I'll Pull You From The Dark (2/10)
Title: I'll Pull You From The Dark (2/10)
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers (if any): None
Warnings (if any): AU, possible triggering for attacks/violence, fluff and angst, warblers (what the heck, I'll warn for them) Word Count: 2,300
Summary: My name is Kurt Hummel, and this is my statement. On the night of November 14th, I was attacked. My attacker was a man named Dave Karofsky. The police asked how I even survived. I told them: I was saved. I was saved by a boy whom back then, I’d never even met before. His name is Blaine Anderson, and he’s been saving me ever since.
A/N: A big thank you to every who's reviewed and given feedback, it's greatly appreciated. I'm glad you like it! Here's chapter two-- I admit, it's off to a slow start, but the next chapter's where it really begins :) Thanks again.
---
“The injuries you sustained were obviously traumatic and brutal, Mr Hummel. Various fractions and bruises to your face as well as some abdominal trauma, internal bleeding, two fractured ribs, 15 stitches to your scalp, various bruises and fractures to your arms, as well major head trauma. That’s where it gets bad. You have numerous fractions and lacerations to your scalp, and there’s a problem. . .” Kurt let the medical terms and garb wash over him, face an indifferent mask to the nurses words, only half listening to what she was saying. He didn't take any of it in. He’d been awake for a few hours now. His Dad had explained everything too him, filled in the blanks where Kurt couldn't: he had been coming home from Mercedes’ when his attacker had struck; he’d had had a metal pole and a knife and had cornered Kurt a mile from Kurt’s home. Yet Kurt of course remembered all of this himself. He remembered the flash and tear of the knife cutting into his skin. He remembered the pain and the dark black fear that came with it as each blow was delivered. He remembered each crunch and each yell and scream that tore from his own throat. Then there was the boy: Blaine. Blaine, who according to his Dad, had grabbed the guy attacking him and managed to hit him with the guys own pole. Kurt had gaped in shock at his Dad, doubtful that the short boy who’d looked at him with great big brown eyes filled with concern when he'd woke up could take on the very guy who’d put Kurt in hospital. Where was Blaine now? Why had he even saved Kurt in the first place? Kurt certainly didn’t know him, and any sane person would have just called the police, not tried to jump in and take on someone armed and twice their size. Burt had said Kurt had been “lucky” Blaine was there. After Blaine had hit him, his attacker had run. Kurt’s skin prickled uncomfortably at the thought that the guy who’d put him in here-in a hospital bed, broken and hurt beyond repair as they'd all thought-was still out there. “Mr Hummel? Are you listening?” No, he wasn’t. He was too busy trying to block out the screaming in his head, the panic and fear of-of his attacker coming back, finding him, finishing off what he’d started. “Yes.” Kurt lied, eyes drawn to her face once more. “Well, that’s good then. . .” The nurse gave him a look that Kurt had seen one too many times before. She gave a sigh and walked round to his side, sitting carefully on the chair next to his bed. “Kurt?” Kurt was a very internal person. No matter what his face showed, it would be nothing compared to the raging warfare inside his mind-Kurt had learnt that even the simplest emotions could show. His mask was up and every emotion pulled back behind it.,he looked at the nurse and smiled as politely as he could. “Yes?”
She searched his eyes but of course found nothing. “I want you to know that it’s OK to be feeling whatever you may be feeling right now. It’s normal to feel things that--”
“I’m OK.” Kurt interrupted, smiling almost serenely and staring her down. His assertiveness and the aura of confidence he gave was enough to convince her-even if it didn’t convince himself.
She looked like she was going to protest but instead she sighed and got up, patting his hand as she did. “Would you like me to get your father?”
“Yes please, if you could.”
She nodded, and left. Then the screaming started again.
Why did you let this happen? Why couldn’t you be stronger, why couldn't you be braver? Why didn’t you fight back? He’s out there and he knows you’re here.
Kurt shook his head and tried to block it out, but the constant reel of accusations and taunts pounded against his head. Inside him he felt his stomach churn and the constant replay of the nights events played like a movie in his head, and he couldn’t stop himself from watching it. The knife hovering over his skin, watching it move and swipe at him. The half-shadowed face snarling at him, and then it would start again, another scene fresh and sharp like the edges of glass, in his head.
The door to his hospital room opened noiselessly, the movement catching Kurt’s eye. The din in his head died down for a second as his eyes fell upon Blaine.
Kurt’s eyes widened in surprise. “Uh, hi. What are. . . How come you’re still here?” he asked shrewdly, watching Blaine walk in and close the door hesitantly.
Blaine didn’t answer. He hovered by the door and didn’t meet Kurt’s eye, instead smiling as he looked around the room. He gave off charm and aloofness Kurt thought wasn’t exactly appropriate for the situation, but Blaine began to stroll forward, his smile so wide it looked almost comical on his face. Kurt’s eyes travelled down Blaine’s body and across the crevices of his face. This was the boy who’d saved his life, and apart from a few stitches in his own skull, had come out unharmed. How did that happen?
There was something about Blaine that Kurt couldn’t quite place. From across the room Blaine strolled on and as he reached Kurt’s bed, Kurt finally got to take a good look at him.
The first thing Kurt noticed was the unappealing uniform. Red piping and a blue blazer, it seemed to fit Blaine so easily like it was a part of him, like it were armour almost. Then there was the smile, dazzling and bright and warm, but Kurt could see through it easy enough. With one look at Blaine’s hazel-amber eyes Kurt could see the smile was false, and some other underlying emotion was underneath. Blaine was hiding something, and was trying to mask whatever it was with a smile and a glimmer from those (albeit lovely) eyes.
Blaine came to a stop beside Kurt as Kurt still studied his face and his eyes. What was Blaine hiding? Why was he even still here at all for that matter? “See anything you like?” Blaine said quietly, a smirk quirking on his lips.
Kurt’s eyes hovered over Blaine’s; he searched them for an answer but it seemed Blaine was just as good at hiding as Kurt. “Not really,” Kurt deadpanned, exterior up and in full force once more, “I expected a lot more from my saviour, actually.”
Blaine’s face crinkled into a grin and he inclined his head to Kurt. “Something more. . .?”
“Well let’s just say I didn’t expect my knight in shining armour to be wearing a blazer.”
Blaine laughed and sat down. “Sorry to disappoint.”
Kurt smiled and then looked away. Blaine was staring at Kurt curiously; now close up the warmth and softness of Blaine’s eyes intrigued Kurt. They were like windows, open and honest like the shutters had been thrown open, but like curtains had been pulled across, inviting and welcoming but hiding what really lay inside. Kurt stared and stared, trying to make sense of it, and then Blaine cleared his throat and Kurt looked away again.
“How are you feeling?” Blaine asked.
Kurt laughed hollowly, surveying Blaine with sceptic eyes. “Well there’s only a few ways I can answer that, and not any of them are good. . .”
Blaine looked a little taken aback by the snark but after a moment smiled. “You’re right, stupid question.”
Kurt rolled his eyes and looked dead on at Blaine. “Seriously, what are you still doing here? Not that I’m not grateful that you saved my life or whatever, and I’ll be eternally grateful, I really will, but. . . Well, I don’t really know you, Blaine. I don't even know your last name, so is there any reason you’re still here, or. . .?”
Blaine averted his eyes and shifted slightly in the chair, eyes darting anywhere but at Kurt. “I . . . I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m here, to be honest. Any other sane person would have shook your Dad’s hand, took it in good grace, and gone but. . .” he met Kurt’s eyes again and he looked at Kurt so intensely for a second that Kurt’s heart jolted, “Something’s stopping me from just getting up and going.”
Kurt stared at Blaine, who looked uncomfortable at the scrutiny. “Blaine. . .”
Blaine gave another grin but Kurt could see clearly how forced it was this time, and it puzzled him why it was so forced. “Yeah, I know. You don’t know me. ‘No offence but you’re just a stranger and you’re creepy’ and all that, yeah I get it. But I don’t know, Kurt (and it irked Kurt how this stranger could say his name and it could unsettle him so). There’s just something. . . keeping me here, and I think it’s you.” Blaine threw another look at Kurt, and it was Kurt’s turn to look away uncomfortably.
It was strange; Blaine sounded bitter and hollow, almost overwhelmed by the fact that neither he nor Kurt understood why Blaine was there.
The door of Kurt’s room opened again and this time his Dad appeared. Kurt saw Burt visibly relaxed when he saw Kurt was awake, and he gave a small smile. Burt’s eyes landed on Blaine and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Blaine? I thought you’d gone home kid, what are you still doing here?”
“I was just going home, Mr Hummel.” Blaine said quickly, already getting up and politely smiling at Kurt’s Dad.
“Actually, Mr Anderson, we’d prefer it if you’d stay. We have a few questions for you, too.”
Behind Kurt’s Dad stood two smartly dressed police officers, their faces grave and stern. Kurt’s stomach flipped nervously as they came into the room, his father following.
“Dad?” Kurt inquired, looking at his Dad as his stomach continued to churn.
“It’s OK, son, they just want to ask you a few questions.” Burt reassured, placing a hand on Kurt’s shoulder and standing by his side.
“Mr Hummel, could you tell us what you remember?” the male cop asked, grey cold eyes boring into Kurt’s.
Kurt drew himself up and, ignoring the conga going on in his stomach, feigned calm as he spoke coldly. “I’m sure my Dad or Blaine has told you everything. I only remember what they do.”
“You mean you don’t remember anything of the attack?”
“Well, yes. But like I said, there isn’t much to add.” Kurt said flatly, hands fluttering and wringing themselves together as Kurt watched the two officers. “Do you know who attacked you? Was he someone you knew?” the woman asked, more kindly than her partner.
Without knowing why, Kurt’s eyes flitted to Blaine. Blaine was watching him in interest as he answered each question-at this one Blaine leaned forward imperceptibly, eyes searching Kurt’s face. Kurt looked at him for a fleeting second, mind weighing out the options and choices of how to answer-and then he looked back to the two police officers.
“No.” Kurt said firmly.
“You didn’t see him? You didn’t even recognise his face?” the man asked skeptically.
“No.” Kurt said more forcefully, tone biting and sharp, “I didn’t know him. Besides, it was too dark to see anything. I couldn’t see a thing.” He looked at Blaine again, who wore a strange expression-almost like surprise, and then sadness. It confused Kurt, but he pushed it aside for a moment. He looked back to the police officers.
They looked at him, the man in doubt, the woman thoughtful. However they could see that Kurt wasn’t going to say much more.
“How about Blaine?” the man asked. Blaine started in surprise at his name. “Do you remember what happened when Blaine got there?”
“I remember Blaine getting the pole from-from the guy who attacked me.” Kurt stammered. Almost. He'd almost slipped.
He looked at Blaine quickly, who was definitely looking at him with that expression, the mingled surprise, and almost disappointment.
“Very well,” the woman said after a pause, “Thank you for your time, Mr Hummel. We’ll leave you in peace.” She turned to Blaine. “Mr Anderson, could we talk to you?”
Blaine shot a hurried glance at Kurt, eyes slightly wide with what Kurt thought looked like panic-but in an instant it was gone. Blaine looked calm again, and he faced the two officers.
“Sure, I need to be getting home anyway.” Blaine sighed. Then he turned and walked back to Kurt.
He stopped by Kurt’s bed and handed Kurt a slip of paper. When Kurt looked at it in confusion Blaine smiled and said, “It’s my number. I thought. . . In case you wanted to talk . . . Well, I was a part of this, and I thought it’d be better to talk to someone who knows what you’ve gone through, someone who was there.” Kurt gaped but took the paper. He stared at the neat scrawl on the paper and the digits that Blaine had wrote there. At the bottom of the paper he read: Please call. I’d really, really like it if you did.
Kurt heard Blaine’s footsteps almost by the door and he looked up quickly, mouth already forming the words:
“Blaine?” he called, leaning forward in his bed.
Blaine stopped. He turned back, the expression on his face confusing Kurt again: this time it was hopeful and guarded, his eyes almost sad as he stared back at Kurt. “Yeah, Kurt?”
“. . . Thanks.” Kurt said quietly.
Blaine smiled sadly, his eyes boring into Kurt’s, his face looking more tired and worn than it had only moments ago. “I’m really, really glad I saved you, Kurt.” He raised a hand in farewell, and then left.
Kurt sank back into the pillows of his bed and stared at the space Blaine had just been.
Me too, he thought. Me too.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers (if any): None
Warnings (if any): AU, possible triggering for attacks/violence, fluff and angst, warblers (what the heck, I'll warn for them) Word Count: 2,300
Summary: My name is Kurt Hummel, and this is my statement. On the night of November 14th, I was attacked. My attacker was a man named Dave Karofsky. The police asked how I even survived. I told them: I was saved. I was saved by a boy whom back then, I’d never even met before. His name is Blaine Anderson, and he’s been saving me ever since.
A/N: A big thank you to every who's reviewed and given feedback, it's greatly appreciated. I'm glad you like it! Here's chapter two-- I admit, it's off to a slow start, but the next chapter's where it really begins :) Thanks again.
---
“The injuries you sustained were obviously traumatic and brutal, Mr Hummel. Various fractions and bruises to your face as well as some abdominal trauma, internal bleeding, two fractured ribs, 15 stitches to your scalp, various bruises and fractures to your arms, as well major head trauma. That’s where it gets bad. You have numerous fractions and lacerations to your scalp, and there’s a problem. . .” Kurt let the medical terms and garb wash over him, face an indifferent mask to the nurses words, only half listening to what she was saying. He didn't take any of it in. He’d been awake for a few hours now. His Dad had explained everything too him, filled in the blanks where Kurt couldn't: he had been coming home from Mercedes’ when his attacker had struck; he’d had had a metal pole and a knife and had cornered Kurt a mile from Kurt’s home. Yet Kurt of course remembered all of this himself. He remembered the flash and tear of the knife cutting into his skin. He remembered the pain and the dark black fear that came with it as each blow was delivered. He remembered each crunch and each yell and scream that tore from his own throat. Then there was the boy: Blaine. Blaine, who according to his Dad, had grabbed the guy attacking him and managed to hit him with the guys own pole. Kurt had gaped in shock at his Dad, doubtful that the short boy who’d looked at him with great big brown eyes filled with concern when he'd woke up could take on the very guy who’d put Kurt in hospital. Where was Blaine now? Why had he even saved Kurt in the first place? Kurt certainly didn’t know him, and any sane person would have just called the police, not tried to jump in and take on someone armed and twice their size. Burt had said Kurt had been “lucky” Blaine was there. After Blaine had hit him, his attacker had run. Kurt’s skin prickled uncomfortably at the thought that the guy who’d put him in here-in a hospital bed, broken and hurt beyond repair as they'd all thought-was still out there. “Mr Hummel? Are you listening?” No, he wasn’t. He was too busy trying to block out the screaming in his head, the panic and fear of-of his attacker coming back, finding him, finishing off what he’d started. “Yes.” Kurt lied, eyes drawn to her face once more. “Well, that’s good then. . .” The nurse gave him a look that Kurt had seen one too many times before. She gave a sigh and walked round to his side, sitting carefully on the chair next to his bed. “Kurt?” Kurt was a very internal person. No matter what his face showed, it would be nothing compared to the raging warfare inside his mind-Kurt had learnt that even the simplest emotions could show. His mask was up and every emotion pulled back behind it.,he looked at the nurse and smiled as politely as he could. “Yes?”
She searched his eyes but of course found nothing. “I want you to know that it’s OK to be feeling whatever you may be feeling right now. It’s normal to feel things that--”
“I’m OK.” Kurt interrupted, smiling almost serenely and staring her down. His assertiveness and the aura of confidence he gave was enough to convince her-even if it didn’t convince himself.
She looked like she was going to protest but instead she sighed and got up, patting his hand as she did. “Would you like me to get your father?”
“Yes please, if you could.”
She nodded, and left. Then the screaming started again.
Why did you let this happen? Why couldn’t you be stronger, why couldn't you be braver? Why didn’t you fight back? He’s out there and he knows you’re here.
Kurt shook his head and tried to block it out, but the constant reel of accusations and taunts pounded against his head. Inside him he felt his stomach churn and the constant replay of the nights events played like a movie in his head, and he couldn’t stop himself from watching it. The knife hovering over his skin, watching it move and swipe at him. The half-shadowed face snarling at him, and then it would start again, another scene fresh and sharp like the edges of glass, in his head.
The door to his hospital room opened noiselessly, the movement catching Kurt’s eye. The din in his head died down for a second as his eyes fell upon Blaine.
Kurt’s eyes widened in surprise. “Uh, hi. What are. . . How come you’re still here?” he asked shrewdly, watching Blaine walk in and close the door hesitantly.
Blaine didn’t answer. He hovered by the door and didn’t meet Kurt’s eye, instead smiling as he looked around the room. He gave off charm and aloofness Kurt thought wasn’t exactly appropriate for the situation, but Blaine began to stroll forward, his smile so wide it looked almost comical on his face. Kurt’s eyes travelled down Blaine’s body and across the crevices of his face. This was the boy who’d saved his life, and apart from a few stitches in his own skull, had come out unharmed. How did that happen?
There was something about Blaine that Kurt couldn’t quite place. From across the room Blaine strolled on and as he reached Kurt’s bed, Kurt finally got to take a good look at him.
The first thing Kurt noticed was the unappealing uniform. Red piping and a blue blazer, it seemed to fit Blaine so easily like it was a part of him, like it were armour almost. Then there was the smile, dazzling and bright and warm, but Kurt could see through it easy enough. With one look at Blaine’s hazel-amber eyes Kurt could see the smile was false, and some other underlying emotion was underneath. Blaine was hiding something, and was trying to mask whatever it was with a smile and a glimmer from those (albeit lovely) eyes.
Blaine came to a stop beside Kurt as Kurt still studied his face and his eyes. What was Blaine hiding? Why was he even still here at all for that matter? “See anything you like?” Blaine said quietly, a smirk quirking on his lips.
Kurt’s eyes hovered over Blaine’s; he searched them for an answer but it seemed Blaine was just as good at hiding as Kurt. “Not really,” Kurt deadpanned, exterior up and in full force once more, “I expected a lot more from my saviour, actually.”
Blaine’s face crinkled into a grin and he inclined his head to Kurt. “Something more. . .?”
“Well let’s just say I didn’t expect my knight in shining armour to be wearing a blazer.”
Blaine laughed and sat down. “Sorry to disappoint.”
Kurt smiled and then looked away. Blaine was staring at Kurt curiously; now close up the warmth and softness of Blaine’s eyes intrigued Kurt. They were like windows, open and honest like the shutters had been thrown open, but like curtains had been pulled across, inviting and welcoming but hiding what really lay inside. Kurt stared and stared, trying to make sense of it, and then Blaine cleared his throat and Kurt looked away again.
“How are you feeling?” Blaine asked.
Kurt laughed hollowly, surveying Blaine with sceptic eyes. “Well there’s only a few ways I can answer that, and not any of them are good. . .”
Blaine looked a little taken aback by the snark but after a moment smiled. “You’re right, stupid question.”
Kurt rolled his eyes and looked dead on at Blaine. “Seriously, what are you still doing here? Not that I’m not grateful that you saved my life or whatever, and I’ll be eternally grateful, I really will, but. . . Well, I don’t really know you, Blaine. I don't even know your last name, so is there any reason you’re still here, or. . .?”
Blaine averted his eyes and shifted slightly in the chair, eyes darting anywhere but at Kurt. “I . . . I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m here, to be honest. Any other sane person would have shook your Dad’s hand, took it in good grace, and gone but. . .” he met Kurt’s eyes again and he looked at Kurt so intensely for a second that Kurt’s heart jolted, “Something’s stopping me from just getting up and going.”
Kurt stared at Blaine, who looked uncomfortable at the scrutiny. “Blaine. . .”
Blaine gave another grin but Kurt could see clearly how forced it was this time, and it puzzled him why it was so forced. “Yeah, I know. You don’t know me. ‘No offence but you’re just a stranger and you’re creepy’ and all that, yeah I get it. But I don’t know, Kurt (and it irked Kurt how this stranger could say his name and it could unsettle him so). There’s just something. . . keeping me here, and I think it’s you.” Blaine threw another look at Kurt, and it was Kurt’s turn to look away uncomfortably.
It was strange; Blaine sounded bitter and hollow, almost overwhelmed by the fact that neither he nor Kurt understood why Blaine was there.
The door of Kurt’s room opened again and this time his Dad appeared. Kurt saw Burt visibly relaxed when he saw Kurt was awake, and he gave a small smile. Burt’s eyes landed on Blaine and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Blaine? I thought you’d gone home kid, what are you still doing here?”
“I was just going home, Mr Hummel.” Blaine said quickly, already getting up and politely smiling at Kurt’s Dad.
“Actually, Mr Anderson, we’d prefer it if you’d stay. We have a few questions for you, too.”
Behind Kurt’s Dad stood two smartly dressed police officers, their faces grave and stern. Kurt’s stomach flipped nervously as they came into the room, his father following.
“Dad?” Kurt inquired, looking at his Dad as his stomach continued to churn.
“It’s OK, son, they just want to ask you a few questions.” Burt reassured, placing a hand on Kurt’s shoulder and standing by his side.
“Mr Hummel, could you tell us what you remember?” the male cop asked, grey cold eyes boring into Kurt’s.
Kurt drew himself up and, ignoring the conga going on in his stomach, feigned calm as he spoke coldly. “I’m sure my Dad or Blaine has told you everything. I only remember what they do.”
“You mean you don’t remember anything of the attack?”
“Well, yes. But like I said, there isn’t much to add.” Kurt said flatly, hands fluttering and wringing themselves together as Kurt watched the two officers. “Do you know who attacked you? Was he someone you knew?” the woman asked, more kindly than her partner.
Without knowing why, Kurt’s eyes flitted to Blaine. Blaine was watching him in interest as he answered each question-at this one Blaine leaned forward imperceptibly, eyes searching Kurt’s face. Kurt looked at him for a fleeting second, mind weighing out the options and choices of how to answer-and then he looked back to the two police officers.
“No.” Kurt said firmly.
“You didn’t see him? You didn’t even recognise his face?” the man asked skeptically.
“No.” Kurt said more forcefully, tone biting and sharp, “I didn’t know him. Besides, it was too dark to see anything. I couldn’t see a thing.” He looked at Blaine again, who wore a strange expression-almost like surprise, and then sadness. It confused Kurt, but he pushed it aside for a moment. He looked back to the police officers.
They looked at him, the man in doubt, the woman thoughtful. However they could see that Kurt wasn’t going to say much more.
“How about Blaine?” the man asked. Blaine started in surprise at his name. “Do you remember what happened when Blaine got there?”
“I remember Blaine getting the pole from-from the guy who attacked me.” Kurt stammered. Almost. He'd almost slipped.
He looked at Blaine quickly, who was definitely looking at him with that expression, the mingled surprise, and almost disappointment.
“Very well,” the woman said after a pause, “Thank you for your time, Mr Hummel. We’ll leave you in peace.” She turned to Blaine. “Mr Anderson, could we talk to you?”
Blaine shot a hurried glance at Kurt, eyes slightly wide with what Kurt thought looked like panic-but in an instant it was gone. Blaine looked calm again, and he faced the two officers.
“Sure, I need to be getting home anyway.” Blaine sighed. Then he turned and walked back to Kurt.
He stopped by Kurt’s bed and handed Kurt a slip of paper. When Kurt looked at it in confusion Blaine smiled and said, “It’s my number. I thought. . . In case you wanted to talk . . . Well, I was a part of this, and I thought it’d be better to talk to someone who knows what you’ve gone through, someone who was there.” Kurt gaped but took the paper. He stared at the neat scrawl on the paper and the digits that Blaine had wrote there. At the bottom of the paper he read: Please call. I’d really, really like it if you did.
Kurt heard Blaine’s footsteps almost by the door and he looked up quickly, mouth already forming the words:
“Blaine?” he called, leaning forward in his bed.
Blaine stopped. He turned back, the expression on his face confusing Kurt again: this time it was hopeful and guarded, his eyes almost sad as he stared back at Kurt. “Yeah, Kurt?”
“. . . Thanks.” Kurt said quietly.
Blaine smiled sadly, his eyes boring into Kurt’s, his face looking more tired and worn than it had only moments ago. “I’m really, really glad I saved you, Kurt.” He raised a hand in farewell, and then left.
Kurt sank back into the pillows of his bed and stared at the space Blaine had just been.
Me too, he thought. Me too.