Welcome to the Glee Angst Meme again! You know how these things work. You can come here and prompt your most angsty prompts, and write stories filling those angsty prompts to let our characters suffer
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FILLED: Wrong (4/?)
anonymous
December 14 2011, 12:09:24 UTC
4. How could he not have felt anything? Some kind of signal, some anxiety, phantom pain or something? Kurt always believed that with love like theirs, he would just know instantly if anything bad ever happened to Blaine. That he would feel it, because the emotional connection between them was so strong it was almost like telepathy sometimes.
But he didn’t. He didn’t feel anything that Wednesday. After they’d ended their conversation, he changed and went to work. The afternoon and evening were uneventful, he felt calm and cheerful. He slept like a baby that night, with no particular dreams.
How was that possible when states away his love, his soulmate felt bad enough to want to die? When he hurt himself somehow with intention to kill? When maybe that night people fought to save his life? This is the thing that Kurt keeps obsessing about all the way back to Columbus. It’s as if his exhausted mind, unable to rest until he sees Blaine and knows that he’s safe, clings to one chosen aspect of all this overwhelming mess, because it’s just too much anymore. With every mile bringing him closer to his boyfriend, Kurt keeps listening intently to every signal his mind might be giving him, reaching out, searching for some kind of feeling, some certainty in his heart that Blaine is alive. That he’s fine.
He finds none.
Kurt’s father is waiting for him at the airport and even though they haven’t seen each other for three months and missed each other like crazy, there’s just a short, tight hug, and then they’re on their way. His dad’s presence gives Kurt reassurance, there’s something about having him close that conveys that warm feeling of “everything will be fine, I’m here”. It reminds Kurt of childhood, of times when he used to believe that parents were almighty, that they could make everything in the whole world all right. How he’d love to still believe that.
Kurt’s out of the car as soon as they stop in front of the hospital, running inside and to the reception desk.
“Blaine Anderson, he was brought here on Wednesday, where will I find him?”
The receptionist looks at him coolly and for the first time in ages Kurt doesn’t even care that he must look like a mess. He looks at her pleadingly because surely his heart will explode if he has to wait for news a minute longer, and finally, she taps a few buttons and asks.
“Are you family?”
“No, but-“
“Then I’m sorry, I can’t give you any information.”
He tries to appeal to her, even resorts to begging, but it’s a lost case. Kurt drops onto a nearby chair and finally gives in to desperate tears that have been threatening him all the way here, just as his father enters the reception area after having parked the car.
There’s no hope left, no way to learn anything. Blaine’s phone is switched off, and so is his mother’s, there’s no one answering the landline at the Andersons’ house, and Kurt feels like he’s dying, drowning under a tsunami wave of despair. By the desk, his dad is speaking with the receptionist, but Kurt doesn’t understand a word over the painful squeeze in his chest and loud pounding of his heart. He feels dizzy, can’t get enough air despite desperate gasping for it. He hears a dull thump and vaguely realizes his head collided with something hard, before blacking out.
How could he not have felt anything? Some kind of signal, some anxiety, phantom pain or something? Kurt always believed that with love like theirs, he would just know instantly if anything bad ever happened to Blaine. That he would feel it, because the emotional connection between them was so strong it was almost like telepathy sometimes.
But he didn’t. He didn’t feel anything that Wednesday. After they’d ended their conversation, he changed and went to work. The afternoon and evening were uneventful, he felt calm and cheerful. He slept like a baby that night, with no particular dreams.
How was that possible when states away his love, his soulmate felt bad enough to want to die? When he hurt himself somehow with intention to kill? When maybe that night people fought to save his life? This is the thing that Kurt keeps obsessing about all the way back to Columbus. It’s as if his exhausted mind, unable to rest until he sees Blaine and knows that he’s safe, clings to one chosen aspect of all this overwhelming mess, because it’s just too much anymore. With every mile bringing him closer to his boyfriend, Kurt keeps listening intently to every signal his mind might be giving him, reaching out, searching for some kind of feeling, some certainty in his heart that Blaine is alive. That he’s fine.
He finds none.
Kurt’s father is waiting for him at the airport and even though they haven’t seen each other for three months and missed each other like crazy, there’s just a short, tight hug, and then they’re on their way. His dad’s presence gives Kurt reassurance, there’s something about having him close that conveys that warm feeling of “everything will be fine, I’m here”. It reminds Kurt of childhood, of times when he used to believe that parents were almighty, that they could make everything in the whole world all right. How he’d love to still believe that.
Kurt’s out of the car as soon as they stop in front of the hospital, running inside and to the reception desk.
“Blaine Anderson, he was brought here on Wednesday, where will I find him?”
The receptionist looks at him coolly and for the first time in ages Kurt doesn’t even care that he must look like a mess. He looks at her pleadingly because surely his heart will explode if he has to wait for news a minute longer, and finally, she taps a few buttons and asks.
“Are you family?”
“No, but-“
“Then I’m sorry, I can’t give you any information.”
He tries to appeal to her, even resorts to begging, but it’s a lost case. Kurt drops onto a nearby chair and finally gives in to desperate tears that have been threatening him all the way here, just as his father enters the reception area after having parked the car.
There’s no hope left, no way to learn anything. Blaine’s phone is switched off, and so is his mother’s, there’s no one answering the landline at the Andersons’ house, and Kurt feels like he’s dying, drowning under a tsunami wave of despair. By the desk, his dad is speaking with the receptionist, but Kurt doesn’t understand a word over the painful squeeze in his chest and loud pounding of his heart. He feels dizzy, can’t get enough air despite desperate gasping for it. He hears a dull thump and vaguely realizes his head collided with something hard, before blacking out.
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