Everyday (Part 2)
Kurt’s eyes are closed when Burt enters the room; he’s breathing too steadily, the way he always does when he’s trying very hard not to panic. Burt remembers the heavy, even breaths from the chair next to his own hospital bed, once when Kurt was 16, again when he was 24. He can’t imagine how scared his son must be, how confused. He was only out for a few days after his first attack and he remembers how disorienting it was to wake up, to know time had passed but not remember it.
“Hey, buddy,” he says quietly, and something in his heart clenches at the way Kurt’s shoulders drop a little just with those few words. He’s grown into such a strong man, fierce and protective and loving, but Burt can’t deny that it makes him happy to always be the one who can comfort Kurt without fail. Their lives are so rich now, they are spoiled with love, but for so long it was just the two of them and that connection will never fade away.
“I’m sorry, dad,” Kurt says, and his voice is small. Burt quirks an eyebrow as he settles in the chair, rubbing Kurt’s arm soothingly. “I should’ve told you. I knew I was going to hit my head one of these times.”
“Told me what?”
“I - the dumpster. The football team. It’s usually a softer landing. Just - gross, more than anything. But I - I must’ve landed wrong.” He looks down at the cast covering his knee down past his ankle. “Really wrong.” Burt looks over his shoulder at Dr. Miller, eyes widening, and shakes his head a little. The doctor seems to be on the same page, thankfully, and he steps up without a word.
“Mr. Hummel,” he says lightly. “Is it alright if I ask you a few questions?” Kurt nods, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. He starts with basic questions, things Kurt clearly knows, to keep him calm. His name, his birthday, social security number. Burt nods his confirmation at each answer, smiling reassuringly.
“Can you tell me what year it is?”
“2008.” Burt swallows hard, smile still affixed as his eyes dart to the doctor.
“And how old are you, Mr. Hummel?”
“Fourteen.”
When Kurt’s bed is wheeled through the door, everyone is too excited to see him to notice Burt trailing behind, shaking his head and waving his arms frantically. Finn’s the first on his feet.
“Kurt! Oh my god I can’t believe--”
“Why are you here?” Kurt spits, his voice as loud as its disuse allows. He misses the way Finn’s face falls. The hand that doesn’t have an IV in it is balled into a fist, clenching the blanket, and his eyes are narrowed dangerously. “You and your neanderthal friends finally put me in the hospital, are you happy?”
“Kurt - what? I--” Finn sputters, finally notices Burt gesturing wildly. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, shrinking back. No one else dares approach as the bed passes them, but Blaine smiles warmly when he catches Kurt’s eye, feeling it widen into a probably manic grin as he sees a faint blush spread high on Kurt’s cheekbones.
“Why would he think I’d hurt him?” Finn asks sadly when Kurt’s out of view.
“He’s...he’s a little more out of it than we thought,” Burt sighs, sitting down and scrubbing a hand over his face. He glances at Blaine before continuing. “He thinks it’s 2008.”
Blaine’s laughter startles everyone out of their shock. Loud, barking laughter that he doesn’t seem to be able to control tumbles from his throat until he’s completely hunched over, forehead on his knees as his shoulders shake. Carole and Burt exchange a worried glance over his back, concerned that the stress has finally gotten to him.
“Blaine, sweetheart,” Carole starts, resting a comforting hand on his back. Blaine sits up then, wiping tears away with the backs of his hands.
“Sorry,” he laughs, then clears his throat. “Sorry. It’s just. When Kurt was doing that internship and was home in the middle of the day all the time, he got hooked on General Hospital and every day for like 4 months I’d have to hear about how this character had amnesia and Oh Blaine, it’s so far fetched. It’s completely ridiculous. Ohhhh I’m never letting him live this down.” He dissolves into another smaller fit of giggles before taking a deep, shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I know this is serious. It’s just--”
“No,” Burt interrupts. “It’s fine. We all deserve a laugh right now.”
While Kurt’s getting scans and tests done, they drag their chairs into a circle, brainstorming life circa 2008. Blaine doesn’t even enter the picture for two more years, but he chimes in with stories he’s been told by Kurt himself, and it helps fill in the gaps. Rachel grips Blaine’s hand, the relief rolling off both of them in almost tangible waves, holding her phone in her free hand while they talk to Mercedes - the only friend anyone can remember him having back then.
Kurt at 14 is so different from Kurt at 27 that he’s almost a different person. This is a Kurt pre-Rachel, pre-New Directions, and definitely pre-Blaine. Many of his friends, even his brother, are still his bullies; others simply don’t exist to him. Mercedes bumps up the flight she’d already booked for a drastically different reason, continuing the conversation even as she throws together a suitcase and hops in a cab.
There’s no reason to panic, they’ve decided. He’s been through a lot, his brain is a little disjointed at the moment. The important part is that Kurt’s alive and that they keep him calm and comfortable and as happy as possible. By the time his bed reappears at the end of the hall, they’re pretty confident that they have a good grasp on Kurt Hummel: 2008 Edition.
At least until he’s wheeled past them on the way to the door, and when he once again blushes under Blaine’s gaze, Finn elbows Blaine and says, in a voice quiet for Finn but loud by the rest of the world’s standards, “Hey, at least he thinks you’re hot.”
Kurt’s eyes go wide and the small amount of color he’s gained drains from his face as he shoots a panicked glance at Burt before shrinking back into the pillows. Realization hits Burt and Blaine at the same moment and neither can believe that in all of their brainstorming, no one remembered one of the key parts of Kurt at fourteen.
He’s not out.
Burt sighs, rolls his shoulders back before following the doctor back into the room, and Rachel, Carole, and Blaine all round on Finn at once, making him jump back a step.
“What?”
“Finn. Honey,” Carole says evenly. “Kurt didn’t come out until he was 15.”
“Wh-- oh,” Finn chokes, and Blaine swears he deflates so quickly that he shrinks a few inches. “Oh my god.” He starts to pace, breaking through the semicircle that had formed around him. “I just. He thinks I’m still one of his bullies. And I said that. Oh god. I just outed my amnesiac stepbrother to his dad and his husband.”
Blaine starts to laugh again.
Finn looks up, and he just looks so scandalized that Carole snorts, tries to cover it up with a cough before giving up and giggling helplessly behind her hand.
"Yeah, it's hilarious!" Finn yells, kicking at one of the chairs and getting his foot tangled in the legs, stumbling for a minute before he manages to right himself. That's what sets Rachel off, and Finn glares at all of them for a minute before collapsing into a chair and burying his face in his hands, muttering before starting to chuckle himself.
"This is going to be so weird."
Kurt starts talking as soon as Burt walks in.
“Dad, what Finn said, I - he’s just - I don’t know why--” Burt holds up his hands to stop Kurt’s rambling, sits down and catches Dr. Miller’s eye on the other side of the bed. They nod at each other and Burt takes a deep breath.
“Don’t worry about that, son,” he starts. “There are some things we have to talk about first, alright?” It’s vital that they do this right; Kurt’s already been through a lot today, and this will certainly be a shock. Kurt overwhelmed at 27 is snarky and intense, but at 14? He’d become petulant, overcompensate for his panic by lashing out and shutting down, and Burt needs him to stay calm, to go into this with the right mindset.
“What’s wrong? Oh god, did the scans show something? Did those half-wits actually cause brain damage?”
“Mr. Hummel,” Dr. Miller speaks up, and both Kurt and Burt look up. He laughs once, starts again. “Is it ok if I call you Kurt? To avoid confusion?” Kurt just nods, face still anxious, so he continues. “Ok, Kurt. You weren’t injured being thrown into a dumpster. You were struck by a cab.”
“Lima doesn’t even have cabs,” Kurt frowns.
“We’re not in Lima, son, we’re in New York,” Burt says quietly. Kurt narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything.
“You were brought in with multiple fractures, massive internal bleeding, and brain swelling, Kurt,” the doctor continues. “You’ve been in a coma for the past 6 weeks.”
“Oh my god,” Kurt mutters. “Am I - the brain stuff - the swelling - am I alright?”
“The tests we ran are all coming back positively; your motor skills and speech aren’t affected, and you aren’t having any trouble retaining information. Structurally, everything seems intact. But there appear to be some complications...” he trails off, looking to Burt, as if silently discussing how to proceed. Kurt’s eyes dart between them for a second before he huffs out a breath.
“Can we stop being cryptic? Just tell me what’s wrong. Please.”
“You’re experiencing some memory loss, Kurt,” Dr. Miller says gently, the corner of his mouth quirking at Kurt’s confused expression. He nods to Burt to continue; the details might be better received from a familiar face.
“It’s not 2008, buddy,” Burt starts.
“O...k...” Kurt drawls, looking skeptical. “When is it, then?”
“2021.”
“No. No. You’re joking, right?” Kurt asks, a little hopeful, a little desperate. “This is payback for making you worry? You guys came up with this schtick while I was out?”
“I wouldn’t joke about this.” Burt watches Kurt’s face run through a gamut of emotions, mostly shades of fear and confusion, before he looks carefully, calculatingly at Burt.
“Well that explains why you look so much older,” Kurt says dryly, then claps a hand over his mouth. Burt laughs once, the sound echoing off the walls, because regardless of when he thinks he is, he’s still so inherently Kurt.
“You’re one to talk,” Burt shoots back, and Kurt’s hand moves from his mouth, sliding over his face quickly. He glances down at where his body disappears beneath the blankets and Burt can see it sinking in; the extra length in his limbs, the unexpected muscle where there used to be baby fat.
“Mirror,” Kurt whispers. “I need a mirror.” Burt’s out the door and back in an instant, Rachel’s compact in hand. He watches as Kurt’s eyes widen at his reflection; his fingertips trace over a sharp cheekbone, down a strong jawline. His mouth is moving wordlessly until, after a minute, he finally speaks again, still whispering. “I’m 27.”
“Tell me everything else,” he says firmly, snapping the compact shut. “The people out there - Finn, those women, the, uh, the man who came in here earlier - who are they?”
“Kurt, I know it’s a lot to take in,” Dr. Miller interrupts, but Kurt holds up a hand.
“I just want to know. I’ll...I’ll process it later, and probably freak out, but just give me everything right now before I lose it. Start with them. Sorry,” he adds as an afterthought and it makes Burt laugh again, seeing these little parts of Kurt’s personality peek through when he doesn’t even understand them. Dr. Miller waves off the apology, excuses himself to check on the status of the last of Kurt’s brain scans with a reminder to page him if they need him.
“Do you want me to bring them in?” Burt asks.
“No, not - not yet. Just give me the rundown? Before I see them?”
“You and Finn became friends your sophomore year,” Burt starts. “You fixed me up with his mom, Carole - that’s the older woman out there. We got married the next year.”
“Finn’s my stepbrother?”
“Yeah. You dropped the ‘step’ a long time ago, though. The girl is your best friend, Rachel--”
“Berry,” Kurt interrupts. “Rachel Berry?” Burt nods in confirmation. “I have - well, had - biology with her. She’s grating. Is she still grating?”
“She’s an acquired taste,” Burt admits, and Kurt grins at him. “You’ve been close since your senior year though; you moved out here together.”
“New York. I really live in New York? I got out?”
“You left Lima in your taillights,” Burt says, patting his hand. He takes a deep breath, knows that Kurt is distracted from it right now but that it’s necessary to talk about if they’re going to get to the biggest reveal. “Kurt, about what Finn said in the hallway.” Kurt’s eyes widen again and he goes still, tries to pull his hand out from under Burt’s but Burt grabs it, holds tight. “It’s ok, Kurt. You don’t need to be scared, ok?” He’s trying to get his point across to Kurt without saying it, knows that this would basically be outing him and that’s the last thing he needs right now. Luckily Kurt seems to get it, and he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes.
“You - you know? I mean, I told you that-” Burt squeezes his hand in support. “That I’m g-gay?”
“Yep.”
“When?”
“You were 15.”
“And it was - you were - you’re ok with it?”
“You’re my son,” Burt says firmly, leaning forward to kiss Kurt’s forehead before pulling back and locking their eyes. “I was proud of you every minute before that and have been proud of you every minute since, you got that?” Kurt nods quickly, wiping away an escaped tear.
“Do I have a...a boyfriend?” Kurt asks quietly, like the concept, even the word itself, is foreign to him. Which, Burt thinks, at that point in his life, it pretty much was. One more deep breath has Burt ready to cross the last big hurdle, for tonight at least.
“Remember the guy who was in here after you woke up?” Burt asks, and Kurt’s mouth falls open. Burt almost laughs, just barely manages to reign it in, because he remembers that look from the early days, Kurt dancing through the door, waving goodbye to his ‘friend,’ some overly polite kid in a blazer.
“Him?”
“I’d like to bring him back in here, if that’s ok with you; it’s better if he fills you in. And I think he’s itching to see you.” Kurt nods and Burt goes to the door again, beckons to Blaine.
“How is he?” Blaine asks, and Burt fills him in on where they are, what he knows now.
“He asked if he has a boyfriend. I thought you might want to be here for this part,” Burt smiles. Blaine follows him back in, standing shyly behind him as they approach the bed until Burt bodily moves him toward the chair. Burt starts to back out of the room when Kurt’s voice stops him, a little panicked.
“Dad? Can you stay?” Kurt glances nervously between his father and the man who is now sitting next to his bed, big brown eyes wide and intent, trained on his face while the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. Burt nods, closes the door and leans awkwardly against it.
They stare at each other for a moment, and Kurt keeps squinting, turning his head to the side like he’s trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. Blaine keeps still, letting Kurt look for whatever he’s trying to find. When his face goes a little blank, obviously giving up for the time being, Blaine smiles again.
“My name’s Blaine,” he says, holding out his hand. It’s a little awkward, greeting him so formally, and he’s offering his left hand to keep Kurt from jostling his IV, but it’s worth it when he sees Kurt’s breath hitch a little at the sound of his voice, sees that blush bloom on his cheeks, up to his ears as he clasps Blaine’s hand.
“Kurt,” he responds, smiling shyly and biting at the corner of his bottom lip when Blaine squeezes his hand. His breath hitches again and he lets go of Blaine’s hand. Blaine lets it fall to the bed and follows Kurt’s gaze down to where it’s trained on the platinum band circling his ring finger.
“You’re not my boyfriend, are you?” Kurt asks quietly, and Blaine feels himself losing the battle not to grin like an idiot.
“Wellllll,” he drawls. “I mean, I am your boyfriend. Better half - no, that’s you. Partner.”
“But not just my boyfriend,” Kurt clarifies, and Blaine can see the blush spreading down his neck below the collar of the hospital gown as he picks at the edge of the blanket, stealing quick glances at Blaine’s face.
“No,” Blaine agrees, shaking his head slightly. He reaches for Kurt’s hand, flinching when Kurt does.
“Sorry,” they say in unison, both drawing their hands into their chests.
“It’s a lot,” Kurt breathes.
“No, I wasn’t thinking,” Blaine insists. “It’s been a big day.”
“How long have we been...” Kurt trails off, gesturing between the two of them.
“Together? Just over nine years. Married? Two years, two months.” Kurt covers his face with his hands, a peal of breathless, helpless laughter spilling out. It’s the best sound Blaine has ever heard.
Kurt takes a deep breath as his laughter subsides, and it quickly shifts into a yawn that he fails to cover up.
“You should sleep,” Blaine smiles. “You have to be exhausted.” He doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to let Kurt out of his sight ever again, would be happy to rest his chin on his palm and watch him until the world crumbles around them, but he can’t imagine the whirlwind of emotions Kurt’s experiencing right now, and they have time. They have time, and Blaine will never take that for granted again..
“I did wake up 13 years in the future,” Kurt sighs. “Or, I think I’m 13 years in the past, because I certainly did not look like this 13 years ago and I’m kind of not really sad I missed puberty because it must’ve hit me like a freight train if I landed someone that looks like you in high school, which is a story I would really like to hear, and--” Kurt stops talking, scrunches his eyes closed, sighs heavily. “Any chance you can develop amnesia and forget I just said that?”
Blaine grins wider and stands, holds out his hand again, slowly to avoid startling Kurt.
“Can I come back and see you tomorrow?”
Kurt bites his lip, swallows, nods. His eyes sweep over Blaine’s face for a long moment and the corners of his mouth pull up as he fits his hand into Blaine’s.
“Of course. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Blaine echoes, backing toward the door. He turns and gives Burt a quick hug, and Kurt’s heart skips a beat when he sees the fond smile his dad gives Blaine, the familiar way he kisses his forehead before he says something quietly right into Blaine’s ear. Blaine nods and turns back to Kurt once more, like he can’t stop looking.
“Goodnight, Kurt.”
“Goodnight, Blaine.”
Burt stays, at Kurt’s request, but once the last of the tests come back, everyone else leaves for the night. Kurt’s vitals are stable, his heart and his lungs and everything else strong and healthy and he’s alive, so alive that, for the first time, Blaine feels comfortable leaving him for the night, sleeping under the watchful eye of his father. Kurt was too overwhelmed to see anyone else after Blaine, so tomorrow will be a big day; he has a family to meet.
Blaine goes back to the hotel with Carole and Finn, grateful that Rachel thought to book him a room. He doesn’t want to sleep in the apartment without Kurt, but it’s different now. Before he’d been too distraught to even consider touching their bed again, knowing that Kurt never would; now it’s anticipation, the thought that Kurt will be there again one day is almost too good, and it makes Blaine shift restlessly under the covers.
They still have so far to go; Kurt’s scared and anxious and bound to get frustrated once his shock at the situation wears off. It could take a long time for Kurt to get his memory back; there’s always the chance he might never remember. But tonight is not for worrying; they’ll deal with things as they come. Together. Starting tomorrow, because they have that now.
The bed is unfamiliar but comfortable and Blaine is, for the first time in 6 weeks, gloriously tired. Not exhausted or overwhelmed, but contentedly sleepy, and he lets himself sink into the mattress under the weight of tomorrow.
-----
Blaine wakes up early, when the sky is still gray-turning-pink and even New York is quiet. He only manages to keep himself from running straight to the hospital by remembering that Kurt will still be sleeping, and that they have all day. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and sits up, noticing his overnight bag resting next to the bed and wondering when and how it appeared. Rachel, he figures; he must’ve slept harder than he thought. He takes a long, leisurely shower, leans his forehead against the wall and lets the pressure of the water beat the tension from his muscles. He’s grateful to find his toiletry kit (and Kurt’s) in the bag and takes extra care styling his hair and getting his first careful, close shave in weeks. Blaine laughs at the dark skinny jeans and tight black polo shirt folded neatly at the bag, a post-it reading “Go get him, Tiger” stuck to it. Rachel Berry, master of subtlety.
Even taking his time, it’s only 7:30 when he’s ready and too antsy to sit on the bed anymore. He texts Finn, who tells him to go to the hospital ahead of him and Carole. As tempting as it is to inundate Kurt with information in the hope that it jars him back into awareness, they know it’s best to go slowly. He’ll ‘meet’ Carole and Finn this morning, and assuming all goes well, Rachel and Mercedes will come in the afternoon for a dose of familiarity. But Blaine can’t wait any longer to see him.
Blaine decides to walk to the hospital; it’s not far and it’s been a while since he actually took in his surroundings. New York is as he left it, the air is damp in a way that promises intolerable humidity once the city heats up later this morning, but for now just leaves his skin tacky, curls his hair just a bit more. He takes deep breaths of the heavy air and smiles at the morning commuters, hops out of their way when their pace outmatches his. He stops at a bodega when a familiar burst of color catches his eye, thinks it can’t hurt to try. He knows he looks crazy. He doesn’t care.
“Skinny vanilla, caramel macchiato?” Blaine asks, letting out a loud Oof when both women practically jump over the counter to hug him, laughing and offering their congratulations through tears. He thanks them, thanks them for everything before setting off down the familiar path to room 327. He raps his knuckles lightly on the cracked open door, frowning when he doesn’t hear anything.
“Hello?” he calls pushing the door open slightly just as the door to the bathroom opens to reveal Kurt hobbling out, leaning heavily on Burt. “Hey, you,” he smiles, voice thick at the sight of Kurt out of bed. Kurt smiles brightly for a moment before he presses his lips together in a thin line, eyes flickering around the room but always coming back to Blaine.
“You came back,” he says, halfway to a question as he settles heavily onto the bed, and Blaine’s heart breaks a little at the surprise in his voice. Burt swings Kurt’s legs onto the mattress and looks down at him, raising an eyebrow when Kurt meets his eyes. Kurt nods minutely and Burt smiles, heading toward the door.
“Well,” Burt groans as he stretches his arms over his head. “I’m going to go grab a change of clothes, I think. My number?”
“On the notepad by the phone,” Kurt says like he’s heard it a thousand times this morning, and Blaine almost claps his hands at the fond annoyance Kurt directs at his dad. Burt chuckles, clapping Blaine on the shoulder as he passes and closing the door behind him.
Kurt’s eyes are still darting, never resting on Blaine for too long but unable to stay away, either, and Blaine approaches the bed slowly, thinking of wounded animals. He knows it’s a big deal for Kurt to let Burt leave, to sit alone with this strange older (in his head) man claiming to be his husband when he expected to wake up in the 9th grade.
“Here,” Blaine says, awkwardly thrusting the bouquet of red and yellow roses toward Kurt. “Welcome back.”
“Those are...for me?” Blaine nods and Kurt reaches out tentatively, fingers twitching when they brush over Blaine’s around the stems. He holds them to his nose, eyes closing involuntarily as he takes a deep breath, humming in appreciation as a serene smile settles on his lips. “They’re beautiful.”
Blaine looks for some sign of recognition, even unconscious, but Kurt’s face shows nothing; he wasn’t expecting it, really. It was such a little moment, and so many years ago. Kurt doesn’t even know that he won’t throw away that ancient dictionary of his because he pressed a few of the roses between the pages back in high school and is afraid to disturb them. There’s no reason the flowers should jog his memory.
“Sorry, I, uh,” Blaine stutters, hands flailing in front of him. “I should’ve brought a vase. Or something. I wasn’t thinking.” He looks around the room for something they can use; Kurt’s the one who thinks he’s 14 but Blaine feels like a bumbling high school kid right now. He spots the water pitcher and takes the flowers from Kurt, dropping them into the water before realizing that Kurt was probably drinking from that, idiot and burying his face in his hands.
“I’ll get you more water,” he mumbles into his palms, looking up when he hears a choked sound. Kurt has his fist pressed to his mouth, trying valiantly to muffle the laughter that is shaking his shoulders. Blaine narrows his eyes playfully, sticks his tongue out. “You’re mean.”
“You’re cute,” Kurt replies, then appears to try to shove his fist right into his mouth. His eyes are wide again, ears bright red. “I mean. I didn’t - I shouldn’t have--”
“Hey,” Blaine interrupts, placing a careful hand on Kurt’s bent knee over the blankets. “Hey, shh, it’s alright. I would hope you think I’m cute. You clearly didn’t marry me for my brilliant ideas,” he says, gesturing to the flowers crookedly perched in the plastic pitcher. Kurt laughs nervously again, but his shoulders drop away from his ears as he relaxes.
“Besides,” Blaine continues, winking at him. “You’re pretty cute yourself.” Kurt flinches a little, draws his good knee toward his chest and wraps his free arm around it. “Sorry. Too much? I just...” Blaine trails off. “I tend to lose my filter around you. I always have. I’ll work on it, I promise.”
“No, it’s,” Kurt’s muttering into his knee now. “No one thinks...no one’s ever...” He takes a deep, shuddering breath but doesn’t continue, doesn’t need to for Blaine to know what he means. It takes all of Blaine’s willpower not to climb onto the bed and wrap Kurt in his arms, but considering his reaction to the simplest flirty compliment, Blaine’s not sure how he’d react to forced cuddles.
“You’re walking,” he says instead, settling into the chair with a grin.
“More like hopping,” Kurt shrugs, gesturing to the cast. “The uh, the nurses, they all said that I’m stronger than they expected me to be after 6 weeks in bed, so I can try short distances with help until I talk to a physical therapist.”
“You were in great shape before the...accident,” Blaine’s mind shifts midsentence, flashing back to bleeding broken unconscious and he has to shake himself back because Kurt is living breathing watching him. “They say it’s why you’re healing so well, physically. And there were exercises, that they gave me. To help you. Just moving your limbs, keeping your muscles engaged. I couldn’t do much with, with the cast and the IV but...I tried.”
“It helped,” Kurt says. “I’m sure of it.” They sit quietly for a long moment, just looking at each other, until Kurt takes a breath, looks like he’s steeling himself for bad news.
“Blaine,” Kurt starts, and Blaine tenses, panics internally, sure he’s about to ask him to leave and not come back, that he doesn’t remember him and so doesn’t want to see him. But he waits for Kurt to continue.
“I want to know - everything, about you, about us, god there’s so much to know. But...” he glances at Blaine, who smiles encouragingly. “But my dad, and the doctors, they’re really adamant that I meet Finn and Carole today, meet them as my family, I mean. They think it might be good for my memory. And I know that’s going to take a while and I want to...I want to talk about - us,” his face screws up when he says that, us, such a strange concept to such a lonely boy. “I want to wait until we have all the time we need. Is that...would that be alright?” He looks worried, hesitant, and his arm tightens around his knee like he’s bracing for rejection. Blaine remembers the stiff posture, the slow, carefully chosen words, the slight rise to his eyebrows whenever he had a dissenting opinion; it wasn’t as bad even at 16 as it is here, but it was still there, in the placement of each thoroughly vetted footfall.
“Yes,” Blaine says quickly, eager to calm Kurt’s fears. “Yes, anything. Whatever - whenever you want, ok? All of this. We go at your pace. Do you want me to..” he gestures toward the door, smiling again when Kurt shakes his head quickly.
“No, don’t - don’t go. Just - can we just talk? Save the past and particulars for later?”
And so they talk. Blaine tells him about his job as the music director for a school on the upper west side (mostly to assure Kurt he isn’t missing work in order to stay with him), talks about Kurt’s own job and thrills at the excitement shining in Kurt’s eyes, the disbelief that he is the up and coming designer in the hottest design house of the last decade. He’s in the middle of chronicling Lady Gaga’s career (Please, please tell me she took off after ‘The Fame’), arms crossed behind his head and staring at the ceiling while he tries to remember, when he glances back to Kurt and sees him just...staring. He’s not sure Kurt’s even paying attention, with the way his mouth is slightly agape, his eyes still roaming over Blaine even though he’s stopped talking.
“Kurt?”
Kurt jolts, hissing when he jostles his injured leg. Blaine jumps up, hands fluttering uselessly over Kurt’s body, not knowing what to do and afraid to touch him anyway.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Kurt insists, and Blaine collapses back into his seat. “Sorry.”
“Where’d you go?”
“I was, um, thinking,” Kurt mumbles, eyes cast to the side.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Blaine asks, patting his pockets playfully. “I have no change. Mastercard for your thoughts?”
“I don’t know how I could forget someone like you,” Kurt says quietly, and his eyes snap up at Blaine’s sharp intake of breath. Even with the way he’s blushing, and it seems like a constant thing since Blaine walked in a little while ago, there’s something fierce in his gaze, then, something that hasn’t been there so far since he’s woken up; the determination that Kurt doesn’t know he has yet. “You’re...” He stops, shakes his head. “I’m going to remember you, Blaine. I promise.”
Blaine can’t find his voice. He nods, extends his arm, rests his hand palm-up on the mattress.
Kurt takes it.
It isn’t long before there’s a light knock on the door and Burt’s poking his head in. His eyes dart quickly to where the boys’ hands are interlocked on the bed and he smiles at Kurt, who returns it tentatively. Blaine, on the other hand, is giving the sun a run for its money with the way his entire face is lit up, even behind the carefully calm expression he’s wearing. There’s a shuffling sound coming from the hallway behind Burt, an impatient, muffled voice, and Blaine rolls his eyes fondly. Finn.
“Well,” Blaine says, looking back to Kurt. “I should go for a bit. Can I come back later?” Kurt nods quickly, his hand tightening around Blaine’s for a moment before he lets go, takes a sharp breath in the way that Blaine’s learning means he’s bracing for rejection.
“Can you..” Kurt asks, glancing at the phone and then back to Blaine. “Can you leave your number? With my dad’s? Just in case.”
“Of course.” Blaine reaches for the notepad, carefully writes his number underneath his name, his brain giggling because Kurt just asked him for his phone number. He’s just set the pen down when he slaps his palm to his forehead. “Duh.”
“What?” Kurt asks as Blaine stoops down and starts rifling through the messenger bag next to his chair. He stands up with an armful of items and holds each one up as he names it.
“Your phone. I wouldn’t answer it if you don’t recognize the name, but if you need to call any of us the numbers are here. I’m not sure what you need to buy in here but here’s your wallet. And, the piece de resistance,” he laughs, holding up a small black case. “Your travel kit. You’ll probably get to take a proper shower soon, so I thought you might want to use your own products.”
“Oh god I love you,” Kurt groans, and then everything goes very still. Kurt covers his face with his hand, then splits his fingers to peek out between them. “I- I- I-” he’s stammering, doesn’t seem to know what he wants to say. Blaine’s breath stutters through the silence; even though it’s not the same thing, just hearing the words again warms him from head to toe and there are so many things he wants to say that will make this moment so, so much worse. So he smiles.
“I understand your dedication to your products,” Blaine says, so clearly and kindly letting him off the hook, not making it a moment that they need to dissect. He sets the bag down and pats Kurt’s knee gently. “Until later?” Kurt nods and Blaine stoops again to pick up his bag, backing through the doorway with a grin.
When Burt moves to let Blaine through the door, it’s like he’s opening the gates at the Kentucky Derby. There’s only one horse in the race, though, and his name is Finn Hudson. Carole rolls her eyes as Finn finally pushes past Burt, blindly dropping the bag he’s carrying.
“Kurt!” he yells, his enthusiasm too loud for the small room as he barrels toward the bed, arms wide. He’s just starting to lean in when Kurt yelps, his knee drawing up as his arms cross over his face and he tucks his head in. Finn stops in his tracks, overbalances and is only steadied by Burt’s sudden appearance at his elbow. Kurt’s eyes are squeezed shut, his breathing quickening, and the panic in every line of his body makes Finn’s face fall. He drops his arms, tries to escape while stumbling over apologies, but Burt catches him with two fingers in the back of his collar, almost makes him fall over again. Blaine and Carole had rushed through the door at the commotion, but Burt shakes his head minutely so they stay back, wait.
“Kurt,” Burt says gently, resting his free hand on Kurt’s shin. “Breathe, buddy. It’s alright, you’re alright.” Kurt takes a deep, shuddering breath and looks up; his dad is watching him carefully, encouragingly, but it’s Blaine at the back of the room, Blaine nodding and giving him a reassuring grin that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners, that steadies him. He returns Blaine’s nod and Blaine disappears back through the door; his stomach clenches at the loss.
“I’m sorry,” Kurt says quietly, ducking his head until he catches Finn’s eye.. “It’s - you threw me into a dumpster yesterday. I mean, I know not yesterday but--”
“No, I get it,” Finn interrupts. “I forgot. I missed you so much, man, I forgot that your brain’s a little messed up. Just...give me a chance, ok? I haven’t been that guy for 12 years.” He smiles, then, a lopsided smile so full of hope and regret and unmistakable love that Kurt can’t help but smile back.
It’s easier after that. Carole is lovely, sweet and sassy and everything Kurt ever thought about his dad finding one day and Kurt isn’t scared of her. She brushes Kurt’s hair back and when she kisses his forehead her eyes are shining and it’s been so long since he’s had this, soft arms and the scent of flowers and a voice like bells. She whispers, “Hi, sweetie,” into his hair and Kurt lets her hold onto him, grips back with his free arm and buries his face in her shoulder, breathing in her perfume.
They start from the beginning, and Kurt asks for it all, no details spared. He cringes at his misguided crush, what it led him to do, but can’t bring himself to regret it as he glances between his dad and Carole, then over to Finn, so excited as he points out pictures in the photo album, Kurt’s own, apparently, rescued from his apartment that morning.
Before long, Finn squeezes himself onto the few inches of free space on Kurt’s bed; his right leg is pressed all along Kurt’s left and Kurt freezes again as Finn settles the laptop across their legs, leaning back and throwing his arm over Kurt’s shoulders to get a little more space. He apologizes again when Kurt goes still, fumbling his limbs while trying not to jostle Kurt, almost tumbling off the side of the bed, but Kurt shakes his head. He lifts his hand and it hovers uncertainly for a moment before he takes a deep breath, reaches forward to pat Finn awkwardly on the knee.
“It’s ok,” he says, one corner of his mouth lifting but it’s the best he can do right now. “It’s alright, Finn.”
“Cool,” Finn nods, and presses play. “So, here’s their wedding.”
The afternoon is easier; still overwhelming, but less emotional, less tangible. Mercedes and Rachel come, each carrying their own scrapbooks, and Kurt is astounded by how different they look; although he keeps forgetting how different he looks, too. He admittedly doesn’t remember much of Rachel beyond her sharpness, that tendency to correct everyone and her unfortunate sweaters, but the girl perched carefully at the end of his bed is sweet and funny and just seems so happy to answer his questions, even when the answers make her roll her eyes at her “misguided former self,” as she keeps saying with a shake of her head. Mercedes takes his breath away. She’s at ease in her skin in a way neither of them were, last he remembers, and it makes him envious.
Mercedes gives him a piece of paper covered in lines and circles, and it isn’t until he looks closely that he realizes what it is, sees the title scribbled across the top and snorts.
“‘New Directions Relationship Chart,’ seriously Mercedes?” he asks, jaw dropping at the sheer number of lines. Among them, there’s a dotted line from his name to Finn’s that makes him groan again, a dotted line between him and Mercedes that makes her grumble, and a solid line from him to Blaine that has been drawn over with hearts that makes him smile. There’s a line between Finn and Rachel, too, which explains some of the awkward glances he’s spotted throughout the afternoon, but he figures it’s probably best to leave that alone for now.
They’re halfway through watching the saga of New Directions’ rise to victory (but not popularity) on Finn’s laptop when Kurt notices he’s missing from a competition. Everyone startles when he asks about it, and Finn fast forwards while Rachel speaks.
“Don’t worry,” she says breezily. “We win and you’re back for Nationals.”
“I miss Regionals?” Kurt asks. “What, did I boycott the polyester and walk out or something?”
“Long story,” Rachel replies, voice tight, but she’s smiling. Kurt shrugs, confused, and glances at the screen, where Finn is still fast forwarding, a group of boys in blue blazers dancing too quickly across the screen. And that looks an awful lot like--
A knock on the door disrupts Kurt’s thoughts, and they all look up as a nurse walks in. She clears the room and busies herself checking vitals, making notes on the chart always clipped to the end of his bed. He’s doing beautifully, she says, perfect other than his “little memory lapse.” He’s wheeled down for a round of x-rays on his ribs and leg, then over to meet with a physical therapist, and by the time he gets back to his room, he’s exhausted by the day, the deluge of information he’s absorbed, and all thoughts of his mysterious disappearance from New Directions are forgotten.
Kurt’s dozing when Blaine sticks his head in the door that evening. He watches for a minute, his breathing unconsciously syncing to Kurt’s; it’s strange without the heart monitor beeping a steady reminder in his ear. For a moment it’s too much, to see Kurt’s eyes closed again, and Blaine wants to shake him awake; but he remembers years of waking up first just so he could watch Kurt sleep. He slips fully into the room, settling into the familiar chair, and just looks. Kurt’s eyes are twitching beneath his eyelids, a muscle at the corner of his mouth jumping sporadically. He’s still pale but it’s not sickly anymore. His lips are rosy again. Blaine misses how they feel against his.
Kurt shifts slightly, mumbling little noises that make Blaine chuckle, which in turn makes Kurt fully wake. His head lolls toward Blaine on the pillow and he smiles sleepily.
“You came back,” Kurt says, voice drowsy and scratchy.
“You need to stop being surprised,” Blaine laughs. “Unless you tell me to leave, I’m not going anywhere. I’m annoyingly persistent.” Kurt’s just looking at him in that way he has been, like he’s equal parts awed and confused, so Blaine changes the subject before he can think himself into being awkward again. “The nurses said you had a big day.”
“Oh, did I ever,” Kurt starts, pushing the button to raise the head of his bed and shifting until he’s resting comfortably against the pillows. “Exhibit A.” He lifts his right hand, turning it at the wrist and gesturing with his left as if it’s a prize on a game show. The IV is gone, a piece of gauze taped in its place. “Exhibit B.” Kurt holds up one finger while he pulls the rolling tray toward him with his now free arm. He picks up a saltine, dips it into a bowl of something, and pops it into his mouth as he looks at Blaine. Blaine Ooohs and Aaahs and claps lightly, reaching forward to squeeze Kurt’s knee.
“That’s amazing, baby,” Blaine coos. As soon as he says it he closes his eyes, huffing out a breath through his scrunched up nose. “I’m sorry.” But when he opens his eyes, Kurt’s just looking at him again, the same searching expression he’d had this morning.
“It’s ok, Blaine,” Kurt smiles, and his chin is jutting out the way it always does when he’s trying not to preen. Blaine isn’t sure if Kurt knows about that tic, though, not sure if he even had anything to preen about when he was 14, so he bites back his smile. “We’ve been together for the majority of the time I forgot; I don’t expect you to kick your habits any more than you expect me to magically remember everything.”
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Blaine rubs his hand over his face in a way that Kurt is beginning to think he does quite often, in a way that makes Kurt want to grab his hand and kiss the center of his palm and -
Whoa.
“You don’t,” Kurt says quickly, like he can cover up where his thoughts just went. Blaine raises a doubtful eyebrow and Kurt shakes his head, repeating himself in a less frantic tone. “You don’t - I mean, it’s all new, and, um, unexpected. And overwhelming. But I’m not uncomfortable. With you. I don’t know why.”
“Thank you,” Blaine says, because it’s the only thing that seems right. Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for being brave. Thank you for coming back.
Burt’s voice drifts down the hall, and a few seconds later he appears in the doorway with Dr. Miller, Rachel in tow. Burt greets Kurt, beckons Blaine to the door as Rachel slips in. The three men disappear from view as Rachel takes Blaine’s chair. She’s just finished telling him the story of the time they broke into the Gershwin Theater during their junior year (and oh how he wishes he could remember that) when they reappear. Rachel stands again, lets Blaine reclaim his seat, and gives Kurt a small wave before leaving, pulling the door closed behind her.
“What’s wrong?” Kurt asks immediately, and Dr. Miller holds a hand up before he can panic.
“Nothing, nothing at all,” the doctor insists. “Quite the opposite. Your injuries are healing beautifully, and your body is reacclimating very well. The physical therapist is impressed with the muscle tone you’ve retained. No, I was just telling your...family,” he hedges, not sure what Kurt is comfortable with at this point. “That we want to keep you under observation for the weekend, get you established on solid foods, fitted for crutches, but if all goes well, and I have no reason to think it won’t, you can go home at the beginning of the week.”
Kurt looks between his father and Blaine, both smiling, and tries to take comfort in the confidence he sees there. They think he can do this; he might as well trust them.
“It’s going to be hell getting through the airport on crutches,” he says finally, laughing at the thought. Everyone else remains silent and he looks up to see his dad frowning; Blaine just looks crushed. “What? I’ll manage.”
“Kurt,” Burt says gently, resting his hand on Kurt’s foot, the closest part of him he can reach. “You’re not coming back to Ohio.”
Part 3