine. It’s time to sleep—“


“No,” Blaine protests. He tries to head-butt Kurt’s arm but can’t reach, and blinks tear-filled eyes at Kurt, “Meant nothin’. Nothin’ at all. I was just so alone and scared. All the time. I wanted to be with you. Always with you.”


“Scared?”


Blaine’s watery eyes are stunningly large on his too pale face, “Lonely. No one wants me. I don’t want to be alone.”


“Blaine,” Kurt starts with a lump in his throat. He swallows once, twice, watching Blaine sniffle and blink hazily. It isn’t the time or place. He tucks the blanket tighter around Blaine, reaching up to run a finger loosely through Blaine’s curls. The other boy sighs in contentment, eyes closing slowly as the conversation is forgotten, “Can you try to sleep now?”


“Maybe.” Blaine nudges Kurt’s arm, trying to snuggle up against him, “Love you.”


-.-
In the confusion and the aftermath,
You are my signal fire
The only resolution and the only joy,
Is the faint spark of forgiveness in your eyes.
Signal Fire; Snow Patrol
-.-


When Blaine wakes up again, Kurt isn’t the only one there. Most of the club is crammed into his side of the partition, whispering and chattering in low voices when Blaine moans. They give him space when he wakes up clutching his side; Sam is closest to him and helps him settle back down with a few whispers. He teaches him how to work the incredible morphine pump and soon, Blaine feels a lot better. The glee club spends at least another half an hour teasing him and asking him questions while he’s still really, really high before they’re kicked out for being too loud. Blaine tries not to think too hard about Kurt’s near silent company, but with another press of a button, the morphine washes away his thoughts.


Just a few hours later, Blaine’s on his way to recovery. The nurses are insistent that he eat something more solid than broth and instead he swallows down Jello and applesauce. Soon enough, he’s cajoled to his feet by two sweet nurses and forced to take the short walk to the nurse’s station. His side aches like a bitch when the morphine begins to wear off, but he’s able to eat a little bit and thankfully, falls asleep even though his roommate snores like a chainsaw.


It doesn’t occur to Blaine that he’s alone in the hospital for a holiday until he wakes up the next morning. His roommate apparently comes from a loving family. The fourteen year old and his loud Italian family wake Blaine up at exactly nine o’clock to watch the Macy’s parade. He has the curtain closed around his bed so he doesn’t have to watch, but the television is so loud that Blaine hears every word from Al Roker’s mouth and every song Taylor Swift sings.


Blaine hadn’t even remembered it was Thanksgiving, until some high school marching band had begun playing a thrilling rendition of the “Star Spangled Banner” and woke him up from a dream. The last few days had been packed with practices and tests, as well as sprinkled with an unhealthy amount of denial that Thanksgiving was coming up without someone to share it with.


His parents are probably antiquing their way through Istanbul or traipsing through the Baltics. Although he’s angry at them—so angry that they can’t for once be the parents he needs—he still hopes that they have a good time. That thought in itself makes his heartache and draws anger up into his chest. He’s always been mostly indifferent to his parents’ gallivanting, but at this moment when he hurts and feels so desperately alone, he really, really hates his parents.


He knows that Thanksgiving’s not really that big of a holiday, but it makes chest ache hollowly that his parents don’t even care. In a few hours, maybe even another day, he’ll get a call from his mother ascertaining his general wellbeing and that’ll be it. His father won’t even make a comment.


Blaine gives himself one minute to cry as Selena and Justin duet something Christmasy and sickly sweet, before he wipes his eyes and swallows down the lasting ache. He eats whatever the nurse places in front of him, lets the doctor examine the very tiny laparoscopic wounds on his side and dutifully walks the halls again with a nurse. When he comes back near noon and his side of the room is still painfully empty, he tugs out whatever trashy romance novel is left over from the last patient and wraps himself in his blankets to read.


He thinks about Sam and his family, how Sam is so loved by his parents that his entire family drove four hours to see their son’s Sectionals performance, and he thinks about Rachel and her dads who flew her home just so they could see their darling daughter. Blaine tries his hardest not to think about the Hummel-Hudsons. It doesn’t work very well, so instead, he sleeps.


He wakes up about an hour later to a firm, warm hand on his shoulder. Bleary-eyed and exhausted, it takes a minute for Blaine to recognize that the stranger isn’t a male nurse waiting to check his vitals. Dressed in cozy flannel with a ball cap on his head, Burt Hummel is standing beside his hospital bed with a casual smile on his face. With a start, Blaine hoists himself painfully into a sitting position, muffling a groan when his side twinges.


“You okay?” Burt’s hand is back on his shoulder, easing Blaine into a more comfortable position as he casually folds himself into the chair beside Blaine’s bed, “Kurt told me you were pretty sick.”


Once Blaine’s slouched against the pillows, he shrugs. “I guess. They said it was caught early so I was really lucky. I’m much better now than I was yesterday.” Blaine feels uncomfortable when Burt nods after he finishes. The resulting silence is thick and heavy; Blaine never did think that he would be in the same room as the surprisingly calm father of his ex-boyfriend. It’s disconcerting. “So, Mr. Hummel, what are you doing here?”


“It’s been almost two years and you still can’t call me Burt, huh?” Burt asks with a rueful shake of his head. He clears his throat, fidgeting, “Just came to stop by, see how you were doing. Did Finn tell you about the garage? It turns out that I’m flying to D. C. a lot more frequently than I figured, and we’re selling it. It’s not what I want, but being a congressman is taking up too much time. It’s staying close, Manny—I’m sure you’ve met Manny—is going to take over and take care of business while I’m making nice with the politicians. It’s a hassle, I tell you, but it’ll all be worth it when I help make history for you boys.”


Blaine hums noncommittal, trying to wrap his head around the reason that Kurt Hummel’s father is sitting companionably beside as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Mr. Hummel—Burt—you know I really appreciate you coming to visit me, but it’s Thanksgiving, shouldn’t you be home with your family?” He makes a helpless gesture at the empty room, “Kurt’s not here and I honestly don’t know why you’re even talking to me after what happened with your son.” He takes a breath, “You should hate me or want to rip me apart limb from limb.”


Burt chuckles but doesn’t agree. Instead, he shrugs and interlaces his fingers in his lap, “You made a mistake. I don’t need to say anything to you, Blaine. You’re probably beating yourself more than I ever could.”


Blaine doesn’t deny anything. He’s been filled with self-loathing since he met Eli C. and it hasn’t changed even though months have passed. He’s been lugging a guilty conscious with him since that awful October night and nothing so far has alleviated his guilt. He knows more than anything that he’s hurt Kurt and it makes him hurt even more.


“And since I know that,” Burt continues with a small smile on his face, “Kurt and I decided that you belong at the Hummel household for Thanksgiving.” Blaine’s only answer is a wide-eyed, blank stare and a dropped jaw. He’s not sure how long he sits, gaping at Mr. Hummel, but long enough that Kurt’s father breaks into a grin and begins to laugh, leaning forward to companionably clap Blaine on the knee. “Did you really think that we were going to leave you here alone? It’s Thanksgiving, maybe not one of the most popular, but we Hummel-Hudsons like to spread holiday cheer.”


Blaine shrugs, “You don’t need to feel sorry for me.”


Burt’s eyebrows crease and his back pops as he leans back again in the armchair. “We’re not feeling sorry for you, kid. It’s Thanksgiving. You are always welcome in our home.”


“Even after what I did?”


“Always,” Burt meets his eyes and holds his gaze, mouth turning into an even brighter smile when Blaine nods hesitantly and drops his gaze to a loose thread on the quilt. Burt claps his hands together, “Great. Carole made arrangements with the doctors that you could stay with us for a few days. There’s no one at home to help you, and we agreed that we would happily take you in for a few days.”


“Or I have to stay here,” Blaine finishes unhappily.


Burt nods, “You’re healing; you need to rest. Carole and I decided that it may be best for you to spend a few days with us to make sure you don’t strain yourself. Carole’s a nurse so she’ll know what to watch for.”


“I can leave?” Blaine asks, “I can barely stay awake for more than an hour, and I’m pretty sure the last nurse said I had a fever. I thought I was going to be stuck here for a while.”


“You’re all checked out.” Burt says, “Carole said that you had a lap—laparoscopic surgery which lets you have a lot less time off your feet. She said that your fever’s almost gone; you’ll still be on pain medication and generally on bed rest, but you can home and celebrate with us,” As if the idea of home isn’t enough to make him think about going to the Hummel house, Burt adds with a grin, “Kurt’s making those pumpkin tarts you love.”


“Can I eat those?” Blaine asks quietly, letting a matching smile rise on his face. Burt gives a shrug, and begins to talk about the later football game that he and Finn are already betting on. Blaine can’t help but feel a little warmer. He’s seen Burt once since the breakup and he had been nothing but cordial and pleasant. He hadn’t expected anything different, but it’s much different talking to him in the middle of the dairy aisle than being invited to stay in his home for some undetermined amount of time.


It’s scarily the best he’s felt in days, if the lingering ache in his side isn’t taken into consideration. He’s never been so grateful for the Hummels’ never-ending compassion.


“What do you say, Blaine?” Burt asks him, quietly. He’s stopped talking about football when he realizes that Blaine isn’t really paying attention, but leans forward in interest.


Blaine bobs his head, “I’d love to.”


“You made my life a thousand times easier,” Burt says, “I was under strict instructions from Carole that if you objected I had to call her and let her talk some sense into you.” He shakes his head ruefully, “She’s up to her elbows in turkey innards; she wouldn’t be very nice to deal with.”


Blaine chuckles lightly. He looks up to find Burt watching him intensely and shrugs off his concern with another question, “What about Kurt?”


“Kurt?” Burt repeats, “He’s in the midst of a baking crisis. He was making those tarts and another dessert when something happened to the flour I think or the eggs. I’m not sure but he left for the grocery store in a mood.” He snorts, “It’s been way too long since I’ve seen my son that enraged over baking. It’s nice to have him home.”


“And he’s okay with me being there?” Blaine questions anxiously, licking his lips and watching Burt plaintively, “I mean—I wouldn’t blame him. It’s his first time home in months, I don’t want him to be uncomfortable.”


“I think he’d be more comfortable with you there,” Burt says plainly, “You’re a very familiar part of our home, Blaine. I think it would be stranger for him if you weren’t.”


Hearing it come out of Burt’s mouth so honestly, is like a kick in his already surgically tended gut. It must be awful for Kurt to come back to his high school bedroom with all of those mementos of Blaine everywhere. Blaine knows the trouble he had coming back to his room and finding an old scarf of Kurt’s mixed in with his cardigans.


Burt can apparently see his doubt and takes pity on him. He hefts a plastic bag onto the bed from the floor and unties the slim knot. “These are for you. Kurt packed these specifically for you.”


Burt tosses a few items of clothing at him, and Blaine can feel the smile grow on his face. Although he and Kurt had never taken to leaving clothes at each other’s house, Kurt had fallen in love with Blaine’s old Dalton fencing sweatshirt and Blaine had conveniently forgotten to bring it home one day. The familiar blue sweatshirt is placed gently on the side and he picks up a pair of black sweatpants next, rubbing the soft jersey fabric and smiling fondly at the McKinley Cheerios label etched at the left hip pocket. There’s a note attached. Written in familiar, neat cursive Thought you’d feel better wearing real clothes.


He tries not to let it show how much it means to him, but Burt knows anyway. He clasps Blaine’s shoulder in a familiar comforting way and gets to his feet with a smile on his face. “Let’s see about those discharged papers, hmm?”


******


It’s quick drive to the Hummel household and Blaine, clad in warm sweatpants and sweatshirt that smell achingly like Kurt, is nervous as hell. He jittery in a way he hasn’t been since the Warbler incident, and he can’t help but worry about what’s to come. He knows Finn won’t be too bad, and Carole will welcome him with open arms, but Kurt is the terrifying factor. Blaine might have been out of it before the surgery, but he knows that Kurt stayed with him through everything. After the surgery is still pretty fuzzy, and that’s what worries him. Blaine knows he’s pretty loose-lipped when given any kind of drug/alcohol, so it’s likely he said something devastating.


Burt makes idle chitchat, driving slower than normal and taking his time in the lightly snow dusted streets. By the time they reach the Hummel-Hudson house, Blaine’s stomach is in knots and it’s not from his recent surgery. He lets Burt help him out of the car and doesn’t protest when he also places a hand on his shoulder to guide him to the door. If given the chance, he would have probably never actually stepped foot in the house, but Burt snickers behind him and propels him gently into the warm house.


The Hummel-Hudson household is alive. Even though it’s only mid-day most of the downstairs lights are on. There are delicious smells wafting from the kitchen and the television in the living room is blasting the calls of a referee. As they walk further into the house, Blaine catches Kurt’s harmony mixing with radio voices on “Rockin Around the Christmas Tree”. They enter the kitchen just as Carole joins the chorus very off-key, swaying and waving her stirring spoon in the air. Kurt’s on the other side of the kitchen, reaching into the tallest cabinet for confectionary sugar.


The second Burt laughs, leaving Blaine’s side to kiss his wife, Kurt whips around. He doesn’t make any notion that he sees Blaine, and doesn’t stop singing the Christmas carol. Carole, however, is like a breath of fresh air. She swats Burt when he wraps his arms around her and drops to spoon to come around and hug Blaine. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” She sidles up to his side before Blaine even realizes it and eases him into a chair at the kitchen table. She takes a seat beside him wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.


“How’s the pain?”


“I’m fine,” Blaine answers, crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn’t know where to look. As much as he likes Carole, he doesn’t want her to be burdened with him, especially when she should be enjoying the time off she has with her husband and children.


“Don’t give me any of that,” Carole hums and gives him a pointed look, laying her hand across his forehead, “Do I really need to pull out the nurses’ card?” Blaine doesn’t look up and she laughs, tapping his chin, “On a scale of one to ten how bad is the pain? And be truthful.”


Blaine smiles at her words and shrugs, “Maybe a six.”


“You walked a lot today,” Carole murmurs; she’s still checking him over but seems satisfied, “You still feel a little warm, but Janice said you were having trouble getting rid of the low-grade fever. In a little bit, before dinner, I’ll check your stitches,” She stands up, “What meds are you taking? I’ll get Finn to run out to the pharmacy in a little bit.”


“I have no idea,” Blaine admits, he looks up where Burt’s leaning against the counter.


“We’ll check it out,” Burt says with a shrug. “I’m gonna turn on the game in the living room.”


“You should rest, Blaine,” Carole says, picking up her spoon to resume her stirring, “Don’t worry about us. Go watch the game with Burt and Finn. ” She grins at Burt, “I’d rather you not try to cook, I’ve witnessed your best attempts at holiday cooking and it won’t work today.”


“At least call me when you want to slice the bird,” Burt huffs, rolling his eyes. Kurt does his best to stifle a snort and laughs out loud when Burt makes a face at him. Blaine catches his eye for the first time, and offers a tentative smile at Kurt who grins shyly back. It’s surprisingly awkward now that he can’t hide his feelings behind a mask of pain, but Blaine did decide to go to the Hummel house, and Kurt was the exact reason. He ducks his head, letting Burt help him to his feet and only turns back once to find that Kurt is watching him with a weirdly undecipherable expression on his face.


He thinks about it even as Burt helps him to the loveseat, and even when Finn greets him with a hollered, “Hey dude.” Normally, if it were any other circumstance, he would be actively participating in the football game—calling out fumbles and screaming with Burt and Finn, but he just can’t take his mind off Kurt. He slouches further into the soft leather couch, rolling his neck around and sighs. He can’t figure out what Kurt’s thinking. At this point, Blaine would be happy just to be friends with Kurt. To ask for anything, is more than Blaine deserves, but in a terribly clich�d rom-com style way, he doesn’t know if he can live without Kurt.


It gets even worse when Kurt edges in from the kitchen, and comes to sit on the opposite arm of the loveseat. His arms are folded across his chest and he’s watching the television with far too much interest for someone who really doesn’t like or appreciate the sport. He’s wearing an old silly apron that Blaine and Kurt had bought on some flea market excursion, and chuckling softly, Blaine leans over to prod Kurt’s thigh, “Is it done? It smells really good.”


Kurt looks startled when Blaine touches him and shakes his head, “The turkey’s still got another hour to go and the bread needs another half an hour. Soon, don’t worry.”


Blaine nods thoughtfully, “Sounds great.” He turns his attention back to the T.V., not screaming in protest when some broad-shouldered Lions football player gets passed defense to score a touchdown. He yawns instead, pressing one of the pillows to his abdomen and hissing when he feels a pull at his side.


“You should try to nap,” Kurt says with a smile, “You look exhausted.”


“I feel exhausted,” Blaine admits, and isn’t that the crux of the matter. He’s physically and emotionally tired. The last few months have been so straining on him that he can barely stand it. He’s drained all the time and he hates it.


Kurt hesitates for a moment before he slides gracefully down onto the other loveseat cushion. He takes a breath and gestures for Blaine to come closer to him. Blaine wavers for just a second before he scoots over and settles his head into the crook of Kurt’s shoulder, subconsciously sighing in relief when Kurt lightly wraps an arm around him. His voice is quiet when he speaks, warm breath tickling Blaine’s cheek, “You always sleep better if someone cuddles with you.”


Blaine nods, breathing a “thank you” into Kurt’s neck before closing his eyes. He doesn’t even think about, and doesn’t give himself a second to question it because he wants to be close to Kurt more than anything. He knows that he hurt Kurt but for now, it’s what he needs. And if Kurt’s willing to give it, he’ll greedily take anything he offers. In seconds, Blaine’s snoring quietly into Kurt’s side.


Sometime later, Blaine wakes up alone on the couch, stretched from one end to the other. The television is off and an old warm blue afghan is wrapped around him. It’s the best sleep he’s had in a few days and it takes a minute for Blaine to really wake up. Stifling a yawn, he rubs his eyes and notices finally that Finn’s standing above him with a wide grin on his face. He holds out a hand to lever himself to his feet, “Ready to eat? Mom made sure to make foods that you can eat too.”


Blaine nods, slowly raising himself into a sitting position and holding his breath. Finn clasps a hand around his upper arm, and helps him to his feet not saying a word when it takes Blaine a minute to uncurl and breathe again. The closer they get to the kitchen the better it smells, and Blaine thinks that if allowed he could definitely force down some of the mouth-watering yams near him. The table is loaded with food; there are sweet potatoes and mashed potatoes, Carole’s great-grandmother’s special stuffing in a bowl and Blaine’s absolute favorite string bean casserole. There is an assortment of other little treats on the table, but Blaine can barely think about what he might want, when Kurt flitters into the room carrying another basketful of biscuits.


He’s laughing and humming to himself when he spots Blaine, and he gives him a shy smile. He places it on the table and takes a seat, “Have a nice nap?”


Blaine debates for a second before taking his usual seat at the table to the right of Kurt’s placemat and sips at the wineglass filled with water next to his plate, “I feel much better.”


“That’s good to hear,” Carole says, trailing in behind Burt who’s carrying condiments. She stops by his chair, feeling his forehead and drops two pills into Blaine’s hand. “Much cooler now. Swallow your pills when you have a little in your stomach and then after dinner you’ll be tired enough to take another nap.”


Blaine’s tired of sleeping, but he nods and places the large pills on the tablecloth next to his water glass. The Hummel-Hudsons are still fluttering to and from the kitchen, grabbing forgotten napkins and extra utensils. Finn slumps into the seat opposite him, checking his phone, and Kurt begins to rearrange the trays so there’s room for the fifteen pound turkey. They don’t speak but it’s not at all uncomfortable.


The door to the dining room bangs open as Burt and Carole walk through the doorway with the main attraction. The turkey’s sliced perfectly, and the gravy boat is filled to the brim with creamy, delicious gravy. There’s a few seconds of planning, but finally the turkey is strategically placed near Kurt’s end of the table away from Burt.


Last year, Blaine only came around for dessert. He had stopped by after visiting some Warbler friends, and wound up slouched on the couch stuffed with more dessert than he ever thought possible after visiting the Hummel-Hudson’s for less than an hour. Kurt had been cozy and warm, snuggled into Blaine’s side, as they watched the second football game of the night. It had been perfect and wonderful and stopped Blaine from thinking about his parents (who knows where they were). Blaine can’t help but wish that things were the same.


“I’ll go first,” Finn says. He clears his throat, closing his eyes. To Blaine’s surprise, everyone else closes their eyes, food untouched in the trays. “What’s—“


“Ooh,” Carole exclaims, eyes popping open with a grin. “You haven’t been here for Thanksgiving dinner have you?” With a small shake of Blaine’s head, she continues, “Instead of saying grace, we each say what we’re most thankful for.”


Finn grins, “It’s a little corny, but my mom and I have done it since I was little.”


“Everyone has to participate,” Carole says with a smile directed at Kurt who rolls his eyes playfully.


“I haven’t complained yet,” He says with a smile.


Blaine closes his eyes, my racing trying to think of something that he’s thankful for that isn’t sitting beside him. He’s running through the list of possibilities—and it’s very sad how little is on that list—when a warm hand comes to take his under the table on his right. He cracks an eye open to find that Kurt is perfectly at peace, without even a trace of concern. No one else is holding hands, but Kurt’s hand is warm and soft in his, and he can’t find it in himself to pull away.


“I’m thankful that I didn’t die in the army.” Finn says finally with a crooked grin on his face, “I’m really glad I didn’t die.”


“You and me both.” Carole shakes her head, narrowing her eyes at Finn in semblance of fond exasperation, “I’m thankful that we have plenty to eat and plenty of people to share it with. I’m thankful that all of my boys are home safe.”


Blaine can feel her eyes on him—she’s purposely including him, but he ducks his head, clinging tighter to Kurt’s hand as Burt thinks. Burt taps his finger on the tabletop, “I’m thankful for my wonderful family and friends; I’m glad that Kurt was able to come home for Thanksgiving and that Carole didn’t have a shift tonight.” He laughs, “I’m very thankful that Obama got reelected.”


Kurt chuckles beside him and takes a deep breath, saying in painfully dead-pan voice, “I’m thankful for my family and friends.” Carole huffs out a laugh, and Blaine knows that Kurt’s smiling that full-wide grin with all teeth when he laughs too, “Fine, fine. I’m thankful that the Berrys shared their frequent flyer miles and that I’m able to be home for the holiday.” He grips Blaine’s hand tighter, “I’m really honestly thankful that you guys always love me and support me,” His voice goes soft, “I’m thankful that Blaine’s with us tonight.”


There’s a pause after Kurt finishes, and Blaine swallows against the lump in his throat. He’s never had to do this before with his family, never really had to share what made him thankful. He wants to say a loving family or caring friends but he really can’t. The Warblers only wanted him at Dalton so they could win, and the New Directions offered the least amount of support. He’s thankful for Kurt. He’s thankful for Kurt’s compassion and his ability to love even after everything.


He licks his lips, looking around the table, “I’m thankful for Kurt.” He pauses, as Kurt’s grip on his hand becomes almost painful and continues, “I’m really grateful that you were able to see passed my awful mistake. I’m thankful that you opened your home to me even when I really didn’t deserve it.”


“No one deserves to be alone during the holidays,” Carole says softly.


“Sometimes I think I do,” Blaine whispers under his breath, even as he nods along with Burt.


“No one,” Kurt says sharply. His eyes are wide and hard, but he doesn’t look angry. If anything, he looks more surprised and sad. He doesn’t break Blaine’s gaze, even as he watches Blaine with sympathy. He removes his hand from Blaine’s and shakes his head, looking preoccupied and tired. He fiddles with the napkin instead, keeping his head down.


Finn’s the one to awkwardly interrupt the silence, and clears his throat, “So, can we eat now?”


“Go ahead,” Carole says, “Now Blaine, I know that you can eat some solid food, but I wouldn’t over do it.” She begins pointing out what foods Blaine can actually eat, but Blaine finds that he’s not that hungry anymore. Kurt’s looking over the food in disinterest, idly picking up a tray of yams and spooning a small lump onto his plate. He’s preoccupied with something, mind a million miles away and Blaine can’t think of anything but his words that would make Kurt turn off that quickly. It’s his fault; he was too forward just when Kurt was starting to get comfortable.


Blaine eats just enough of the meal that Carole doesn’t push him. He swallows everything without tasting it, and finds that neither he nor Kurt have much to add to the Thanksgiving chitchat. He’s just attempting to cajole Carole into letting him help clean up when his phone rings.


He imagines that it’s Cooper, as he and his brother had been playing phone tag all day, but he’s mildly shocked and a little nauseated when his mother’s number scrolls across the screen. He excuses himself and makes for the now empty dining room, answering the phone with a hesitant, “Hey, mom.”


“Blaine, dear, how are you?” There’s chatter in the background; Blaine knows already the conversation won’t last long. His mother’s on vacation and Blaine never captured her attention for that long, “We heard from Helen that you sick.”


“I was in the hospital,” Blaine says succinctly, sitting down heavily in one of the chairs. “I needed surgery.”


“Oh no, I hope you’re feeling better. You sound fine, now,” Blaine wants to laugh because he’s probably as far from fine as he’s been in a really long time. There’s a slightly familiar voice in the background, followed by his mother’s sharp laughter. She sighs, and continues, “We’ll be sure to buy you something special when we stop in Rome. You always liked those figurines, right?”


“Cooper likes them.” Blaine answers. He doesn’t feel angry like he thinks he rightfully should be. “Mom, I was in the hospital.”


“Yes, dear, I heard you the first time. There’s some fascinating artwork from the Riviera, if you want. Your father and I are stopping there next and I know that you love the old photographs.” She pauses, “It’s absolutely gorgeous here, Blaine.”


“I’m at the Hummels now, if you care,” Blaine adds, feeling disappointed.


“Of course, I care. I’m grateful that they can be there for you when your father and I can’t. I’ll send them a nice fruit basket when we get back home. Don’t worry. We’ll treat them well. Have I ever shown you pictures of the last time your father and I vacationed in Italy? Blaine, it’s even more beautiful now. We’re going to Sicily and Sardinia over the next few days,” She sighs, “It’s absolutely breath-taking.”


She continues rhapsodizing, but Blaine doesn’t care. The dining room is suddenly forty degrees warmer than it had been all day, and Blaine’s sweating. He feels like he’s suffocating and it’s just too stuffy in the house. He barely feels his side protest when he leaps to his feet and makes his way out of the Hummel home to the front porch. He interrupts his mother mid-stream about the beauty of Venice or the Tuscan countryside, “Mom, do you even care about me?”


“Baby, of course we—“


“No!” Blaine exclaims, “No. I was in the hospital. I needed surgery and no one could get in touch with you. I needed my mother and you weren’t there, Mom. Why don’t you understand?”


“Blaine, it’s not that simple. Your father and I work a lot. We needed the break—“


“And that means you couldn’t even call to see how I was doing? Cooper’s been calling me all day to make sure I’m okay and to apologize that he still can’t be here with me.”


“Well, Cooper,” She begins, but there’s a loud boat horn that cuts his mother off. She curses before sighing loudly, “I’m sorry, dear, I have to call you back the ship’s about to leave. I’m glad you’re feeling better, dear. We’ll be home in three weeks! Talk to you soon!”


There’s no promise to catch a sooner flight, and it hurts much worse than Blaine thinks it should. He’s eighteen years old; he should be used to their behavior by now. He never expected them to come home early, but the utter lack of responsibility or affection for Blaine makes tears rise to his eyes. He drops his phone on the cushion of one of the outdoor seating and carefully takes a seat on the steps of the porch, cradling his face in his hands.


He’s not crying, but his chest his heaving and he feels shaky. His side is throbbing again, and he knows that he moved too quickly. He tries to focus on his breathing and slow his thumping heart, but his mind is clouded with thoughts of his parents and how much his side hurts again. He shouldn’t have answered the phone. He could have avoided the heartache by just pretending to be asleep.


He sucks in a deep breath, swallowing against the lump in his throat. He hates that this is what his life has become. He shouldn’t hate his parents. He shouldn’t regret everything that’s happened since school started. With a shaky groan, he pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars. It takes a minute for his vision to readjust when he lets go, but he turns his face to the wind and stares into the clear November sky.


There are a handful of stars in the sky, but they mean nothing to Blaine. He can’t find any constellations except the big dipper and if anything, the vastness of the night sky makes him feel even more alone. He wraps his arms around his body, wishing he had grabbed a jacket when he ran out onto the porch. He can’t go back inside yet, not while Carole’s adding the finishing touches to her apple pie and laughing with Finn or Kurt’s slicing pumpkin tarts and admonishing Burt’s picking. He can’t be part of it when he doesn’t belong anywhere.


He wishes things were different. He wishes he were stronger and that he didn’t make such dumb mistakes. It’s been such a long week, or month and it’s exhausting. Sometimes, Blaine wishes that he could just curl up in bed with his blankets over his head and disappear. It’s not like anyone notices him anyway.


“You should get inside before Carole finds you out here.” Blaine tips his head out of the confines of the sweatshirt front to find that Kurt is watching him from the doorway. Of course, Kurt notices; Kurt always notices. He slips out of the house, closing the door softly behind him, and shivers immediately. “How long have you been out here? It’s freezing.”


Blaine shakes his head, “I don’t know.” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes against Kurt’s gaze. Kurt sighs beside him, and slowly takes a seat beside him on the step. Blaine smiles before he realizes it when hears Kurt huff at the possibility of dirt on the porch getting on the back of his slim-fitting jeans.


“What happened?” Kurt asks quietly when he’s settled.


There’s a bit of space in between them and Blaine yearns to close it and press close to Kurt’s side. He doesn’t, “It’s nothing.”


“Did your parents call?”


Blaine freezes, but finally nods, “They’re in Greece, I think, maybe Turkey now. I really don’t know and they really don’t care.” He sniffs, but he swears it’s because of the cold, he’s not crying over his irresponsible parents—he’s done enough of that when he was young.


“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt whispers, sidling a little bit closer so he’s pressed to Blaine from his shoulder all the way to his knee. “I’m sorry.”


“It doesn’t matter. I should know better by now.”


“They’re your parents,” Kurt answers, “It’s okay to be upset. I’m upset with them; I don’t understand how they could leave you alone.”


“It’s what they always do, Kurt.” Blaine says flippantly, trying to shift away from Kurt, who presses closer to Blaine. He reaches for Blaine’s hand and clings to it.


“And you shouldn’t have to be alone.” Kurt insists, reaching with his other hand to cradle Blaine’s cheek. He takes a breath, biting his lip before he speaks, “I think I’m beginning to understand why you cheated on me.”


Blaine tries to forcefully move away from Kurt. He doesn’t remember much of his time in the hospital—everything he’s said or done is kind of a blur—but he should have known that he would have spoken to Kurt about what happened. He probably blubbered to Kurt about his loneliness, begging him to never leave and probably wound up forcing Kurt to pity him. That was the reason Mr. Hummel invited him into his home, not because he was family, because they felt bad that he didn’t have anyone.


“Blaine! Blaine, stop it! You’re going to hurt yourself,” Kurt’s stronger than him—emotionally and physically—and wraps his arms around Blaine so he’s pressed to Kurt. “Please. I’m trying to talk to you. I know you’re scared but just let me finish, please.”


“Why don’t you hate me?” Blaine blurts out, even as Kurt’s heavy hand gently nestles him against Kurt’s chest. He doesn’t speak until he’s practically enveloped in Kurt’s warmth, wrapped practically inside his coat, he presses his ear to Kurt’s chest. He can feel Kurt’s heartbeat, feel him breathe.


“I don’t hate you, Blaine. I could never hate you.” Kurt says with a sigh, He presses his face to Blaine’s hair, “I may not forgive you yet, but I don’t hate you. You made a mistake, a really big mistake.”


“How much did I say yesterday?”


“A lot,” Kurt answers softly. “I know it’s hard to be alone. I was scared for a really long time that I would wind up alone, but you don’t have to be. You have friends that are so willing to be there for you if you let them in. Why didn’t you say anything yesterday?”


“They were all busy,” Blaine says, “I didn’t want to be a bother.”


“You’re not a bother. You need help, Blaine. It’s okay to be scared and alone sometimes, but you just need to know when to reach out for help. All of glee club would be there for you in a second. My dad would have helped you in a minute,” Blaine doesn’t say anything and Kurt sighs, his voice brittle and pleading, “I would have come back.”


Blaine shudders in his grip, lifting his head up from Kurt’s chest, eyes filled with tears, “I didn’t want to bother you. I didn’t want to bother anyone. I didn’t deserve to have people take care of me. I don’t deserve you.” A lonely tear slips down his cheek and he scrubs at it angrily. “I hate what I did, Kurt. I hate that I hurt you so much. I thought you moved on and would forget about me. I didn’t want you to leave your dream to come back to me.”


“You were my dream,” Kurt whispers.


Blaine blinks back tears, pressing his forehead to Kurt’s shoulder. He can feel Kurt’s body shaking, and wishes that it could all be one horrific nightmare. “I’m so, so sorry, Kurt. I never wanted to hurt you. I love you so much, but I didn’t think I was good enough.”


“I know,” Kurt answers in a small voice. “I want—“ His voice cracks from the emotional pressure, and he laughs shakily, “I want you, Blaine. I always want to be with you. I was miserable without you. I spent hours watching reality tv and crying over you because I thought we were meant to be and it was done.”


“We are meant to be,” Blaine sits up, studiously trying to not wipe away the tears on Kurt’s face, “I realized that the second I was with Eli. He was nothing. He means nothing at all to me because I love you. I never stopped loving you. Meeting Eli was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made, and I know I can’t take it back, but if you can forgive me—not that I deserve it—I will do anything to regain your trust.”


“I know you will,” Kurt says with a smile that’s absolutely breath-taking in the dim light of the porch, “I love you so much, Blaine.”


Kurt closes his eyes, and parts his lips just slightly. It’s too much, too soon for Blaine to take and he leans in, throwing caution to the wind, and presses a sweet, gentle kiss to Kurt’s lips. He reaches up to cradle, Kurt’s face who doesn’t protest. Everything else fades away, the chill of the night air and the pain in his side. His lips are cool and his tongue is warm and wet when he licks into Blaine’s mouth, hungrily leaning into Blaine’s space for more. He wants to stay wrapped up in Kurt forever and forget about everything else.


It’s not that easy and finally Kurt pulls away, leaning his forehead against Blaine’s. He takes Blaine’s hand in his own, eyes downcast and Blaine can feel his heart drop into his stomach. For real, the tears that had eased away, burn once again, “You don’t want to be with me.”


“No, no, Blaine, please, that’s not it.” Kurt sits up, hands still clutching Blaine’s, “I love you so much but if this has taught us anything is that we need to learn how to trust again. I won’t let this come between us, and I want you to feel the same. I know you’re sorry, but I need to know that you won’t do it again if this ever happens. We need to communicate better,” He swallows, “I need to put you first in front of my career and making new friends because you’re important to me.”


“So, we shouldn’t date yet,” Blaine whispers in conclusion.


“Not yet. I’m sorry, but not yet,” Kurt agrees, “I think we need to learn who we are separately before we can be together again. I want to fall in love with you again without this thing hanging over us.”


“I love you,” Blaine murmurs, sniffing, “I don’t want to wait.”


“We’re just going to take it slow,” Kurt answers with smile, “We’re going to take it slow. I want to hold your hand and watch movies with you and shop online for bowties at fancy stores I shouldn’t think about.” He wraps his arms more fully around Blaine, tugging him close to Kurt’s chest, “We were best friends, Blaine. I want that again.”


Blaine doesn’t answer, and buries his face in Kurt’s wool peacoat. He shudders violently when a breeze blows by them and Kurt brushes a kiss to his temple, squeezing him tighter, “Let’s go back inside. Carole’s putting out all the desserts and then we’re going to cuddle and watch It’s a Wonderful Life.”


Blaine nods in agreement, slowly pulling himself away to get a firm grip on the wood banister. Kurt gets to his feet first, lending support as Blaine slowly raises himself to his feet. Kurt wraps his arm around Blaine and the other boy sinks into Kurt’s warmth, feeling shaky and stiff and uncertain about what just happened. Kurt’s whispering something about Mercedes’ style as they take the same seats as before, but this time he pushes his chair closer to Blaine’s seat, taking his hand and rubbing nimble fingers slowly over Blaine’s cold ones.


Carole sweeps into the room carrying a pie in both hands and smiles at them uncertainly, before leaving the room with a satisfied smile. Burt wanders in, placing a pot of coffee on the table beside a set of teacups and leaves in seconds, whistling a Christmas song that had played earlier in the car.


“I’m really thankful that you came today, Blaine.” Kurt says quietly, right as Carole enters the room again with the pumpkin tarts. “I’m thankful that I took you to the hospital. I’m thankful glad I came to watch you perform.”


Blaine cringes a little at the memory of his solo piece that had received a great big round of applause, “I chose it a few weeks ago and no one told me that it was a little too pathetic.”


“Pathetic?” Kurt laughs, letting go of Blaine’s hand to take a sip of water. He flashes a smirk at Blaine, “I thought it was rather adorable. Rachel appreciated the song choice, and she had a few criticisms to offer but I elbowed her before she could speak.”


Blaine blushes, “I really missed you, Kurt. I just really wanted you to know.”


“I know,” Kurt answers, with a smile. “We’ll make this work, you know.”


“I have no doubt,” Blaine agrees, as Finn and Burt enter the room, grumbling about some misplayed football tactic. Kurt turns away from him then, asking a question that makes Burt and Finn roll their eyes at him good-naturedly and gesture wildly. Kurt laughs out loud, sharing a grin with Carole. The pies are cut up and the coffee is handed across the table. Blaine feels warm and so very content. He takes a pumpkin tart without a word, watching the commotion and reveling in the happiness that’s warming him from within.


“You okay?” Kurt asks softly, nudging Blaine with his arm. He takes a bite of the tart, concern in his eyes and a smile on his lips.


Blaine doesn’t answer at first, watching the way that Burt grins at Finn and makes another gesture, before a smile spreads across his lips and he nods, “Never better.”