Something To Sleep To [19/?]
Title: Something To Sleep To
Chapter: 19/?
Author: wishof_wings // tresbellemichelle
Betas: Becky & Izzy, with special guest appearances by Sam and Rose
Rating: R
Pairing: Klaine
Word Count: 1800
Summary: What started as a volunteer gig at Lima Memorial is slowly turning into a fairy tale for Kurt Hummel. Except Kurt is pretty doubtful that a kiss is going to wake his Prince Charming from his coma.
Spoilers: None
Warnings: AU, homophobia related violence
Author's Notes: Because I'm not cruel, I wrote chapter 19 with ridiculous speed. However, I have not physically outlined anything past this, so chapter 20 will be awhile yet. Also, please don't kill me.
Go back to the beginning.
"It's time to go."
Blaine stares at the man. He doesn't know him, but his voice is soothing, comforting. Blaine would trust him, except that he can't see his face.
"I have to get off the train?" Blaine grips the armrests of his seat. The man nods. "Why do you wear that sheet on your head?" Blaine asks, desperately, and the man shakes his head.
"I don't," the man simply says, and that's when the noises start. Loud, horrible noises. Blaine covers his ears.
"Can you make them stop?" he yells, but the man shakes his head.
"You don't want them to stop."
The train is jerking, swerving, and Blaine feels nauseated.
"Yes, yes I do. Make it stop! Make it stop!"
"This is your stop." The man walks away, disappearing through a curtain. Blaine stands up, looking around, but he's wearing his pajamas, he doesn't need to bring them with him. He puts on his hat and runs after the man, but when he goes through the curtain, he stumbles.
It's white.
Why is it so white? He closes his eyes, shying away from it, but it's still white. Everything is white.
It blares at him and he throws his head around desperately, but he can't remember what he's looking for. What is he looking for? Where was he? Where is he? Why can't he ask anyone? Why is no one there?
Help, help, help.
His throat isn't working.
He opens his eyes again, wincing against the white, but it fades, gradually, until-
A ceiling. He can see a ceiling. It's blurry and it's white, but it's not white. His room? Wait, no, how is he in his room? Where is he? Where was he? What happened?
There's a buzzing noise and he wants it to stop, why won't it stop, and he can't cover his ears. Why can't he move? Why isn't anyone telling him what's going on? Where is his mom? His dad? Jeremy?
Jeremy. The dance. The parking lot.
Blaine is staring straight up (how do I turn my head? Why can't I remember?) and he's glad he can't move, glad that he's trapped underwater (when did I get underwater?) because what happened?
His mom.
She's there, right there, right above him. And she's crying, she's crying harder than he's ever seen her cry. Harder than when he jumped off the tire swing and sprained his ankle. Harder than when Cooper left for college.
No, no mom, don't cry, no.
Why can't he talk?
"Blaine, Blaine, Blaine, oh my baby boy."
His mom must be underwater, too. He can hardly hear her, but she's touching his face, stroking his cheeks, and he closes his eyes at the feeling.
"Look at me, look at me."
He does, staring up at her and she's crying and smiling and then Blaine is crying.
"It's okay, it's okay. I've got you, I've got you. You're okay."
I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay.
Why?
He can't move, he can't move because how do people move? but he can feel. Can people forget how to feel?
Did I forget?
His mom keeps crying. Not as hard. But every time he sees her face, there are tears in her eyes. There are other faces, too, strange faces.
They aren’t covered with sheets.
But why would they be?
Blaine feels very tired. And no one will tell him anything, no one is answering his questions. He can't ask questions. But they should answer them.
His mom doesn't like it when he closes his eyes, so he continues to be tired. He can't see her half the time, can't turn his head (how do people move?), but feels her there, touching his arm, stroking his hair.
His hair is shorter than he remembers.
But sometimes his mom will stand, will kiss his forehead and tell him she loves him. Blaine wishes he could smile (smiling, I remember smiling, how do I smile again?), because his mom hasn't said she loves him so many times since he was little.
No.
No, it stopped recently. It stopped and Blaine was afraid that maybe, maybe, he didn't have a mom anymore.
But she loves him, kisses him, stays with him.
She leaves and he closes his eyes. He's so very tired.
Someone is holding his hand.
Blaine can feel it, but he can't hold back, but he can feel the fingers laced through his, the back and forth movement of a thumb, familiar and soothing.
It's not his mom.
But it doesn't scare him.
There's no sound, not like before. Blaine is still underwater. He wonders how he's breathing.
Shouldn't there be bubbles?
There is something, suddenly. Blaine doesn't know what it is. Like a tickle along the edge of his awareness. He opens his eyes but the room is dimmer, dimmer than he remembers. Not white. He likes it. But he's tired.
And the tickle, whatever it is, he likes that too.
He sleeps.
Blaine might not be underwater anymore. He's not sure. His body still feels heavy, but he can hear, a little bit, sometimes. Like talking to someone with bad reception, there are bits and pieces and he hears them.
They don't make sense a lot of the time.
"-trauma, it might take-"
"-movement, chances are he'll-"
"-can't he talk?"
"-come back slowly-"
"-memories?"
"-some tests when he's-"
It hurts. Blaine wishes the water would come back, would swallow him up and the sound would go away. He tries to block it out, doesn't concentrate on it.
"Blaine?"
He opens his eyes and his mom is there again, leaning over him. She looks tired. She never looks tired.
Mom, you should sleep.
Blaine wishes she'd tell him how to talk.
"Blaine, blink if you can hear me, alright?"
He blinks, slow and deliberate, and her face breaks into a smile. Blaine's lips quirk in response. Oh. That's how I smile.
"Good, good, thank you," she chants, kissing his forehead, but Blaine doesn't know what he's done.
One time, he wakes up and everything is different. Panic strikes through him (where am I? Where did they take me? Mom? Mom!) and he wishes he could move (why won't anyone tell me how to move?), wishes he could talk (I remember talking, but how do I do it?), wishes that someone would tell him something.
But then the panic clears and Blaine can see.
It's a hospital room.
He's in the hospital.
Why am I in the hospital?
He still can't turn his head, can't remember how, but his eyes can move. He can look around, can see. Can see books-his books, from his room-and old cups and magazines and…
There's a vase.
Blaine doesn't recognize it, imagines maybe it's from the hospital, except there are flowers in it. Strange flowers. Blaine hasn't seen flowers like these before. They don't look like flowers, but they do, and Blaine wishes he could touch them, or smell them, or ask someone why there are flowers.
He hears the low shuffle of noise-he can hear better, but now there's no one to hear. They don't talk in the room anymore. He doesn't see the strange people (doctors, they must be doctors) anymore, either, just his mom. His mom is always there.
Except for now.
His eyes go towards the door. Two people are standing there. He wonders why they're standing instead of sitting. They're talking, maybe. He can't hear, but he can see, and that's what it looks like.
It takes him a moment to place one of them, and then another moment to believe it.
Cooper?
Blaine blinks, but Cooper doesn't go away, is still standing there. He looks tired too, and more ruffled than Blaine has ever seen him. It's been a long time.
Did Cooper come home because of him?
Blaine's heart tugs and he wishes he could talk (move your mouth, maybe it will work, but how do I move?), wishes Cooper would talk to him, why hasn't Cooper been talking to him?
Who is Cooper talking to?
At first, he thinks it's a doctor. But… No, he's too young. Very young. As young as Blaine is, maybe. Another patient? Why would he be talking to Cooper?
He's… Blaine isn't sure, can't remember the words he should use or if any words exist at all. Blaine is sure, however, that he's never seen anyone quite like this boy. Who are you? He can't ask. He wants to.
The boy has his arms wrapped around himself, like a hug. Except there's no one that he's hugging.
Blaine doesn't know how long he watches, how long he looks, how long he tries to will his mouth to move but can't, can't, can't. He can watch, though. So he watches and watches and wonders why this boy is here.
But then the boy turns and looks at him.
Blaine can't turn away. He wants to, but can't, can only keep looking or move his eyes elsewhere. But he wants to look, because now he can see the boy's face, his eyes.
The boy doesn't look away, holds his gaze and Blaine can see his bright blue eyes fill with tears.
No, I'm sorry, please don't cry.
He steps forward, then rocks back, unsure. He's staring at Blaine. His eyes are pleading. Blaine doesn't know what he's asking for, wishes he did, wishes he could make the boy stop crying.
Blaine waits, hopes the boy will say something, but he doesn't. He just looks, looks as much as Blaine looks back, but Blaine doesn't know why the boy is looking at all. Doesn't know why the boy is there.
Cooper is gone. Blaine hadn't noticed-notices now-wonders where he went and why the boy stayed. The boy who keeps rocking a step forward and then rocking a step back. A rocking horse.
You can come in.
Blaine can't tell him, though.
He feels tired again, is afraid to close his eyes this time, wonders if maybe his eyes are closed already and this boy is a dream. Blaine would dream about a boy like him.
His eyes flutter and he can feel the exhaustion wash over him, the water flowing back over his head, still weighing down his body. He's almost gone, almost, when he hears it.
A small, strangled whisper.
"Blaine."
But where has he heard it before?
<< 19 >>
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Chapter: 19/?
Author: wishof_wings // tresbellemichelle
Betas: Becky & Izzy, with special guest appearances by Sam and Rose
Rating: R
Pairing: Klaine
Word Count: 1800
Summary: What started as a volunteer gig at Lima Memorial is slowly turning into a fairy tale for Kurt Hummel. Except Kurt is pretty doubtful that a kiss is going to wake his Prince Charming from his coma.
Spoilers: None
Warnings: AU, homophobia related violence
Author's Notes: Because I'm not cruel, I wrote chapter 19 with ridiculous speed. However, I have not physically outlined anything past this, so chapter 20 will be awhile yet. Also, please don't kill me.
Go back to the beginning.
"It's time to go."
Blaine stares at the man. He doesn't know him, but his voice is soothing, comforting. Blaine would trust him, except that he can't see his face.
"I have to get off the train?" Blaine grips the armrests of his seat. The man nods. "Why do you wear that sheet on your head?" Blaine asks, desperately, and the man shakes his head.
"I don't," the man simply says, and that's when the noises start. Loud, horrible noises. Blaine covers his ears.
"Can you make them stop?" he yells, but the man shakes his head.
"You don't want them to stop."
The train is jerking, swerving, and Blaine feels nauseated.
"Yes, yes I do. Make it stop! Make it stop!"
"This is your stop." The man walks away, disappearing through a curtain. Blaine stands up, looking around, but he's wearing his pajamas, he doesn't need to bring them with him. He puts on his hat and runs after the man, but when he goes through the curtain, he stumbles.
It's white.
Why is it so white? He closes his eyes, shying away from it, but it's still white. Everything is white.
It blares at him and he throws his head around desperately, but he can't remember what he's looking for. What is he looking for? Where was he? Where is he? Why can't he ask anyone? Why is no one there?
Help, help, help.
His throat isn't working.
He opens his eyes again, wincing against the white, but it fades, gradually, until-
A ceiling. He can see a ceiling. It's blurry and it's white, but it's not white. His room? Wait, no, how is he in his room? Where is he? Where was he? What happened?
There's a buzzing noise and he wants it to stop, why won't it stop, and he can't cover his ears. Why can't he move? Why isn't anyone telling him what's going on? Where is his mom? His dad? Jeremy?
Jeremy. The dance. The parking lot.
Blaine is staring straight up (how do I turn my head? Why can't I remember?) and he's glad he can't move, glad that he's trapped underwater (when did I get underwater?) because what happened?
His mom.
She's there, right there, right above him. And she's crying, she's crying harder than he's ever seen her cry. Harder than when he jumped off the tire swing and sprained his ankle. Harder than when Cooper left for college.
No, no mom, don't cry, no.
Why can't he talk?
"Blaine, Blaine, Blaine, oh my baby boy."
His mom must be underwater, too. He can hardly hear her, but she's touching his face, stroking his cheeks, and he closes his eyes at the feeling.
"Look at me, look at me."
He does, staring up at her and she's crying and smiling and then Blaine is crying.
"It's okay, it's okay. I've got you, I've got you. You're okay."
I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay.
Why?
He can't move, he can't move because how do people move? but he can feel. Can people forget how to feel?
Did I forget?
His mom keeps crying. Not as hard. But every time he sees her face, there are tears in her eyes. There are other faces, too, strange faces.
They aren’t covered with sheets.
But why would they be?
Blaine feels very tired. And no one will tell him anything, no one is answering his questions. He can't ask questions. But they should answer them.
His mom doesn't like it when he closes his eyes, so he continues to be tired. He can't see her half the time, can't turn his head (how do people move?), but feels her there, touching his arm, stroking his hair.
His hair is shorter than he remembers.
But sometimes his mom will stand, will kiss his forehead and tell him she loves him. Blaine wishes he could smile (smiling, I remember smiling, how do I smile again?), because his mom hasn't said she loves him so many times since he was little.
No.
No, it stopped recently. It stopped and Blaine was afraid that maybe, maybe, he didn't have a mom anymore.
But she loves him, kisses him, stays with him.
She leaves and he closes his eyes. He's so very tired.
Someone is holding his hand.
Blaine can feel it, but he can't hold back, but he can feel the fingers laced through his, the back and forth movement of a thumb, familiar and soothing.
It's not his mom.
But it doesn't scare him.
There's no sound, not like before. Blaine is still underwater. He wonders how he's breathing.
Shouldn't there be bubbles?
There is something, suddenly. Blaine doesn't know what it is. Like a tickle along the edge of his awareness. He opens his eyes but the room is dimmer, dimmer than he remembers. Not white. He likes it. But he's tired.
And the tickle, whatever it is, he likes that too.
He sleeps.
Blaine might not be underwater anymore. He's not sure. His body still feels heavy, but he can hear, a little bit, sometimes. Like talking to someone with bad reception, there are bits and pieces and he hears them.
They don't make sense a lot of the time.
"-trauma, it might take-"
"-movement, chances are he'll-"
"-can't he talk?"
"-come back slowly-"
"-memories?"
"-some tests when he's-"
It hurts. Blaine wishes the water would come back, would swallow him up and the sound would go away. He tries to block it out, doesn't concentrate on it.
"Blaine?"
He opens his eyes and his mom is there again, leaning over him. She looks tired. She never looks tired.
Mom, you should sleep.
Blaine wishes she'd tell him how to talk.
"Blaine, blink if you can hear me, alright?"
He blinks, slow and deliberate, and her face breaks into a smile. Blaine's lips quirk in response. Oh. That's how I smile.
"Good, good, thank you," she chants, kissing his forehead, but Blaine doesn't know what he's done.
One time, he wakes up and everything is different. Panic strikes through him (where am I? Where did they take me? Mom? Mom!) and he wishes he could move (why won't anyone tell me how to move?), wishes he could talk (I remember talking, but how do I do it?), wishes that someone would tell him something.
But then the panic clears and Blaine can see.
It's a hospital room.
He's in the hospital.
Why am I in the hospital?
He still can't turn his head, can't remember how, but his eyes can move. He can look around, can see. Can see books-his books, from his room-and old cups and magazines and…
There's a vase.
Blaine doesn't recognize it, imagines maybe it's from the hospital, except there are flowers in it. Strange flowers. Blaine hasn't seen flowers like these before. They don't look like flowers, but they do, and Blaine wishes he could touch them, or smell them, or ask someone why there are flowers.
He hears the low shuffle of noise-he can hear better, but now there's no one to hear. They don't talk in the room anymore. He doesn't see the strange people (doctors, they must be doctors) anymore, either, just his mom. His mom is always there.
Except for now.
His eyes go towards the door. Two people are standing there. He wonders why they're standing instead of sitting. They're talking, maybe. He can't hear, but he can see, and that's what it looks like.
It takes him a moment to place one of them, and then another moment to believe it.
Cooper?
Blaine blinks, but Cooper doesn't go away, is still standing there. He looks tired too, and more ruffled than Blaine has ever seen him. It's been a long time.
Did Cooper come home because of him?
Blaine's heart tugs and he wishes he could talk (move your mouth, maybe it will work, but how do I move?), wishes Cooper would talk to him, why hasn't Cooper been talking to him?
Who is Cooper talking to?
At first, he thinks it's a doctor. But… No, he's too young. Very young. As young as Blaine is, maybe. Another patient? Why would he be talking to Cooper?
He's… Blaine isn't sure, can't remember the words he should use or if any words exist at all. Blaine is sure, however, that he's never seen anyone quite like this boy. Who are you? He can't ask. He wants to.
The boy has his arms wrapped around himself, like a hug. Except there's no one that he's hugging.
Blaine doesn't know how long he watches, how long he looks, how long he tries to will his mouth to move but can't, can't, can't. He can watch, though. So he watches and watches and wonders why this boy is here.
But then the boy turns and looks at him.
Blaine can't turn away. He wants to, but can't, can only keep looking or move his eyes elsewhere. But he wants to look, because now he can see the boy's face, his eyes.
The boy doesn't look away, holds his gaze and Blaine can see his bright blue eyes fill with tears.
No, I'm sorry, please don't cry.
He steps forward, then rocks back, unsure. He's staring at Blaine. His eyes are pleading. Blaine doesn't know what he's asking for, wishes he did, wishes he could make the boy stop crying.
Blaine waits, hopes the boy will say something, but he doesn't. He just looks, looks as much as Blaine looks back, but Blaine doesn't know why the boy is looking at all. Doesn't know why the boy is there.
Cooper is gone. Blaine hadn't noticed-notices now-wonders where he went and why the boy stayed. The boy who keeps rocking a step forward and then rocking a step back. A rocking horse.
You can come in.
Blaine can't tell him, though.
He feels tired again, is afraid to close his eyes this time, wonders if maybe his eyes are closed already and this boy is a dream. Blaine would dream about a boy like him.
His eyes flutter and he can feel the exhaustion wash over him, the water flowing back over his head, still weighing down his body. He's almost gone, almost, when he hears it.
A small, strangled whisper.
"Blaine."
But where has he heard it before?
<< 19 >>
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