“All right guys, it's late.  Let's get on the bus and go home,” Finn called as the New Directions poured out of the auditorium into the warm spring night, filled with adrenaline and high on applause.  As last year's national champions, they had been asked to appear in an invitational performance in Columbus, and while they weren't about to reveal their actual Nationals songs to their competition (okay, they hadn't picked them yet) it had been a perfect opportunity to demonstrate just what this year's New Directions were made of.  Sam thought they did great with their medley of Beatles tunes – it didn't hurt that every time Blaine sang “Love, Love, Love” he lit up like he was experiencing the proposal over and over again, their own Disney prince in the flesh.  Sam couldn't believe that Blaine had actually gone through with the proposal, and that Kurt had said yes.  He didn't really think it made a lot of sense – his experience with Brittany and their fake marriage had taught him that rushing into a wedding might not be the smartest thing to do – but he loved Blaine, and there was no question that Blaine was happier than he had ever seen him before.  So Sam would support him, and be his best man, and that was that.

Sam spotted Blaine talking with some of the Warblers, Trent and Nick and one of the younger guys, and came over to tug him away.  “Come on, dude.  I want us to get a good seat for the ride home.”  They had been across from Marley and Unique on the way over, but Sam wanted to put some distance between them and the very loud, talkative girls this time.  Maybe they could sit in the back with the band guys, they were always pretty mellow.

Blaine turned to him, his sunny smile stretching across his face.  “Sam!  Trent's going to Yale!  He's going to audition for the Whiffenpoofs, isn't that great?”

“Yeah, that's awesome.”  Sam put a hand on Blaine's shoulder as they walked over to the bus, only half listening to his friend's chatter about Trent's plans.  He wondered why a place like Yale would give their a capella group such a silly name. Although he really shouldn't knock it; he only wished he had some useful plans of his own.  Sam had applied to three schools, and had an interview for Hunter College in a few weeks, but he didn't feel very optimistic about it.  He'd probably just put his foot in his mouth and blow it like he always did.  He knew he should ask Blaine to help him prepare for the interview, but sometimes he just wanted to hang out and have fun with his friend, not just worry about classes and grades and college.

Mr. Schue was collecting their costumes as they got on the bus, laying them out on the front seats so they wouldn't get ruined.  Sam had thought it was a good idea to re-wear their Regionals outfits, even though some of the girls complained that the purple dresses were uncomfortable.  He imagined most of their dresses were uncomfortable.  It was good to be a guy, he thought, taking Kitty's heels from her and arranging them in a box with the other girls' shoes, all of which looked terribly painful.  Sam wiggled his toes in his sneakers, glad he was able to change back into his t-shirt and jeans for the trip home.  Even Blaine looked dressed down for a change, in just a white polo and dark jeans, without even his usual bowtie.  Although of course his polo was neatly tucked in, with a striped belt circling his narrow waist.  Blaine didn't really do casual.

After Sam finished helping Mr. Schue with the costumes, he made his way back to where Blaine was perched, talking to Marley and Ryder.  “Slide over, man,” he said, pushing Blaine towards the window with his hip. 

Blaine grinned at him.  “What, you don't want the window seat?  I thought you wanted to sleep.”

“Who said I didn't?”  Sam replied, poking around in his backpack until he found his hoodie.  He leaned his head against Blaine's shoulder and arranged the sweatshirt over them both.  “You're comfier than the window.”  He felt Blaine snort under his cheek.

“Glad to be of service.”  Blaine shifted around, pulling out some kind of travel pillow and laying it between his head and the side of the bus, then tugged Sam back up against him.  “At least you're warm.  It was freezing in that auditorium.”

“Mmm, yeah, much better now,” Sam mumbled, closing his eyes as the bus started to move.  “You were great tonight, by the way.”

“Thanks, Sam.”  Sam couldn't see it from where he was lying against Blaine's shoulder, but he would bet anything Blaine had that little smile on his face he always got when Sam complimented him.  Sam could hear it in Blaine's voice, and it warmed him more than his hoodie ever could.  “You were pretty awesome yourself.”

“Thanks.”  Sam snuggled up closer to Blaine and let out a contented breath.  If he played his cards right, he could sleep all the way home, and then maybe convince Blaine to invite him over to play video games for a  while before they had to go to bed for real.  If he called it a sleepover he knew Blaine would fall for it.  Sometimes Sam felt more comfortable in Blaine's house than at the Hummel-Hudsons' – at least when he was at Blaine's, Blaine was there too.  It was kind of weird still being at the Hummel house when Kurt was in New York and Finn was at college.  He liked it better when one of them was home.  He wondered if Finn was coming back to the house tonight, or heading over to his dorm.  Finn had been busy talking to Mr. Schue about something before their performance tonight, and Sam hadn't gotten a chance to catch up with him.

Sam was pulled out of his meandering thoughts as he heard someone coo at them as they walked by in the aisle – Unique, he thought – but he didn't bother responding.  If everyone wasn't used to Blam by now, there was no sense trying to explain it.  Sam didn't really understand it himself, but he had decided a while back to just go with the flow.  Being around Blaine made him feel good, made him comfortable in his own skin.  He thought that most of the time, he did the same for Blaine, too.  Blaine had really opened up to him over the course of the year, since that moment when Brittany “introduced” Blaine to him before the election.  Blaine had helped him so much this year, with the whole college essay thing, and after the school shooting that wasn't really a shooting, but had scared the crap out of all of them anyway.  When he needed a shoulder to cry on – or sleep on – Blaine was always there, and Sam made sure he was always there for Blaine.  Sam had never had a friend quite like him.  He wasn't sure why the connection between them was so strong, but it worked for them, and he wasn't going to question it.

Sam was jarred awake by a loud pop.  The whole bus jerked and then spun, everyone screaming as it flipped on to its side and careened across the road, coming to a halt with a crash.  Just as Sam started to open his eyes there was another crash and the bus jolted.  There was an awful sound of tearing metal, and Sam felt cold air stream in.  He looked around but nothing he saw made any sense.  The bus was tipped over, broken glass was everywhere, and he could see out to the traffic streaming by through a giant hole in what he had thought was the roof.  He saw his friends crumpled against the windows, and hanging on to the seats, crying and yelling, but he couldn't tell what anyone was saying. 

Sam looked around for Blaine.  He had been right next to him, where did he go?  Sam saw a familiar boat shoe a few feet away and tried to crawl over to it, but his foot wouldn't move, jammed under something.  “Blaine?”  He scrambled to try to get closer to him, pushing his backpack out of the way, and then he could see Blaine, lying on his back, one leg at an unnatural angle.  His head was turned away from Sam, and he wasn't moving.  “Blaine?” he said again.  Sam stretched out as far as he could go, managing to get a hand around Blaine's wrist.  “Please, Blaine, say something,” he pleaded, his heart racing.

Blaine twitched and moaned, but didn't respond.  Sam kept an iron grip on his wrist.  “Blaine, it's Sam.  Are you okay?  What's wrong?”  Blaine didn't answer this time, and Sam tried again, shaking his arm.  “Blaine, man, are you okay?  Say something!”

“Calm down, everyone, stay where you are.  Help will be here soon,” Sam heard through the noise.  It sounded like Mr. Schue. He didn't sound very calm.

“Mr. Schue!  Over here!”  Sam yelled.  “Blaine's hurt bad!” It didn't seem like anyone was listening.  He twisted around, trying to find someone to help them.  Ryder was crawling towards him, cradling one arm with the other.  “Ryder, can you see if Blaine's okay?  He won't say anything to me,” Sam pleaded.

Ryder looked at him blankly.  “Kitty,” he said.  “Her head is bleeding.  A lot.”

Sam turned back to Blaine, realizing that the wet streaks on Blaine's shirt were blood.  Was this really happening?  Were his friends going to die?  His head spun and he tried again to get closer to Blaine but his foot wouldn't budge, the pain he felt as he yanked at it shooting through him like a knife.  He reached down with his free hand, feeling something heavy pressing against his ankle.  There was something hanging over his head, too, he realized, one of the seats or some part of the bus, he didn't know.  He felt like he couldn't breathe, like there wasn't any air.  He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down, focusing on the feeling of his breath going in and out, like Blaine had taught him after the shooting.  He could do this.  His friends were going to need him.  He had to hold it together.

“Help her, you've got to help her,” he heard Tina wail.  “Why isn't anyone helping her?”  Help who?  Sam wondered.  Kitty? 

“Tina, are you okay?”  Sam shouted.  “Tina?”  But Tina didn't respond, unless her chant of “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” counted.  Sam tugged on Blaine's wrist and tried again.  “Please, man, please talk to me.  Blaine, if you can hear me, it's Sam.  Please say something.”  He thought Blaine's wrist felt colder than it had before.  Was Blaine dead?  Was he holding on to a dead person?  Why wouldn't Blaine answer?  “Blaine!”  He closed his eyes and tried not to scream; it felt like he was going to explode.

“Hey there, we're going to help your friend,” Sam heard, as a warm hand pried his fingers from Blaine's wrist. 

“Is he okay?  Is he alive?”  Sam asked, still reaching for him.

“Let us take care of him,” the person said, moving to block his view of Blaine.

“He's my best friend.  Please help him.”  Sam twisted to try to see what they were doing to Blaine.

Another person came into Sam's line of sight, crouching down next to him.  “Hi.  I'm Martin.  What's your name?”

“Sam.  Sam Evans.  And that's Blaine.  Please, don't let him die.  He just got engaged, he's going to New York, please...” Sam heard himself babbling but he couldn't stop, he had to make them understand. 

“Okay, Sam.  I can tell you're really worried about your friend.  We're paramedics, and we're going to help you guys, okay?  Now try to stay calm and let me take a look at you.”

Sam nodded as the man examined him.  The paramedic shined a light in his eyes, held his wrist for a moment, and then ran his hands around his foot and ankle.

“Can you wiggle your toes?”  Sam complied.  “Looks like you're good and stuck here, but I don't think there's any damage to your leg.”  The man – Martin – looked around and then back down at Sam.  “Sam, can you hold on for a few more minutes while I help some of the other kids?  I promise I'll come back and get you out of here as soon as I can.”

Sam nodded again, turning back to look at Blaine when Martin moved away.  The paramedics were putting him on a back board, talking so quickly that Sam couldn't understand what they were saying.  Blaine's eyes were closed and his face was still.  There was blood on his forehead and running down his cheek.  He didn't look like Blaine anymore.  Sam felt like he was in a nightmare.  He grabbed the back of the nearest person's jacket as they started to move past him.  “Is he okay?”

The woman turned to look at Sam, placing a hand on his shoulder.  “We're going to do everything we can for him,” she said firmly.  Sam's stomach flipped and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make it all disappear.  He couldn't help Blaine, he couldn't help anyone, he just had to lie here and listen to his friends crying and moaning.  Sam didn't think he'd ever heard sounds like this before.  He didn't know where they were coming from, who was hurt and who was okay.  Who might be dead.

After what seemed like an eternity, Martin and another paramedic came back with a large power tool.  Martin held himself in front of Sam so he couldn't see what they were doing, and after a few minutes his foot was freed with a wave of pain that nearly made Sam pass out.  The paramedics wrapped something around his aching foot and helped him out of the bus, or what was left of it, and into an ambulance.  Jake was there, his shirt off and bandages wrapped around his chest, looking stunned.  “Sam, you okay?”  Jake asked.

“I think so.  My foot got stuck.”  Sam looked around at the flashing lights and the cars still speeding by on the other side of the road.  “Where's Mr. Schue?”

“He went to the hospital with Finn.”  Jake took the blanket a paramedic handed him and awkwardly wrapped it around Sam, then took a second one for himself.  “You sure you're okay?  You don't look too good.”

“I feel sick,” Sam said, shakily drinking the bottle of water someone handed him.  “What happened to everyone?”

“I don't know,” Jake said softly.  “I think Ryder hurt his arm.  Marley's okay, and Tina, but Kitty got hit in the head.  She wasn't moving.”

Sam shivered, remembering Tina screaming for help.  “Did you see Blaine?” Sam asked, afraid to hear the answer.

Jake nodded.  “They took him in one of the first ambulances, with Kitty.”

“Was he….”  Sam couldn't go any further.

“I don't know,” Jake said again.  “They won't tell us anything.”  Jake pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders.  “What happens next?”

Sam didn't answer.  He had no idea. 

----------

Later that night, dozing on a bed in the hallway of the emergency room, Sam saw Burt and Carole walk by.  “Mr. Hummel!” he yelled.  “Burt!”

Burt turned to him, his face white and drawn.  He didn't say anything at first, just pulled Sam into a tight hug, his strong arms trembling.  "You okay, bud?” he asked, looking Sam up and down.

“Yeah, just some bruises on my ankle.” 

“That's good, son, that's real good.”  Burt let go of Sam, looking down the hall at where Carole had continued on.  “Sam, call your parents, okay?  Let ‘em know you're all right.”

“Burt?  How is everyone else?  I haven't seen Blaine, or Finn, or Kitty, and no one will tell us what's going on.”  Sam heard the tremor in his own voice.

Burt swallowed hard and turned away from Sam.  “I've got to go with Carole, Sam.  I'll be back when I can.  Promise me you'll call your parents, okay?”  Burt patted Sam distractedly on the shoulder and then walked away, leaving Sam feeling worse than before.  Obviously something was very wrong.  But Burt was right, he needed to call his parents.  He felt around in his pocket, but his phone wasn't there.  He looked around for a nurse or someone to ask, and finding no one, Sam decided to take matters into his own hands.  He had had enough of lying around feeling helpless for one night.  He slowly sat himself up, and gingerly eased himself off of the cot.  His left foot throbbed, but there was really nothing wrong with it, just some scrapes on his ankle.  Except for a vague feeling of dizziness, Sam felt fine.  Physically, at least.

He hobbled out into the emergency room waiting area, spotting Tina in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, her head on her knees.  “Tina?  You okay?”

“Sam!”  Tina wrapped her arms around him.  Sam expected her to cry, but she didn't, just clung to him weakly, her head on his shoulder.  Sam rubbed her back, then pulled away, looking at her face.  Except for her red rimmed eyes, she seemed to be okay. 

“Did you get hurt, T?”  he asked softly.

She shook her head.  “No.  B-but, he's d-dead, Sam,” she stuttered out.  “No one will say it to us straight out, but I can tell from what they're not saying.  He wasn't in the bus, after the crash.  He must have gotten thrown out.  He m-must be dead.”

Sam sat down next to Tina with a thump, and felt his hands go numb.  “Blaine's dead?”

Tina looked at him like he was insane.  “No, not Blaine.  Finn.”

Sam remembered Burt's face, and his trembling arms.  Oh god, not Finn.  Not Finn. 

Then Tina was standing in front of him, shaking him with her hands gripping his arms. “Sam?  Why did you think it was Blaine?  What happened to him?”  Her voice got higher with every word.  “He was right next to you.  What happened?”

“I don't know.  His leg was all twisted, and there was blood on his face, and on his shirt… he wasn't talking or anything.”  Sam took a deep breath and stood up.  “Come on, Tina.  Let's see if we can find Blaine, and Finn.  I can't take this any longer.”

An hour later, in a different waiting room, Sam finally found someone who would talk to them.  “Mr. Schue,” Sam called out, as Tina barreled into him.  “Mr. Schue, what's going on?” 

Mr. Schue pulled Sam into the hug with Tina, and rested his head against Sam's.  “I'm so glad you guys are okay,” he said, his voice shaking. 

“For god's sake, Mr. Schue, tell us what happened,” Tina said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.  “Is Finn…?”

Mr. Schue sat down, Sam and Tina on either side of him.  “I'm so sorry.  Finn didn't make it.  And Kitty's in critical condition.  She had a serious head wound.”

“Blaine?” Sam said, bracing himself.

“Blaine's in surgery.  He lost a lot of blood, and he was pretty badly injured.”

Sam faintly heard Tina start sobbing, and he put his head between his knees, feeling Mr. Schue's hand on his back.  This couldn't be happening.  Finn couldn't be dead.  Finn was their leader, and Blaine… Blaine was his friend.

A doctor came into the waiting room and Sam recognized Blaine's parents talking with him.  They were nodding their heads, and when the doctor left, Blaine's dad put his arms around his mother, holding her for a minute and stroking her dark hair.  When they both sat back down, Sam stood up.  If Blaine was dead, they wouldn't still be in the waiting room, right?  So he must be okay.

He walked hesitantly over to them, and paused until they looked up.  “Mr. and Mrs. Anderson?  I'm Sam, Blaine's friend…”

“Of course, Sam, we know you,” Mrs. Anderson said, standing up and putting a hand on Sam's shoulder.  Duh, Sam thought.  You've only been over their house a million times.

Mrs. Anderson glanced down at the bandage around his ankle.  “You were on the bus too, weren't you?  Are you okay?”

Sam nodded.  “I'm fine.”  He took a deep breath.  “How's Blaine?”

Mrs. Anderson sat back down, and Sam sat next to her, searching her face for a hint.  “He's out of surgery.  The bones in his right leg were badly broken, and his hip… they're not sure how bad it will be, yet.  Or they're not telling us, anyway.”

A broken leg?  It had seemed a lot worse than that to Sam.  “So, he's going to be okay?”

Mr. Anderson reached over and patted Sam on the knee.  “We hope so, Sam.”  He looked around, then back at Sam.  “Are your parents here?”

Sam shook his head.  “No.  They live in Kentucky,” Sam said pointlessly, realizing as he continued that the Andersons probably knew this already.  “I stay with the Hummel-Hudsons.” Both of the Andersons flinched.  Of course.  Because Finn was dead.  Sam couldn't take this in; it didn't make any sense.  “Um, that reminds me.  Could I borrow a phone to call my mom and dad?”

Mr. Anderson nodded and pulled out his phone, unlocking it and handing it to Sam.  For a minute he couldn't remember his parents' phone number – it was in his phone, he never really had to know it – and he almost turned to ask Blaine.  But Blaine wasn't here.  At least he's not dead.  <i>Yet,</i> he thought miserably.  Sam finally forced himself to remember the phone number and dialed.  His mom picked up, startled to be woken up so late at night, and Sam rushed to assure her that he was okay.  Before he knew it he was crying into the phone, Mrs. Anderson's arm around his shoulders.  She took the phone out of his hands, and spoke to his mother for a few minutes, while Sam curled up under her arm.

“Sam?”  Mrs. Anderson said, rubbing his back gently.  “You're going to stay with us tonight, okay?  And your mom will come see you tomorrow.  Is that all right?”  Sam nodded.  He really couldn't see going back to the Hummels' tonight.  He didn't know where they were, anyway.  Was Finn even still at the hospital?  How did that work?  Was there a morgue in the basement, like in Grey's Anatomy?  Was Finn down there, all alone, or were Burt and Carole with him?  

“Have you talked to Burt tonight?”  Mrs. Anderson's gentle voice interrupted his thoughts. 

“Just for a minute.  Before I knew about Finn.”  Sam's voice cracked on the name.  Burt must have known, when he saw him in the hallway earlier.  Or feared.  Sam felt like he was going to throw up.

“I'll send him a quick text and let him know you're with us, okay?”  Sam nodded, feeling awful for having to bother Burt right now.  Burt had real problems to deal with, he didn't need to think about Sam.  Sam wasn't family, no matter how sincerely friendly Burt and Carole were to him.  Most of the time Sam was fine living away from home, but right now, he really wished his mother were here. 

Mrs. Anderson leaned on her husband, and he put an arm around her, pulling her sweater back up over her shoulder from where it had fallen down.  Sam started to get up, feeling like he was intruding, but Mrs. Anderson grabbed his hand.  “Stay here, Sam.  The doctor said Blaine should wake up soon, and then we'll know more.  Then we can take you home, or,” she stumbled over her words, shaking her head, “I don't know, we'll figure out what comes next.”

Tina's mom and dad appeared, squeezing Tina tightly and talking in hushed tones with Mr. Schue.  “Come back to my house, Sam,” Tina suggested.  She looked hurt when he refused her offer, but Sam didn't want to leave, choosing instead to sit with Blaine's parents in silence as the minutes ticked away.  Another doctor came into the room, and talked with a blond couple Sam assumed were Kitty's parents, then leading them down a hall, the two adults clinging together.  Sam wondered if he should have said something to them.  But he had never even met them, and he felt right sitting with the Andersons.  This was where he belonged right now.

Sam hadn't realized he had fallen asleep until Blaine's mom woke him up.  He blinked at her, confused, until his brain registered where they were.  Right.  Nightmareland, the hospital, of course.  “Sam?  Blaine's awake, and his father and I are going in to see him.  I'll come back out in a few minutes and fill you in, okay?”  Sam nodded, looking around the empty waiting room.  “Sam?”  Mrs. Anderson put a hand on his shoulder, her big brown eyes looking right at him, earnest and open, just like Blaine's.  “He's going to be okay, Sam.  And I promise I'll come back out soon.”

Sam watched them go, then stood up and stretched.  He wandered around the waiting room, paging through a stack of informational pamphlets without reading any of them.  They should hire Ms. Pillsbury to make them some new ones, Sam thought idly, because these are too boring to read.  He sat down and peeled the bandage off of his foot, poking at the scrapes and flexing his ankle.  It hardly hurt at all.  How was it fair that he was barely injured, when Finn was gone, and Kitty and Blaine…  He wondered where everyone else was, whether they were all at home with their families, cuddled up together on a couch, or safe and warm in bed.  Artie hadn't even been on the bus – his aunt and uncle lived in Columbus and he had gone there with his parents for the weekend after the show instead of coming back to Lima.  Did Artie even know what happened?  Tina probably told him, Sam thought. 

What about Kurt? Did he  know?  Sam's heart climbed into his throat.  He hadn't even thought of Kurt, not until just now.  How was that possible?  What was wrong with him?  Kurt's brother was dead, and his brand new fiancé was lying broken in a hospital bed.  Did Burt tell him?  Was he on his way?  Would Blaine want him to call Kurt and fill him in?  Holy shit, did Rachel know about Finn?  How were they feeling, knowing Finn was dead? Sam felt suffocated thinking about their loss.  He reached for his phone, forgetting that it was missing until his hand hit his pocket.  Fucking shit, he thought, falling into a chair.  How could all of this be real?  It was too much. 

He was saved from having to figure out whether he should call Kurt and Rachel, however, when he saw Mr. Anderson coming towards him.  Blaine's father was at least as tall as Sam, but he seemed smaller tonight, his shoulders tense.  “Blaine's awake,” he said quietly.  “He's pretty sleepy, but you can come say hi if you want.  I think he'd like to see you.”  As Sam stood up, Mr. Anderson put a hand on Sam's arm, and looked at him searchingly.  “Blaine doesn't look good.  He's lost a lot of blood, and he's been through a terrible time.  But he's going to be okay.  Just, be prepared.”  Sam's stomach clenched, and he steeled himself as they made their way down the hallway. Mr. Anderson stopped him again just outside the room.  “I know how much Blaine cares about you, Sam.  Thank you for being here.  It means a lot.”

Sam stepped into the small hospital room.  The lights were dim and the room was quiet, except for the beeping of a monitor.  Blaine's mom sat on the far side of the bed, and another chair was pulled up on the near side.  Sam sat down on the edge of the chair, and slowly raised his eyes to Blaine's face.  Blaine's eyes were closed, his dark lashes a stark contrast to his pale skin.  There was a cut up by his hairline, over his left eye, with a few black stitches holding it together.  Sam tentatively reached out and took Blaine's hand.  Blaine's eyes fluttered open, slowly focusing on Sam. 

“Hey, Sam,” Blaine said, so softly that Sam could barely hear him.

“Blaine, dude, you really scared me,” Sam said, squeezing his hand. 

“I'm sorry,” Blaine whispered.

“No, I didn't mean it that way,” Sam said quickly.  What an idiot he was.  “I'm just glad you're okay.  Really glad.”  Blaine's eyes filled with tears and Sam started to panic.  What was he supposed to do?  “It's  crazy, but I was afraid you were dead.  You're my best friend.  I can't lose you.  You have to be okay.”  Sam squeezed his eyes shut and just held on to Blaine's hand, begging him to understand.

“Sam?”

“Yeah, B?”

“Come here,” Blaine said, tugging at Sam where their hands were laced together.

Sam gave Blaine a curious look, then leaned over him, putting his arms around him in a gentle hug.  “Like this?  Doesn't it hurt?”

 “Painkillers,” Blaine said.  “Nothing hurts.”  Sam felt Blaine put an arm over his back, and pull him closer, Blaine's breath warm on his neck. He's alive, Sam thought, he's breathing and he's alive. Blaine just held him there for a while, until Sam thought he might have fallen asleep.  Then he felt Blaine take a deep breath. “I can't lose you either, Sammy.”  Sam hugged him tighter for a minute, then sat up, Blaine's mother meeting his eyes and then looking back down at Blaine.

“Blaine, honey, your dad's going to bring Sam back to our place for the night, so you all can get some sleep,” she said softly, her hand going to Blaine's shoulder.  Blaine barely nodded in response, his eyes closing.  But when Sam started to let go of Blaine's hand, Blaine grabbed on, not letting go.

“Sammy,” Blaine murmured, barely opening his eyes.  “Stay with me?”

Sam felt his heart slam against his chest, and put his head down on Blaine's shoulder.  “You got it, buddy.  I'll stay right here.  I'm not going anywhere.”

“Sam?”  Blaine's mom asked, her voice quiet.

“I'm good.”  He raised his head a little and met her eyes, waiting until she nodded in agreement.  Sam shuffled his chair closer to the bed until he could rest his head almost comfortably on Blaine, and lay his arm carefully over his chest.  “This okay?” he whispered to Blaine.

Blaine nodded, sighing against Sam's hair.  Sam picked up Blaine's hand and pressed it against his own in a slow motion high five.  “Blam,” he whispered in Blaine's ear.  When a little smile pulled at the edge of Blaine's mouth, Sam felt something in him unwind.  He pressed a gentle kiss to Blaine's cheek.  “Go to sleep, B.,” he said, resting his head back on Blaine's shoulder.  Sam took a deep breath, feeling steadier than he had in hours.  He might not know how to handle a lot of things, but he knew how to do this, how to be what Blaine needed in this moment, right here.  And for now, that was enough.  e toHe mniHe