UnfortunateFates
May 12, 2012, 12:13 p.m.
The Surgery
Written for Klaine Week Day 3: Missing Moments. Blaine doesn't want to have surgery. Kurt doesn't want Blaine to be scared. Nobody wants this to happen, but it has to, so they're doing the best they can. Hopefully it's enough.
K - Words: 530 - Last Updated: May 12, 2012 677 0 1 0 Categories: Angst, Characters: Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, Tags: established relationship,
Author's Notes: Spoilers for Michael!
“I can’t do this,” says Blaine, all rushed and quiet and to himself the way he always is when he’s nervous, but he wouldn’t have said it out loud if he hadn’t wanted Kurt to hear him. Kurt just bites his lip until it flushes cherry red between his teeth, the same shade as Blaine’s warming cheeks.
“You’ll be fine,” he asserts with more confidence than he possesses, but it’s not a lie if you mean it, right? The wind drifts in through the window and they both shudder down to their toes at the icy undercurrents of it. It’s winter in Ohio, they should be used to this by now, but they’re not. Blaine’s room does get awfully cold, though; poor insulation, thin walls, wrong bad awful and so on.
“I hate hospitals,” whispers Blaine.
Kurt flashes back – she’ll be fine, sweetie, it’s just precautionary turned to bacterial meningitis and it’s progressing quickly turned to she’s gone, kiddo – and he knows the way Blaine feels. He thinks of staying vigil at his father’s bedside and imagines actually being in the bed himself. He can’t.
Kurt shifts a little bit in the chair beside Blaine’s bed and squeezes their joined hands. Blaine blinks, eyelashes long and dark against his pale-with-nerves skin, and the breeze from the impact echoes across the room delicately. Kurt shivers again.
“I know,” is all he can think of to reply, all the while feeling incompetent and incapacitated with guilt. “That slushie was meant for me, I’m so sor-“
It’s at this point that Blaine cuts him off every time. He’s polite and earnest and compassionate to a fault. “Stop it. Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. It’s Sebastian’s,” and the name falls like venom from his lips.
And Kurt knows, he does, they’ve been over this a million times and then some, but every time he thinks back to that night all he can hear is the sound of Blaine screaming, and his breathing starts to pick up, and he thinks of Blaine curling up on the ground and looking so tiny and it hurts physically somewhere deep in his chest. Blaine still looks small, to be honest. Even now, healing fast, he’s petite and compact, taking up only a third of his queen bed, and in his navy blue pajamas he looks years younger than he is and even then years older than he should be. The cruelty in the world ages far more efficiently than time ever could.
There’s a heavy silence then, and Kurt feels like he’s running underwater when he tries to speak. He waits to surface before asking hesitantly, “Can I be there? At the hospital?” The words feel thick on his tongue.
Blaine’s eyes brighten for a moment. “Could you?”
Kurt almost laughs, because of course Blaine would turn it back on him. Of course he’d question things right away. Then he sobers, because of course Blaine would turn it around. Of course he would.
“I’ll be here as long as you’ll have me,” whispers Kurt, seeing Blaine’s eyes drooping, and they both know he’s talking about more than the surgery but they leave the words unsaid until the smaller boy drifts off to sleep without another sound.
“You’ll be fine,” he asserts with more confidence than he possesses, but it’s not a lie if you mean it, right? The wind drifts in through the window and they both shudder down to their toes at the icy undercurrents of it. It’s winter in Ohio, they should be used to this by now, but they’re not. Blaine’s room does get awfully cold, though; poor insulation, thin walls, wrong bad awful and so on.
“I hate hospitals,” whispers Blaine.
Kurt flashes back – she’ll be fine, sweetie, it’s just precautionary turned to bacterial meningitis and it’s progressing quickly turned to she’s gone, kiddo – and he knows the way Blaine feels. He thinks of staying vigil at his father’s bedside and imagines actually being in the bed himself. He can’t.
Kurt shifts a little bit in the chair beside Blaine’s bed and squeezes their joined hands. Blaine blinks, eyelashes long and dark against his pale-with-nerves skin, and the breeze from the impact echoes across the room delicately. Kurt shivers again.
“I know,” is all he can think of to reply, all the while feeling incompetent and incapacitated with guilt. “That slushie was meant for me, I’m so sor-“
It’s at this point that Blaine cuts him off every time. He’s polite and earnest and compassionate to a fault. “Stop it. Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. It’s Sebastian’s,” and the name falls like venom from his lips.
And Kurt knows, he does, they’ve been over this a million times and then some, but every time he thinks back to that night all he can hear is the sound of Blaine screaming, and his breathing starts to pick up, and he thinks of Blaine curling up on the ground and looking so tiny and it hurts physically somewhere deep in his chest. Blaine still looks small, to be honest. Even now, healing fast, he’s petite and compact, taking up only a third of his queen bed, and in his navy blue pajamas he looks years younger than he is and even then years older than he should be. The cruelty in the world ages far more efficiently than time ever could.
There’s a heavy silence then, and Kurt feels like he’s running underwater when he tries to speak. He waits to surface before asking hesitantly, “Can I be there? At the hospital?” The words feel thick on his tongue.
Blaine’s eyes brighten for a moment. “Could you?”
Kurt almost laughs, because of course Blaine would turn it back on him. Of course he’d question things right away. Then he sobers, because of course Blaine would turn it around. Of course he would.
“I’ll be here as long as you’ll have me,” whispers Kurt, seeing Blaine’s eyes drooping, and they both know he’s talking about more than the surgery but they leave the words unsaid until the smaller boy drifts off to sleep without another sound.